I'm going to try to be an adult.
I'm going to try to not freak out.
I'm going to try to be smart.
I'm going to try to not miss my mom so much.
I'm going to do this because I can.

I decided to
take
the last few minutes of
sunlight
that was left from this beautiful
day,
and stick it in my
pocket
for ones that aren't so
good.

I think I'm a little crazy,
but I'm not the only one.
My lifestyle is unstable.
Waking up early to go to
work after not having a full
8 hours,
drinking monster,
smoking ****.
Barely eating,
and then when you do
it's fast food.
I can't help but think that
I won't be able to do this
when I'm older.
There's no way that adults
live this way.
But I'm 19.
I'm still young.

Today I took my boyfriend
to apply for jobs,
and while he huddled over
his phone,
tediously filling out his full name
and other important info
about 18 times,
I read.
We were sitting in my car
at the park,
the wind was blowing too cold,
so I didn't get out.
I was glad to see that there
wasn't another person anywhere.
I was happy to be with
Bukowski.

I always knew that 4/20
was a special day.
I woke up two minutes after
he said,
I miss you too.
I have nothing to smoke on
today,
but those words take me higher
than any **** I've ever tried.
Or maybe it's because my
20th birthday is a week from today.
Like an early present I've
been waiting for.

I think he was trying
to ask me how I missed him.
Like, as a friend or something else.
I asked what he meant,
and he steered away from the question.
I was glad he did,
because I wasn't sure how
to answer.
I might have to say both.

I wonder how he misses me.

Waiting is the worst part.

Waiting to clock in,
to clock out,
for a response.
Waiting for pay day,
to sleep,
to smoke a cigarette,
or a bowl.
Waiting for that minute of
happiness during a day that
feels like it's never going to end,
yeah, that's the worst part.

Isn't it funny that I spent
all those months chasing down
every old black BMW
that crossed my path,
hoping to get just a glimpse.
Even though,
I knew where to find you.
But that's because up until
almost a month ago now,
I thought I would never
be able to see you face to face
again.
And maybe at the time,
that was true.
But I'm glad it isn't now.

I can't believe what I just
remembered.
And I can't believe I ever
forgot.
He used to call me wormy,
because I moved around so
much to get comfortable.
I can actually remember
the first time he said it.
I could hear the smile in his
voice as his arms were
wrapped around me.
He was the best at cuddling.
He would stay like that all night.
He said,
"I should start calling you wormy."
I laughed and asked why.
"because, you can never stay still."
I remember telling him I liked it,
and he told me I was weird.
But I could still hear his smile.

For as long as we are together,
I will be happy to say you're mine.
I still fall in love with
your smile,
and the way you kiss me.
I have my doubts.
But you never do.
The other day, as I drove away
down your road,
I couldn't stop crying.
This wasn't what I wanted.
So I turned around.
You were playing basketball,
and you said you loved me.
Later while playing mini golf,
I couldn't even remember what
we were fighting about.

Thank you for being relentless.

Isn't it absurd
that even as I sit here
at the beginning of a poem,
I just pulled out a hair.
I looked at it between my
fingers and then dropped it
onto the bed to be lost forever,
among the rest.

I kept asking him,
"Why aren't you still mad?"
And he kept saying,
"Because I love you and I'm
not going to hold a grudge."

And for some reason that made
me less angry,
and more sad.

Day 9,999 of working
without a day off,
with no appreciation from
my **** job that I haven't called off,
and doing the things no one
else wants to.
I went a whole 13 hours without
pulling out any hair,
but most of that time was when
I was asleep.
I'm amazed I'm not bald
by now.
Sunday will be here soon enough.
Only 4 more days.
But for me,
the hardest part of working
is getting out of the car.
It's been raining non-stop
and there's still a whole week
of it ahead.
And my birthday is in less
than 20 days.
I don't care and no one else will
either.
I will be 20 years old.
That means I've been pulling hair
out of my head for 4 years.
I can't believe it's been that long.

There's nothing like smoking
a blunt on the drive home.
It's fun to share,
but even better to have to
yourself.
Just the road,
music and it.

Oh yeah,
there's that moment of happiness
today.

