I am beautiful
My skin is clear and pale
With a rosy ting on
My cheeks, my lips
Are full and pink and
My eyes are mesmerizing
My hair is a mass
Of soft bobbing curls
My body curved and
A slight prominence
Of my cheekbones
Accents my face.

And I feel guilty
For feeling whole
As my body approaches
The image in my head
Which is
Coincidently, closer
To social norms
Than I will ever be.

They talk about
Each other's smell but
The one with the most
Distinct smell cannot
Do so herself, she can
Never know how good
She smells, how much
Like her, just like she
Refuses to understand
How amazing she is
Although everyone else
Can see it.

I dive headfirst                              
Into a wonderland
                     Of my own making
Into the wishful thinking
                                                                  That is its creator
                                    Cutting and sticking
Pieces of my life
                                     Until they envelope me
                                                                      In their being
In my being
                          And I am surrounded
Unable to escape
                                                            Myself, the place from which
All try to constantly
                                                                        Escape, I am trapped
                        In the whole I dug,
And fell through, into
                                                                              Wonderland, I
   Am my own wonderland
                                       And I have made a choice
                                                                 To enter and come out
Sane.

You have one song, which is more
Than just another song to you, which
Makes you whole inside and this song
Might not always be the same one but
At every point you have this song that
You feel fulfills you, and you will listen
To it again and again and again, but I
Am not satisfied by merely listening, I
Will have to master it, to understand it
Fully, every word and every note, to be
Able to channel this song, through my
Fingers and onto the strings, perfectly
Until the strings all vibrate endlessly
Go blurry before my vision and I play
No longer by sight but by repetition
My fingers flying off their own accord,
'till I play not with my brain but with my
Heart and my soul and some desperate
Animal instinct to hold on to something.

On the train ride home
I remember the last few hours
That I spent at the place where my friend lives.

On the bus towards my house
I ache for the feeling of them I just had
At the house of my friends.

Walking towards the place where I live with my family
I feel as if I am getting further away
From home.

His* hands
Knobbly and callused
Either very warm
Or very cold
He was always prone
To extremities.

His hands
Big and enveloping
Either on his keyboard
Or his guitar
But always there
When I need them.

They are my float
And my anchor
Respectively.

I let my mind get
Carried away
And suddenly
There are three cups of water
Standing on the table
But only me
To be accounted for.

I am impassive
I comb my hair
Which has more tangles than usual
I put on a shirt
Torn and as green
As my eyes are
I got up
Too quickly
The world is spinning
And bright spots
Dance in front of my vision
My heart is beating
Hard and loud
In my back
And my chest
And between my ears
These are not metaphors
Or a description of my feelings
These are facts and I
Am impassive.

They were tired and wore
Matching jumpers and I
Wanted to be with them.

He is always so gentle
But left me with
His fingernail embedded
In my neck
And a bruise on
My left arm.

I was going to write
A poem about how
I find it ironic
But this just sounds a lot
Like I am in
An abusive relationship.

I am not,
I swear.
But that's not convincing
Is it?

We were
Just playing.
Not doing the job,
Either.

He apologized profoundly-
Doesn't matter.

He is my best friend-
Even worse.

I will just stop
Digging this whole
It doesn't matter
Anyway,
Isn't this
Ironic?