No more pen names. My name is Tara. I'm at college now too.
http://yeahtaraj.blogspot.com/
And because I lived a Hannah-Miley (Milo or Miles would work better don't you think) double life for a while, I thought I'd finally link them together.
Hazel Grace
Paul Varjak
Diamond Fangs,
Tara J
Hey Miss Carter
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Inhale. Exhale. (a toatst to us)
CONFIDENTIAL:
(this is all too honest)
(i'll regret this later)
Why am I so upset.
I wish this was a 39487 year class.
Why am I so pissed that poetry is killing and haunting and
so damn beautiful that I have 4398545 seminary makeups but I’m writing this for
you.
More for me because its chipping at my polish but I’m writing
this for you.
Because I have a filled notebook of drafts I glued my heart
on.
Because “oh my gosh all her posts are about her and cadens
love THEY GOT CAUGHT MAKING OUT AT THE LIBRARY WHAT??? He wears skinny ties! tara
doesn’t even like caden omg”
1.
1. He says the library smells bad
2.
2. He’s not THAT indie. Not like Brandon Robbins.
Love your sandles btw
3. 3. No he’s dece I like him I mean he’s a real gr8 guy
Shut up love is crap and all these posts have about .0000000675234
ounces to do with Caden and more to do with Jern Hayes. This is High School.
But we did find a cat at the cemetery and named it Michael. And
he does sing me Minnie Ripton. That part was all Cade. I can’t even remember Jern’s real name but he has a nice 5 o’clock
shadow & sometimes I see him in the halls. You bet he’ll sign my yearbook.
HI JERN
You want me to write? You want me to write you something?
Something so important, so stabbing to your soul that you’ll be sure is at the
end of your eulogy because it’s the most trembling thing you’ve ever layed your
ear on.
Sure, I’ll light your wife’s heart on fire:
Never take sugar in your tea and when he comes to your door
make sure your father shakes his hand. Wear a skirt that makes your knees look
lovely. Eat an entire rib-eye with just a knife to show that everything you
think will kill you may be the most delicious, life-saving ordinance out there.
Inhale. Exhale.
Laugh A LOT when your little brother misses the toilet. Use
hand sanitizer after you write a poem because the smell will take over the
fumes from the ink. This will clear your head of any last broken messages left
on the page and I promise, this time you won’t explode at the dinner table.
Inhale. Exhale.
Rip off the silence. The schemes. The confidence. Move your
body downtown. Take a drive on the highway to hell and leave your mother with
the man taking tickets. Find a boy with a bike and ride on the handlebars. Leave
the meatloaf in the fridge but bring the quivers and teeter off the tallest
building in Los Angeles because everybody wants to rule the world at least once.
Inhale. Exhale.
Start with Genesis and work your way to the end. It’ll take
longer than New Jersey but baby when your hands stops me from speaking I’m
worried the last thing you’ll hold is my sentence. Let me drape it on your
shoulders. And when you sink into the cadence pay close attention to the foreign.
The unfamiliar way I inhale and exhale on your shoulder. Don’t forget yourself.
This isn’t a time for selflessness. Whisper to your lungs that this will be quick. Over soon.
And inhale. Exhale.
Diamond Fangs,
Tara Johnson
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