How come it's always
time to wake up,
go to work.
Pay bills,
fix the car,
and do laundry.
It's never time to
go to bed,
clock out,
smoke a cigarette,
light a joint.

There is never enough time
for the things you enjoy.

I got a compliment
on my hair today.
I'm not telling you because
I'm conceited.
I'm telling you because it
means a lot to me,
considering what I've been
through.
I will never see my hair
as perfect,
but it helps to know that
it's not a complete disaster.

Happy spots are rare to find,
but when you do,
claim them as your own.

I understand that you
may not care or simply just
don't know about
this thing that plagues
me every day.

This uncontrollable addiction
to pull out my hair.

I heard something the other day
that describes it all perfectly.
The anxiety isn't in my head,
it's in my hands.

They are magnets.

I am afraid of what might happen.
What I could do.

I'm getting lost in my
thoughts and my eyes
want to close.
My fault.
I smoked a bowl before
work this morning:
I also cut the palm of my hand
with a knife;
and I hadn't even been at work
an hour.
I didn't say anything.
I don't think it needs stitches.
I need to wake up somehow
before I accidentally **** myself.

If you don't understand
the calm that comes with driving
as the sun starts to peak over the edge
of the earth,
and watching the sky change
colors every minute,
than I suggest that on a day
off work,
wake up early and go get some
breakfast, or coffee.
Smoke a cigarette or a joint,
or both.
Meet the morning people,
they smile more.
See how much more time there
really is in a day.

You will not be disappointed.

I woke up to my alarm;
I had forgotten what time it was
going to go off.
6:10 am.
Oh yeah,
it was time to get ready for work.
So I did just that,
but in under ten minutes.
I'd like to start this day off
in a good way,
with my coffee that is now cold,
listening to music
and smoking a little ****.
I am hoping that good vibes
on this Saturday morning
will help my mind forget how
early it is.

Sitting in the car,
in the parking lot of the local
doctor's office.
Where the odds of you seeing someone
you know, are a sure thing.
I saw my ex-boyfriend's parents
while in the lobby with my current
boyfriend.
The nurse finally called his name
and I went out to my car
because I am impatient and I
know it;
so I avoid that situation.
Slow ride is on the radio,
I've got a cigarette between my
fingers and I have time to waste.
I've already been to work,
and I plan on hitting the bowl
once we're out in the country.
I am content.

I wake up at 9 am,
and slump out of bed.
Shuffle down stairs to the
bathroom and shower.
It takes me around 15 minutes to
blow dry and tame my hair,
before I brush my teeth and
put makeup on.
Smoke a cigarette,
get dressed,
then put my hair up
and savor the time I have before
I have to get in my car and
drive 20 miles to start my 8
hour shift.
But today;
I read.
Charles Bukowski.
The only art form that connects
with me,
and doesn't make me feel
so bad that I don't have it figured out.
But that only lasts 30 minutes,
and now it's time to go to work.

I need to wipe this
smile off my face.
But I can't when it was
created by you.

I did it.
I saw him face to face.
I came over on a Thursday night
around 10:30,
only expecting to buy
some of his **** treats.
He was just as good looking
as I remember,
and just as great as I remember.
He has odd beautiful hair.
Dark brown, shaved down
short on the sides,
a small ponytail on the back,
with bangs.
He has new art on his arms,
and chest,
but he has the same soft eyes.

And those hands.

It was natural and we talked,
and caught up.
It was great to know that
we are still okay.
That we can fall back into that
natural vibe and smile
at each other .

I have no other words
to use than great.
Tonight was a good night.

At this point,
I am just waiting for the
night that can go by
without him even taking up
one second of my dreams.
I know I'm romanticizing
what we had,
but it's hard to forget
when I can't stop mentally
interacting with him.
And it's really
messing me up.

I'm thinking about quitting
my job.
Well then what would you do?
I don't know.
Take a week off,
and get a job at Staffmark
or somewhere else.
I know it's not easy to just find
a job quickly,
but I also know it's not that hard.
I'm just tired of being miserable
every time I have to wake up
and go to this place.
And I'm sick of the miserable people
that I work with.
I know that every time I turn
a corner someone is probably
talking ****.
I'm too old and too tired for that.
But I guess that's what happens
when you work with all women.
I really want to quit my job.

