EmoMe

Mood: nostalgic
Currently Listening: Vindicated--Dashboard Confessional

So I was sitting in my room by myself earlier today, listening to some classic From First To Last, ("Dear Diary, My Teenage Angst Has A Body Count," 2004, pre-breakup) and their song "Populace in Two" came on and it reminded me of the boy I met at a Fall Out Boy show last September. Let’s call him Evan. I connected so strongly with Sonny Moore as he sang "Even if I spend 2004 listening to Morrissey in my car, I'm better off alone than I would be in your arms." I felt the music knew exactly what to tell me to make me feel better.

We had a messy breakup; Evan gave me back the pants he had borrowed, but when we started splitting up our CD collection there were a few bottles of black nail polish thrown at each other when "Take This To Your Grave" by Fall Out Boy came into question.

Evan constantly called me emo. I think he just didn't appreciate how profound I was. I constantly told him I wasn't emo; I was just very deep and very hurt. And so what if I would spend hours searching the Internet for Shakespearean poetry or Googling pictures of Pete Wentz? That has nothing to do with my personality. I knew I was better off without him if he was going to try to label me.

I went for a walk earlier today and saw a weed growing out of a crack in the concrete in the sidewalk. I had to stop for a few minutes to appreciate its beauty because this weed represented me, while the concrete represented everyone in my life telling me how to live.

I think it's terrible that we live in a world where a girl can't cry while looking at a weed in the sidewalk that represents her entire existence without someone walking by her and calling her an emo kid. For the last time world, I am not a soup can. I don't need your petty labels. Soup cans don't have feelings.

After my walk, I put on my Clandestine Industries hoodie (it's like a portable hug from Pete Wentz) and took my iPod outside with me. The stars were so clear tonight, like a million bits of broken glass scattered on wet pavement. There were so many of them ... almost as many as there were pieces of my heart after my breakup with Evan. It just hurts me so much to think about him. I was certain that we were made for each other. We met at a Fall Out Boy concert after all, and that MEANS something.

I fell in love with him that night when I saw him moshing to "Grand Theft Autumn/Where is your Boy." AND he owns their first album (Evening Out With Your Girlfriend, not Take This To Your Grave, even if they like to deny making EOWYG), which means he likes them before they were on the radio, which means he's a legit fan and not a bandwagon rider. Plus he knows Pete Wentz's full name and totally supports his marriage to Ashlee Simpson because he believes that if Pete is happy that's all that matters. Do you know how hard it is to find a real Fall Out Boy fan like that? Almost as hard as not crying while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's "What Sarah Said."

It's been a rough day. I need to go take some pictures for my MySpace, write a poem or two, and go to sleep. Dreams of Pete Wentz and William Beckett await me.

-xoxo Lily Lullaby