Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Bury Me in Black
Disclaimer: I don't plagiarize. If this story bears a resemblance to anyone else's, sorry. Some quotes in the story unknowingly provided by my mother. Also- I don't believe in labels. I used emo in this story as a label for the purposes of the story. If you're offended, don't read it. That's all I have to say.
This story is dedicated to all the people who read and don't review. I'm not trying to offend anyone again. We're all guilty for so many reasons. Me as well.
I'm a semi-obsessed My Chemical Romance fan. Why semi, you ask? Well, I don't want to be seen as one of those horrible preppy girls who swarm the band at Starbucks, mocha frappuchinos in hand, just because Gerard is, "like, ohmygod!!!! Soooooo hott!!!!!!" and don't even listen to their music or understand what the songs mean.
Me? I'm 17, just graduated high school and your average emo kid, labeled that way by the preps at school. I'm quiet but opinionated when I want to be, serious and a good writer, songs and stories. I have long (dyed) black hair with purple tips, three piercings in each ear and an illegal tattoo. I am probably a future alcoholic. I'm the kind of girl that sits in the back in all my classes at school and either doodles, writes random crap songs or sleep. And I mean literally sleep. I cut school to smoke in the parking lot and I scribble in silver sharpie all over my black converse. I wear black jeans and my favorite black jacket all the time.
Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not one of those stupid people who go around moaning how horrible their life is and how they want to die. Really, I'm my own best friend. I would never dream of cutting myself, ever! I also feel an intense need to set anyone straight (aka scream at them until my lungs give out) who thinks I'm one of those weirdos from "The Emo Song", courtesy of, of course, Youtube.
I daydream about Gerard Way. Meeting him, talking to him, even colliding with him. I'm the kind of obsessed MCR fan that if you said "goodnight," the words popping into my head first would be Helena: "Things are better if I stay, so long and goodnight, so long and goodnight." My entire iPod is alternative rock and I know every line to every MCR song ever written. Yep, I'm obsessed. Not even close to semi. My crush for two years has been Gerard Way, and I cheered when he dyed his hair back to black. There is this guy, though. At school. His name is Justin. Like most of us weird emo kids, he has no friends. I would like him- ok, a lot, if Gerard didn't exist. On the plus side, I think Justin likes me too. I know you probably think I'm an idiot: "Go out with him! Gerard isn't even a possibility!" but, well, I can dream.
Weirder than my appearance, though, is my family life. My mom was the Type A preppy girl. Guess who was the captain of the cheerleading team, dyed her hair blonde in fifth grade, and dated the captain of the football team, all while managing her evil, snobby clique who would be the exact type to pick on kids like me? My mom. She was extremely disappointed when I turned out to be nothing like her. Despite loading my closet with tons of frilly, puffy crap that made me look like an unappetizing birthday cake, I ended up buying myself black shirts with skulls secretly at Target and hoarding enough money to buy myself Converse at 12 and dying my hair black at 13. I remember at a party I went to wearing skinny black jeans and my favorite skull t-shirt that read "Love and Peace", my mom telling the hostess. "She's really a nice girl. Just going through a well, dark phase." Sometimes I think my mom made me rebel and love being like I am. Sometimes I really don't.
My story all starts in the first few days of a sweltering hot California summer, when I realized something had to change. When I realized I had to at least reach for the stars even if I didn't quite touch them. Realized that, even after all these years of being a rebel, I had to be me.
Keep reading, it'll get good!
This story is dedicated to all the people who read and don't review. I'm not trying to offend anyone again. We're all guilty for so many reasons. Me as well.
I'm a semi-obsessed My Chemical Romance fan. Why semi, you ask? Well, I don't want to be seen as one of those horrible preppy girls who swarm the band at Starbucks, mocha frappuchinos in hand, just because Gerard is, "like, ohmygod!!!! Soooooo hott!!!!!!" and don't even listen to their music or understand what the songs mean.
Me? I'm 17, just graduated high school and your average emo kid, labeled that way by the preps at school. I'm quiet but opinionated when I want to be, serious and a good writer, songs and stories. I have long (dyed) black hair with purple tips, three piercings in each ear and an illegal tattoo. I am probably a future alcoholic. I'm the kind of girl that sits in the back in all my classes at school and either doodles, writes random crap songs or sleep. And I mean literally sleep. I cut school to smoke in the parking lot and I scribble in silver sharpie all over my black converse. I wear black jeans and my favorite black jacket all the time.
Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not one of those stupid people who go around moaning how horrible their life is and how they want to die. Really, I'm my own best friend. I would never dream of cutting myself, ever! I also feel an intense need to set anyone straight (aka scream at them until my lungs give out) who thinks I'm one of those weirdos from "The Emo Song", courtesy of, of course, Youtube.
I daydream about Gerard Way. Meeting him, talking to him, even colliding with him. I'm the kind of obsessed MCR fan that if you said "goodnight," the words popping into my head first would be Helena: "Things are better if I stay, so long and goodnight, so long and goodnight." My entire iPod is alternative rock and I know every line to every MCR song ever written. Yep, I'm obsessed. Not even close to semi. My crush for two years has been Gerard Way, and I cheered when he dyed his hair back to black. There is this guy, though. At school. His name is Justin. Like most of us weird emo kids, he has no friends. I would like him- ok, a lot, if Gerard didn't exist. On the plus side, I think Justin likes me too. I know you probably think I'm an idiot: "Go out with him! Gerard isn't even a possibility!" but, well, I can dream.
Weirder than my appearance, though, is my family life. My mom was the Type A preppy girl. Guess who was the captain of the cheerleading team, dyed her hair blonde in fifth grade, and dated the captain of the football team, all while managing her evil, snobby clique who would be the exact type to pick on kids like me? My mom. She was extremely disappointed when I turned out to be nothing like her. Despite loading my closet with tons of frilly, puffy crap that made me look like an unappetizing birthday cake, I ended up buying myself black shirts with skulls secretly at Target and hoarding enough money to buy myself Converse at 12 and dying my hair black at 13. I remember at a party I went to wearing skinny black jeans and my favorite skull t-shirt that read "Love and Peace", my mom telling the hostess. "She's really a nice girl. Just going through a well, dark phase." Sometimes I think my mom made me rebel and love being like I am. Sometimes I really don't.
My story all starts in the first few days of a sweltering hot California summer, when I realized something had to change. When I realized I had to at least reach for the stars even if I didn't quite touch them. Realized that, even after all these years of being a rebel, I had to be me.
Keep reading, it'll get good!
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