I feel like glass
No that's wrong because you can still see reflections in glass
I feel like air
No that's wrong because you can still see light through air
I feel like words
No that's also wrong because you can at least hear words when they are spoken
I guess that I am vacuum because when you look at me it's like nothing is here
I dot blame you directly for that I blame him
Yes your boyfriend if that's what you want to call him
From this point in I'm going to call him your keeper
Because although you feel he loves you
last night the things I saw were not love but anger in his eyes and fear in yours
As I resisted the gut wrenching feeling to express to his face the emotions that flowed through me I held back in contempt
I held back to protect you from being hurt that I would do such a thing to him and keep him from bitching and complaining to you
Now I may not understand love
But I have a pretty good idea and when I can be told from the other side of the country by the last person in the world I woul expect to say this
That he does not love you but rather loves the feeling of controlling you for him it is like a drug he gets that high when he knows that you do what he wishes
He gets a high from knowing that even when he fucks up that you will forgive him in the morning an not because he deserves it but because you fear him leaving
I understand that you love him but his love for you faded long ago for him now it's just empty words he says to keep you on his hook
The way I look at you is in fear that I may never show you what love really is and that you will be stuck listening to his twisting words as he continues to control your life
That shouldn't be my problem but it is because I love you and I fear for when he lets go
A man very close to me once told me that a man who controls a woman's life is no real man and that a man who allows her to live her how she wants and is still there for her is the man she truly deserves
Now I'm not saying I'm better than him
But I am saying that he controls you I've seen it your friends have seen it your parents have seen but we all kept quiet trying not hurt you but I believe know because he has left that although this may hurt to read that it is time someone showed you the difference without him being able to twist it
I believe that now is the time when you must wake up and realize that he does not love you but loves controlling you
I hope you realize that he's just trying to be your
I will forever love you MLG
She spent her whole life dreaming. Everything and everyone she encountered told her
to stop. “It’s a waste of time” “It’s not healthy” “Grow up” they’d say. And eventually she
started to believe the things people said. She wanted big things - for herself and for
others, but it didn’t take long for her to realize the importance of settling. It made things
easier and she had the tendency to complicate them without even trying. She felt
isolated from the world just outside her door but she didn’t know how to change that or if
she even wanted to. The best things in life tend to waste away after a matter of
moments. They pass away as if they’d never existed. Maybe she’d imagined them all.
She began to condition herself to expect disappointment. It worked for a little while, but
hard as she tried to shield herself from the pains of everyday life - the bullet always
seem to ﬁnd her. It always came, without fail and pierced her heart with little regard for
the repercussions. She longed for the day she would be good enough for the people
she loved. Maybe you had to earn it, and she hadn’t yet collected enough gold stars to
pick out of the treasure box.
I'm falling away,
you say "I still love you"
yet, I don't know if I believe that.
My scars are never fading,
and you tell me that it's fine,
but I can't face my own reflection.
It's hard to remain happy,
because I can't feel a thing,
your touch no longer phases me.
Then you say
"You're not trying hard enough"
but that's not true,
I'm not even trying anymore.
After a sleepless night
Of thunderstorms and shrieking winds;
Now this clear dawn, the empty roads,
This sleeping world:
The orange ball rises, shyly,
Turning the snow-white peaks red,
Lighting the green valley
That lies ripe with yellow mustard.
That such loveliness exists.
I am greedy.
I have this strange yearning
For an off-season mango,
And your presence;
The mango months
Are half a year away,
And you and I
Are forever split by the bounds
Of customs and propriety.
But this is a make believe world.
I find you by my side,
Laughing at my mango fondness;
You ask me, sleepy eyed,
If I too find such dawns lovely:
I answer, tongue-in cheek,
With a warm smile,
I hope that you believe me,
for I wouldn’t tell a lie.
I cannot turn my science homework in
and this is why:
I messed up the assignment
that you gave us yesterday.
It burbled from its test tube
and went slithering away.
It wriggled off the table,
and it landed with a splat,
convulsed across my bedroom floor
and terrorized the cat.
It shambled down the staircase
with a horrid glorping noise.
It wobbled to the family room
and gobbled all my toys.
It tumbled to the kitchen
and digested every plate.
That slimy blob enlarged
with every item that it ate.
It writhed around the living room,
digesting lamps and chairs,
then snuck up on our napping dog
and caught him unaware.
I came to school upset today.
My head’s in such a fog.
