whats there to love??

what do you love?
what would you die for?
i would die for you
you wouldnt for me
whats there to love
when there is all this hate,
boiling inside me
you caused it
you wanted me to cower and cry
not today there was never anything to love about you
i was stupid to feel for you
want to see you
hold you and
kiss you
what is there to love of a person?
there looks?
which eventually fade
and die away
is it there attitude?
which changes radiclly
is it there heart
that can shut you out in a mintue
there is nothing but trust
but even then could be broken
i loved and have been loved
but sometimes love doesnt stay long
who needs love?
i do
where do you find it?
who nows and now
who cares
people sit in the dark pretending theres love
let them do what they want
we will always know whats to love...
nothing and who cares!
ask your self... whats to love?

story in the works

when i was a little girl my father told me i should follow my dreams regardless the cost, if only i really knew what he was talking about. He wanted me to go to school, become some big fancy laywer or doctor. A "somebody" he liked to call it. Well that just wasnt for me i was a rebellious teenage girl by the name of lola stepper. i craved attention and danger, the thrills of life. how could i help it i was 16. i was pretty (or so the boys told me), and fun. well my fantasies in life were to travel and meet people, to get to that place in life where i automatically knew was where i belonged. i loved the fast lane.
Well to say the least my father hated my lifestyle choice and fantasies, my grades were slipping and not everyone loved me where we lived so dad jumped at the opportunity when it came to move with his work,(he worked in selling computer programming software). imagine my suprise when he told me we were moving from the bright and sunny Florida to the wet and dreary Oregon. He told me "it was a good opportunity to meet new people." Which on one hand was true, plus i did like to travel, but had no say in the matter!
it all happened so fast i dont even remember the plane ride. next thing i knew we were driving up to this little house with light green walls and a dark blue door with a pickett fence and beat up tin mailbox. This was to be called home, on a street named OceanEnd ave. the neighborhood was decent, only the fact was we didnt have to many teenagers living on the block as far as a could tell. but plenty of little kids, at least that means i have a good summer job lined up (that is counting i havent ran away by then).
I got to live upstairs in the attic of a 3 bedroom house. my dad George got to sleep in the room next to the kitchenette plus living room, then upstairs we had the guest room (which i found dumb we didnt even have any friends).