Up

Ring out the bells again.
Like we did when spring began.
Wake me up when September ends.

I want something.
Because I don't need a new love or a new life, just a better place to die.
Quoting Fun. on the song One Foot.
Sometimes, I can only dream about things.
That won't happen, but I'll woke shocked that it didn't happen, because part of it, just showed me the future.
I know, this is fucking messed up, but we have this special powers in my family, my great-grandma had it, and a story I would never forget.
But not now, never.
I always can see it.
It means that if I'll become a vampire, I would be like Alice.

So, today... was okay?
We had practicing today, again, with all the schools in the city, day after the field trip.
Maya did it again, she didn't changed as she claimed that she did.
She didn't.
Bullies may stay bullies, the damaged ones may become to be my family.
Just so, as nature will make it.

So, you know Gal, the dude I like.
Well we tease each other.
A lot.
I like those games.
It's kind of funny.
I love guys that are friendly and making me laugh, or get interested.
I'm in love with the shitty ones.
Soon he'll be "hurt" because she'll dump him, like last time, over an email.
I think it's cruelty.
Like, email?
You sending it for free?
At least pay those half nis (it's like 10 cents!) and give some respect.
That's being a fearful dickhead.

She is comfortable behind the screen.
Very comfortable.
It's easier to be bitch through it.
I'm telling you it, because you don't need to see the pity faces.
This told by me, the girls who on her screen 24/7.
And when not, thinking, what to write, and then forget.

Insane.

We danced a lot today.
It was nice.
And I met few people.
Not talking about my constant teases from his glances meeting with mines.

My curls are gorgeous right now, I hope they'll stay this way tomorrow.
I'm in love with natural hair.
Straight I adore less.
Of course, it looks most of time lifeless.
Curls that jumping on the beach on summer, that surround your back on spring, riding on bicycle.
On autumn, under shades and finding you way to school on your skateboard.
On winter, tied or free, getting wet under the pouring sweet rain.

But straight.
Well, hairstyles are endless.
But after all, it's not so pretty.
But curly awesome.
You know that last year, I straightened my hair daily.
Was a part from my routine.
Because Yali's poison.
At least the last drops of sanity and venom stayed and gave me the real me, for now.

Today is my sister's birthday.
Almost everyone (but me) forgot it.
Even her friend didn't came to her.
I bought her a gift!
A beautiful (I picked something for me, but later) rainbow zebra pattern case.
And I got for myself, a skeleton king.
Skeleton sitting on red royal chair, and a crown, red with gold.

I forgot to say.
I have the falling feeling again.
I'm in a rise, at the exact same time.
Loving, and trying to find myself.
And with it, getting love back, and slowly setting myself with the people I want to believe in.
But, as I always do, I feel that nothing good will happen.
Just so much, and now good (?).
Something must be wrong.
Or was I in the bottom?
Now I'm getting high, like Shorty from Scary Movie movies, but I'm just, going high like, not bottom, not from drugs.


Call me a bitch.
Call me a hoe.
But you'll never reach.
And never grow.
When you pants are higher.
Than the company require.

Dedicated for most tween girls on 2013.
Thank you all bitches.
I know it may sound stupid, or silly, or just in their language.
But when you look like a slut, don't wonder if they ask how much you cost.
Or that they won't call you.
You are a stupid one night stand.

People like me, with guts.
And acknowledge.
That doesn't mind to wear her button shirt, closed all the way up, and wear shorts with it, or long pants and normal shirt.
And still can flirt, and attract.

It called a skill for some, and gift for me.
I have a mind, I know for most human beings I know, it sounds weird, but for people that like me and you, it's located on the brain.
They have one, just too tiny to learn how to use that.
 Whoever can flirt with clothing that covers the hips and tits, and belly, everyone is allowed to be jealous at.
Even if people who jealous claim that they ugly (Yali said I'm ugly, twat, she should get a mirror, now she's jealous) those "ugly" don't have a problem.
They laugh it.
And I'll repeat it until I'll die.

Because Hoes before Bros.
And Sisters before Misters.
But when they not misters, they are knights, and they are not sisters, they faking it.
And what if it's not a bro, he's a dick trying to sabotage, and she's not a how, she's the beautiful maid.


One dicknation.
I fucking hate it.
Those beatish bitchish songs.
Telling to faggirls that it's so great to say they're ugly and then they'll tell them they're beautiful.
You don't know you're beautiful.
Boom.
Since then, all those bitches write on goddamn privacy-less Instagram or sluttish Facebook, wearing shorts up to their waist, and shirt down to their vagina, and says "I'm a monkey".

I hate it.
Just can't handle it.
Monkey was my thing.
When everyone called me ugly and I laughed about it, called myself a Gorilla.
They were hopeless, trying to find a way to insult above the belt.

They know where to stop.
At least that.
Barely that.


I love to write long.
It happens late.
Always, giving me all my thoughts, all the things that in me.
Falling apart to here in pieces.
Messy scraps.

One day I'll go to travel.
I'll be on outside tiny whiny Israel, far, far away, from the life I left.
And start my life with a friend on America.
Probably in NYC, or LA, or anywhere cheap, with cool places.

Go to celebrate everything as always.
Love and live.
And party and bullshit.
I fucking hate this song.
Rita Ora, represent the other side of whorses of Rihanna fans.


A photo for the title.

Movie: Up

So in this boring, stupid, late goodbye.

Berries, survivors,
I hope you'll make it.