Name: Meg

Age: 15

I just started getting on fictionpress again, and I'm sort of humiliated by my stories/poems. Please just ignore them, unless you like them in which case, don't. They have a couple good reviews, and I don't want to lose my ego-boosters by deleting them. So don't use those to judge me. I've changed alot since I wrote them.

I am a very shy person sometimes, and other times I am very sharp, abrasive. I prefer my more assertive self, people think it's funny. But sometimes I notice that people are getting tired of me, and their faces look annoyed, and I want to be like: No wait. I'm not like that. Forget that. I'm going to change now. I wasn't like that really. I'm like this. So sometimes I will seem like a sad, quiet, calm person, but inside, I'm critisizing, whining, frowning, angry, and cursing.

Some funny things: 1, 2

I like music a whole lot. I like Billy Joel, Phil Collins, Chromeo, Daft Punk, the Chemical Brothers, LCD Soundsystem, Girl Talk, Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, Fiddler on the Roof, West Side Story, Sweeney Todd, Elliott Smith, Bright Eyes, Spoon, Radiohead, Blind Melon, the Black Keys, Taking Back Sunday, Five Iron Frenzy, the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly, the Dresden Dolls... and other stuff.

I like movies. True Romance, Jesus Christ Superstar, The Royal Tenenbaums, Death at a Funeral, Science of Sleep, Cry Baby.

I really like disturbing books (House of Leaves, A Clockwork Orange, Girl With Curious Hair, anything Chuck Palahniuk), but I also enjoy reading cheesy, uplifting romance books (Sarah Dessen books, fictionpress stories...). I also love witty 9-12 books (Alex Rider, Artemis Fowl, Evil Genius, The Mysterious Benedict Society) and normal YA books (The Book Theif, I am the Messenger). Sometimes even just plain normal books (the History of Love, Boy Detective Fails, the Cheese Monkeys).

If you can suggest a book for me to read, then I will love you for all eternity. So, even if I don't know you, and you are just randomly looking at my profile, feel free to PM me a good book to read. Grazie.

You gain power by pretending to be weak. By contrast, you make people feel strong. You save people by letting them save you. All you have to do is be fragile and grateful. So stay the underdog. People really need somebody they feel superior to. So stay downtrodden. People need somebody they can send a check at Christmas. So stay poor. Charity isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring.

"Freak show!" the other guy added, pointing at us as if we didn't know who he had been fucking with; as if he was saying, by pointing his finger, Yes you! I am making it clear now that I am insulting you! Even though I am only a night stocker at the Radio Shack; even though I am twenty-eight and have an illegitimate kid and bills from the white T-top Camaro I wrecked; even though I am a glue huffing idiot, who blows all my cash on coke whenever I can get it, you are the ones who are to be made fun of because, to me, you are funny-looking, and this is the best thing I can do to insult you: me, pointing my finger like this, so I will keep pointing.

No one has yet computed how many imaginary triumphs are silently celebrated by people each year to keep up their courage.

I admire addicts. In a world where everybody is waiting for some blind, random disaster, or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He's taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of death from being a total suprise.

The first step - especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money - the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.

We're all Just Kids: Okay, so the reason I was stumbling so awkwardly (if you noticed, I'm not quite sure if it is noticable or not) over the words subway and metro and underground train ( I don't think anyone says that) is because I'm from a small city, and have only been on one of those once three years ago, so I'm not the brightest in the bunch. Don't tease. I'm just trying.

Believed to be his Life's Work: So, I know it seems really silly, and not flowy enough. I'm not really proud of that one because it seems like I'm trying too hard to get the story across, but it was just so pretty in my mind, and I wanted people to see it too. And just ignore the constant image of the lunchbox. It isn't like I'm trying to make this person (Grace) me. I just happen to have a wierd connection to lunchboxes

now that is passion: Well, we all know that I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about me. But anyway. Even though I was sitting there, like, yelling my thoughts, don't tease. I just found that flipping through my notebook... Thanks for not teasing.

Daughters of Those Mothers: To tell the truth this isn't to horribly based on my mother. I mean, it is, but my mom isn't That Mother. She's a lawyer. A Democrat even though most people who surround her are Republicans. She has a voice and uses it. She's not that bad. She isn't really like that.

music: please be nice. this is my first real poem. I wrote it in my agenda during study hall... yeah. I was going to add more when I got home, but I think the poetic spirit sort of left me because nothing else I wrote was good enough, so I left it the way it was.

non-conformity, right?: oh, wow. I wrote another poem. go me. whatever. I don't have anything to say about it...

Word Bank of Abstract Ideas: I went to a writing camp this summer, and in the mornings, the whole camp does writing excersizes together. The excersizes are usually bullshit (write a poem about how you feel), but one excersize was particularly ridiculous. The instructors told us to come up with abstract ideas. Okay. People were raising their hands and saying shit like happiness, pain, desire, and I'm sitting there like, that's emotion you fuckheads. Anyway, my experimental fiction teacher saw that they were indeed mentally impaired. Anyway, she gave us the choice between writing a story with this title, or Do Not Touch Broken Glass. (She had seen a sign that said that instead of Do Not Touch: Broken Glass).

A Letter of Resignation: It was a prompt that I found and felt like doing. It was fun. Based on life. Except I was seven when I attempted to live in my backyard.