My Pillow Friend

You may have heard the phrase, "every girl needs a guy friend." While that is true, a more descriptive way of saying this is that everyone needs a pillow friend.

What is a pillow friend, exactly? Well first of all, it is definitely not what you're probably thinking of. What do you do with a pillow when you're angry or sad? Cry into it until you fall asleep? Scream? Cuddle? That is what a pillow friend is. Someone you can be emotional with, talk to, hug, be crazy with, and not need to have any romantic interest in.

I have a pillow friend. He's a sophomore at my school. Hilarious, outgoing, crazy. I don't like him romantically at all and I don't think I ever will. He's someone I can talk to about anything and not worry about any awkwardness. You know, just say what I wanna say without worrying it'll be taken offensively or something. Plus, he gives the best hugs (no, my friend Sarah does...). So I can feel like crying and voila! Happy again. And awkward conversations... we always have awkward conversations. They're not even awkward anymore.

What's the use of this? Nothing, really. I just wanted to write about something other than Twelve Angry Men, the evolution of headphones, Greek art, womens' suffrage (I'm writing a womens' suffrage version of Green Day's "Time of Your Life"), and Chinese characters. I hate high school sooo much... grades actually matter now.

So I can't write on here often anymore, which I hate. And because I can't blog, readership is extremely low--- I haven't gotten a new follower in almost a year, even with the help of a Facebook fan page.

And I decided I might switch majors... before I even start it. Three years early. I love journalism, that's why I blog, but my English teacher made me write a news article and... uh... I don't like it. Then again, I just hate that class.

But yeah. As you can tell, I need a hug from my pillow friend right now. So, your homework is to get a pillow friend. They're so much fun to be around.

Can't wait to talk to mine!

Next Time You Point a Finger...

I told you I wanted to be your bestie,
Remember that?
We were the top of the game
Nothing could stop us?
Well, nothing could stop me at least.
So today you decided to call me a little kid
You decided to say you don't like me.
Good to know we still have a few things in common,
Because I was thinking the exact same things about you.
Of course, I would've added more and I wouldn't have been a wimp
Like you
Like the fact that I wouldn't have acted like a stupid panda bear and would have said it to my face.
Why?
Because that's what big girls do, sweetie.
Or are you not caught up... even though you're older?
(This feels sooo good right now...)
We went to camp together
We sat together
We talked together
But we were keeping secrets from each other.
I didn't know you didn't like me
You didn't know I didn't like you
Which is a fact you were obviously blind to.
You called me a little kid today
But you look like a two-year-old wearing her mom's clothes
You hang out with kids who are almost in college,
Remember you're still in middle school
And I'm not the only one who thinks this.
And you bring your problems into everything.
If it's a testimony, alright
But this is everyday.
Sorry sweetie, I can't say it any other way:
GET OVER IT.
No one likes hearing a repetitive story.
Who's the little kid now?
Choice A: The girl who chooses to be happy and not ruin everyone's day
Or
Choice B: The brat who drowns everyone in the ocean of stupid?
Who wins?
So you don't like me, huh?
Well then,
Consider this fair warning.
Don't even bother talking to me---
Ever.
Don't even bother asking me to sit with you---
Ever.
Don't even bother bossing me around again---
Ever.
Don't even bother looking at me---
Ever.
Why do I have to stoop so low?
Why did you?
I will admit neither of us are winning
But I'll do anything to get away from you.
Get away from me,
Don't even say "hi."
Just go.
You wanna ignore me?
I'll show you what you did to me.
I love how you point every last finger at me
But look!
There's a mirror!
Keep your fingers outstretched and look at yourself
Now look who's under fire.

P.S. Do you wanna avoid your name being included? Consider this Strike Two. One more strike and I'm coding your name into another poem. You're lucky I'm being nice right now.

-H

Under the Bus

Under the bus,
That's where you threw me
To die
To rot
For the bees to swarm
For the vultures to eat.
You made me less than who I wanted to be.
You killed me.
In ghost form I write
As the winds carry down my soul
And I write this letter to you.
You need to hear it
How selfish you are
How you sucked the life out of me.
We were only children,
I thought you were my friend.
You weren't,
You threw me under the bus.
I sound like a murderer,
Sorry,
I won't kill you.
But what I will do is hope that you know where you went wrong.
I wanted to be your bestie
You never wanted to be mine.