He asked me to buy some
**** edibles from him.
I meant to do it last night,
but I didn't.
But I was going to tonight.
I imagined how it would all
happen.
If he was there I would go to
the ATM,
walk up the steps to the door
and then ask if he was there.
I would probably go inside,
and say hello to everyone
and then tell him I wanted to buy some.
He would sell to me and we would
make small talk,
and everything would be cool.
But I would have done it.
I would have talked to him
face to face for the first time in
a year.
I just wonder how it would feel.
But he wasn't there and that
didn't happen.

Maybe I'm a compulsive liar.
I just lied to my boyfriend
about not being at home already,
because I got off work an hour ago,
and could've come over,
but instead went home.
And then I got caught in my lie,
and talked my way out of it.
And now I feel so guilty,
because I know what he's thinking,
when really I'm just insane.
And I can't say that either because
then he'll wonder what else I've been
hiding.
And if I wasn't actually hiding
something that wouldn't be a problem.
My conscience is too good.
You would think that by now
I wouldn't learned to stop
lying.

I will always feel so
pretentious talking about
this in any form.
But my anxiety really took over
today.
I couldn't focus,
I was hot and cold all day,
I was shakey,
and could not keep my hands
out of my hair.
Today was tough.

If that wasn't meant for me,
than he had the same experience with
someone else.

I should just delete my Facebook

I had a conversation that
really opened my eyes to something
I didn't realize I was missing.
Maybe I really can't forget you
because you never told me
to move on.
The type of connection
I had with you wasn't one
that could just be left unanswered.
You never said to go ahead,
and give up.
So maybe that's why I still have
this question locked away in a box
that I don't open, because it's
too dusty.

Do you still want to be with me?

I look forward to going to
sleep at night,
because that's when you're there.
I can talk to you,
and be with you.
And for, what is probably
only ten minutes of my life,
it feels real and it feels good.
I know it's sad to look forward
to my dreams and live them
as good as real life feels,
but it's the truth.

I guess I just miss you.

You could tell me that you're
not the one I'm looking for,

but you'd be wrong.

Although,
I'm sure that now I'm just another
name; that sometimes;
hardly ever, occasionally, comes up
in a conversation.
And you might think for a second
and,

"Ah! Yeah I know who you mean!"

and a memory of the two of us
might light up in your mind,
but then you'll go right back to
remembering all that time you
spent forgetting about me.

I leave work and come home
to his house.
"He's upstairs."
They tell me.
thanks.
I go up the small stairway,
and open the door to his room.
He turns and says,
"Hey baby. C'mere."
I smile and take off all of my work
clothes, putting on the ones I brought
for today,
and get under the sheets next to him.
And even though I've been up
for eight hours already,
I am tired again,
so comfortable just to feel
him breathe.

"I love you."
*I love you too.

I sit here in discomfort,
and read poetry out loud to
no one,
just because it feels like talking,
to someone.
And I am eating my dinner
of chicken nuggets made in
the convection oven.
Everything is a mess,
he got no help from the hospital,
which was to be expected.
Those doctors in their white coats,
and pink scrubs,
who wear even whiter shoes,
don't care about your pain,
even if you have the money
to waste eight hours of your life
in their useless rooms.
And I am sitting between a rock
and a hard place,
because making life decisions are
going to be the death of me.
Maybe it's because change has
always been the root of everything
that's made me unhappy:
although I know it's unavoidable.
Life changes every day,
even if it's just the weather,
or the length of your hair.
If only someone could teach me
to not be afraid of the one thing
I can't run from in life.

I've been pulling out my hair
faster than I can grow it.
Frustrating isn't even the word
I would use to describe this.
I fear that one day I could wake up
and it will be gone.
I wish I could wake up one day
and it will be fine.
But I know that this is my
mountain to climb,
and even as I sit here twirling
the hair that I never imagined
would be at this length;
around my finger,
I know that one day I'll be
on the other side of this
and wonder how it ever happened.