 Posted: Tue Feb 15, 2011 3:03 pm
 " I never learned to fight against dolls. "
What Fell From the Sky?
What if one day I was F O R G O T T E N ?
Rich man's daughter. That's how they'll remember me, huh? Snotty, rich b***h. Great.
Please place it deep into your M E M O R Y...
Alyssa Calliope Princeton.
Differences have V A R I A T I O N S
I'd prefer to just be called Alyssa. Alyss, maybe.
Something L O S T cannot be recovered...
February fourteenth, 1996
The C A N D L E S burn brightly...
Fifteen years, ladies.
Accept the T R U T H ...
I'm a girl. Or am I? ♥
It E C H O E S in my heart...
La Corrida - The Bullfight - Francis Cabrel (en français)
Why did it fall from the sky?
Something to judge the D I S T A N C E...
I'm only 5' 3". Shut up.
It's not P O L I T E to ask...
If you tell, I'll rip your boobs/balls off. I weight one-hundred fifteen pounds...
It W A V E S in the wind...
Naturally, it's brown, but I dyed it reddish pink. My favorite color...
It leads to my H E A R T...
A weird brown color that I love, because it looks different depending on what I'm wearing (which is normal, admittedly, but)...
The O N E who holds me in potential...
Don't tell. Please. I like The Boy Who Watched Her Fall.
What if it never returned to the sky?There are no R U L E S for me...I'm pretty much a b***h. I'm spoiled rotten, I'm mean to those who don't deserve it, and I'm annoyingly aware of my flaws. I'm a total gossip. I talk about everyone. I spread rumors; hell, I make them. If you cross me, I will cut you.
I'm assuming my snottiness comes from my mom, partially my stepmom. She was this gorgeous French chick--I'm pretty, too. (Did I tell you I'm conceited?) I flaunt it. I have thick eyelashes, tan skin, big eyes, good posture and long limbs--sure, I have my flaws. I just won't point them out. I realize looks won't get me through life, I'm not stupid. I may get C's and D's, but I have life experience, and that's what you really need, right?
Deep down, I'm not some scared, abused little girl. Trust me, a lot of people have said I pick on people to make up for my own insecurities; I'm not saying I'm not insecure about some things. It's just, I don't have some shitpoor home life. I'm not secretly suicidal, I don't cry myself to sleep, I don't need someone. (That's a lie, I suppose. Everyone needs someone.)
I'll admit that I'm a dreamer, a hopeless romantic. I always dream of that happy ending--riding off into the sunset on a white horse with a handsome prince. Who doesn't? We all have, at some point. I'll never admit it, but I dream of being a singer. I know that's unrealistic. My mom always told me, don't live on a dream. So I won't, I'll keep it real. Doesn't mean I can't dream, right? (I admit it's hard, though, with dad being so pushy.)
(And maybe I'm kind of a slut. Depends on the guy.)An unescapbale N I G H T M A R E to face alone...My dad and my mom met in France. My mom was busy trying to become a model, usually being shot down because she's a stone cold b***h, and my dad was a college student going nowhere. They met at a bar. Dad was drunk, mom was drunk--and apparently, being drunk makes my dad not looks like the wrong side of a horse. So they did it, planned on being a one-night stand; but remember kiddos, you don't give one-night stands your number. Mom got pregnant and called Dad up. They told their parents because, honestly, what are two failed college students gonna do with a baby? Not like they could afford an abortion, let alone keep it/me.
In the end, their families--both stinking rich--made them keep the baby and get married. Nine months later, I was born. My grandpa died on my first birthday; valentine's day, during a fancy, sweet, old people dinner. I don't really care, since I never knew him, but I admit that when I see my dad's eyes darken whenever he comes up in conversation, I wish I met him. Dad says I would have loved him, at least when he's not getting on my about my music. (He loves it. In fact, he got me multiple singing coaches and violin lessons. However, I hate violin, so usually I just make out with my teacher, because he's really, really hot. Dad says I'm just slow.) My dad let gramps's company die while grandma tried hopelessly to keep it going. Instead, he got a job under The Boy's father, and has a lot of fun with the money granddaddy left behind. I started learning French so I could speak to my family in Angoulême, France. I didn't really continue my lessons after middle school, but I still speak it pretty well. I'm really slow, though. I want to learn German, anyway.
My mom died when I was ten. Car crash. She and dad had gotten in a fight while I was at a sleepover. She stormed out, got in the car, and sped out of the drive way. She ran a red light and got hit my a semi truck. I'm sad she's gone, of course, I'd be worried if I wasn't, but I had to move on. Dad took it extremely hard, was comatose for months--it was sad seeing him like that. But once he got up and running again, he met this woman, Denice. After dating for two years, they got married, with me as the best man-woman-daughter.
Things are, honestly, pretty nice. Denice is a b***h in the manipulative, snaky way--but otherwise, she's pretty cool. I don't really consider her a mom, but I respect her. She's kind of like a friend to me. Me and dad are fine, too. He hates that I don't take meticulous care of my voice, but I really don't care. I'm pretty okay with life.It would be nice to K E E P...☑ Singing
☑ Musicals
☑ Nail polish
☑ Swimming
☑ Boys
☑ Turkish DelightThese can be F O R G O T T E N...☒ Watermelon
☒ Humidity
☒ People who play with my hair
☒ ComputersI can't A D M I T it...□ Small spaces
□ Butterflies
□ Strange noises in the house at night
□ Dogs
A puppet on S T R I N G S ...
Lieutenant Shotgun
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