Well since Christian thinks it's ok to shit talk me on his blog, I guess I'll do the same for him.
His immature little speech (one of many I assure you) included the usual name calling, I'm a pothead and all that good stuff.
Ask yourself: Who are you to judge what makes me a better person? Who are you to say I've cheated on every boyfriend I've had, especially when you know it isn't true? But to post things like this on your blog?
Your xanga friends don't know me. They see only a biased summary of what you want everyone to think I am. They probably don't know you either. Not like I do.
They haven't seen your face. They haven't fucked you, or played guitar hero with you, or cried right in front of you.
The only thing on your mind is revenge because you think I left you for someone else. Twice. See, you're an asshole. You've said that yourself. Why would I want to be with an asshole like you? Because I loved you. I thought I knew you. You aren't who I fell in love with.
And now the only cowardly escape you have left is to slander my name so that you can look like another victim of my cold, empty heart.

Please get some help. If you don't stop harrassing me I will find a way to Tennessee, broke or not. I'm done warning you.

Flowing with no destination,
Floating... I am conscious of the gentle push of the current.
Tadpoles, snakes, insects, all swim beneath and around me
And although my body is a nusiance, a disturbance in their calm environment,
I barely notice them close to me.
If they could see my face, perhaps they would feel sorry for me
Or break down in tears
Or mistake my blank stare as ignorance, or find me threatening.

However they feel about me floating down this stream doesn't matter.
With their tiny mouths and feet, they scoop me away
Until there is nothing left of me but a sponge-like being.

And how in love I am with their tiny mouths.

I am still here.
In your head,
The closet, the loaf of bread
On the kitchen counter,
Molding itself, unedible,
Useless.
I am a slice of moldy bread
In the kitchen trash can,
My voice an empty rasp,
My mind eroding beyond,
Beyond, beyond, beyond,

This song sings my heart, coarse,
Sad... I feel my thoughts
Melting away -- disinegration,
At its finest.

Hello, my Honor, to whom
Do I pay this handsome visit?
Have you come to consume me,
After all?
I would rather prefer this,
Seeing how I have no more purpose.
I am simply a piece of moldy bread,
In a trash can, awaiting your judgement.

For one who has not mystique, love,
The right to -- vote. There is no
Option other than
The belly of the beast or,
Forever stagnate -- my thoughts can only be odious -- life.