Haha!! i luv it. i luv the way u write and the way ur so sarcastic. ur voice is, lik, poisonous. really great.

That is really interesting and well written.

Incrdible. I know it's a real journal entry but all the same.... it sounds sooo natural! The words flow so perfectly... gracefully. I LOVE it! Great job! Keep Writing!

Amazing. Love it. GAH IT'S AWESOME. So raw, and effortless with wording that is insurmountably clever and cunning. I think we'd get along pretty darn well, you seem like a cool chick. lol.

this is absolutely amazing. one of my favorite pieces on TeenInk. I can't even express how much I love this piece. Oh, and that guy probably is too stupid to realize how amazing you are don't worry! amazing job!=]

This is lovely. It's fresh, and interesting, a different look. I love it!

this is beautiful. ive never read anything as intresting as that

Hi all :) Thank you for all of the constructive feedback! I'd just like to ask that if you're going to give my articles low ratings (continuously...) PLEASE please leave critique of some sort so that I can know what it is you don't like about it :)

i second this. :) great job.

"The Color of The Inside of my Mouth" is creative, beautiful, heartbreaking, and honest. I admire the way you captured a moment as thus, and I feel that you have potential as a writer meant to teach and entertain. Ah, there is an overwhelming amount of female writers! Who will represent my gender, the gentlemen? Love, I truly like the story. Good luck! -DEMON Age:17

What does the lovely audience think? -DEMON AGE:17
"Runaway" An excerpt
Darkness descended until the neon lights reflected elusive colors into the slick shadows of the wet street. Rain slid down my guant features, and I grinned wryly as I played with the strings of my acoustic guitar rhythmically. I tilted my face towards the polluted skies, and leaned the contours of my thin body against the brick wall. The city, empty and barren, shunned my existence.
People, clad in coats meant for the brittle cold, skirted past my hollow guitar case without a sympathetic glance. Figures beneath umbrellas hastened past without revealing their faces. I closed my eyes and wondered vaguely if people without hearts lacked faces.
"I need change," I whispered brokenly. The kind of change that would unmask the facade that people portrayed. The kind of change that would uncover the delusions people harbored. The kind of change that would grant actual change for food, shelter, warmth - without contempt.
My senses had become peculiarly aware since my wandering. I heard the resounding arrival of an enemy common to the nomad. I sighed, and fought the demonic urge to carve a wicked, ironic grin across my face.
My dark indigo irises mirrored sorrow to please the outraged police officer.
"Punk, get the hell off my streets!" He shouted, a pitiful vision of what is known as authority.
He snatched the traditional cardboard sign of the vagrant from the sidewalk, and ripped it until it represented nothing. Scrawled in unattractive black, my words had been, "Just because you look away doesn't mean I'm not here."
"Don't you come back, boy."
"Yes, sir." I snapped a salute, and knit my eyebrows sternly.
He reached for his gun, I suppose, to frighten me.
"I better not see you around here anymore. You got that, you dirty bum?"
"Of course, sir."
My rebellious nature flickered dangerously, and the sense of anarchy burned into my veins greedily. I turned away from the fuming man, and gathered all I had in the world: a ruined guitar case, a guitar, and three dollars.
"Hey!" He yelled as I was sauntering away,"Hey, scum. How the hell old are you?"
I straightened, and lifted my chin. I suppose that my ragged clothes, the dark circles beneath my eyes, the alabaster skin ravaged by the elements, the black hair plastered to my skull by the rain, and the lean state of my body implied that I could not possibly be human.
I growled, and he stumbled back as I hissed defiantly, "I'm seventeen."
He smiled, and leaned back like I had given him a reason to breathe. In a voice like the sewer dripping, he lolled, "That makes you a runaway, boy."
I smiled, my lips curling in a devious way.
"Yes, I suppose it does."
And I ran.

Wow I really love this! My favorite part is the 'I most definetely am not crying about some stupid XY'.

Keep writing! :]

Okay, that was just great! I went through the same situation with a guy-friend that I really liked but he turned me down for a girl who should be advertising for Wal-Mart's makeup section, because she practically owns it.

I bought the $0.99 Eyeliner. I wore it twice and never wore it again. I'd like to tell the girls who spend $100 on make up who end up looking like a clown.. that I feel sorry for them. To wear so much make up to feel your pretty is sad. It depresses me. Make Up is like making up that your something your really not.

i loved this its so awesome. so true :]

i know how you feel,guys can be 100% heartless.

That was really great! You should post more of those journal entries. Very funny and extremely well written. I would love to read more.

This is so amazing.

It's an interesting way to write in your journal.

You are definitely going to be big one day.

I love it.

I love that this is a diary exert. I can really see your true feelings in here. It's very real.

I don't think people share enough about what they really think and feel about stuff that nobody else thinks about. They sugar-coat things and act like they aren't what they are. People just don't want to be seen as uncool. My favorite thing to rave about is the 'cool factor' as I put it. Anyhow, great job.