But this is my excuse:
You see, my homework ate my dog.
I have this ache, Doctor. And so far, no amount of drugs or drink have been able to cure it. Where does it hurt, you ask? Why right here, Doctor. Right here in my chest. It started feeling odd when I saw HER for the first time. It was a Thursday; August eighteenth of two thousand eleven I believe. I remember her perfectly, for I had not, and have not, seen anybody more beautiful in my life. Her auburn hair was streaked with red and waterfalled perfectly over her delicate shoulders, that were on that day cloaked in a blue jacket. Her long graceful fingers bloomed from slender palms and were crowned with an elegant black nail polish with a cracked silver finish. To this day, I have never so much as imagined anybody more perfect than her. So what's my problem? Well Doctor, she hates me. I can see it glint in her dark eyes every time she looks at me. Why is this? Why I have not the slightest idea. All I have ever been was polite to her. All I have ever been was kind. When she shivers I give her my jacket, regardless of how cold I am at the time. When she is hungry, I use my last dime to feed her. I do everything in my power to make her happy, make her laugh when pain adds weight to her shoulders. But I guess it just wasn't enough in the end. What do you prescribe, did you say? An entire bottle of pain pills and a slash down each wrist? That sounds about right. Thank you, my dear Doctor.
I ask you…
Am I that spirit that pierces your soul
Am I that person that needs your soul
Am I despondent, am I aggressive
Do I feel you and fulfill your needs
Am I the consummate professional
Am I the poker faced, poker player
The captain or first mate of the ship
Am I the entertainer
I am who you believe I am
Please tell me
Who am I?
Oh to know the
mysteries of Jesus
Christ, the way
he lived, the way he died. All along with me
in mind, the greatest mystery of Jesus Christ
is what it is he
sees in me, not
my here and
now but my
I can do expect
to believe. That
is the greatest mystery
...on this Saturday afternoon there is a street fair in Greenwich,
You step off the 1 train at Christopher Street station and all along 7th Avenue,
the little sidestreets, Bowery, Commerce, give me that old Dutch sensibility
Street vendors and street people eating, laughing, trying on five dollar leather clogs
On a day that is slightly drizzling, we pause to consider the trees
In a flash I understand the world you come from when you say you normally stay on the East side of Lower Manhattan, you start counting the colors on the street and ask where all the Spanish people at?
there is this reversal, a turnaround, a recognition in me that binds me to you, when I realize you can teach me how to be young and dance with my hips, when I know that you can give me what I've craved for so long, freedom-the opportunity to face all my fears- and the chance to be a wild thing. I am nineteen, for the love of God, and I never got the chance to rage and abandon all cerebral intelligence and just live in the realm of the senses! But for now, I'll settle for to know myself better and to live without apology-but of course, there is a certain fear with taking that step and giving all of myself to you.
Yet I find myself considering it as we walked with your arm around my shoulders and my hands on an eight dollar bag of Swedish candy. I know you know the effect you have on people, other women especially, I see the way they eat you up with their eyes. But then again I'm only beginning to notice the same kind of attention from men as I walk down the street-though I owe that to you too, giving me enough confidence in my body-to sway a little bit more.
And the fact that you repeat thoughts and ideas that have been constantly looping in my own mind makes me believe we are on the same wavelength. Like when the lights suddenly flickered off on the train and you glanced up at me and said how much you love it when that happens? Goddamn, it sent my head spinning.
And now we are together, supposedly. But of course I always keep in the back of my mind the possibility that everything you are is a lie and you could wake up one day and say I don't want you anymore and just walk out my life with both hands in your pockets.
If that happened now, I could say fuck you and move on.
But if I love you the way I want to love you and the way I long to be loved, all of that mind body spirit crap, a piece of me would just break and float away forever.
I guess that's a risk I might have to take one day, and I find myself considering it as we race each other to get burritos and later on I flick some water in your face and you just stare at me with a faint smile on your lips. So, at this moment, I am too much with you. It scares me when I think of what I might feel for you, and so I am on the edge of a precipice here-wondering whether or not to run with you.
I who have nothing.
I who have no one.
Adore you and want you so.
I'm just a no one with nothing to
Give you but oh. I love you.
He. He buys you diamonds.
Bright sparkling diamonds.
But believe me, hear when I say
That he can give you the world
but he'll never love you the way
I love you
fifteen year old heart had ever heard. A cover done by the great Jamaican singer John Jones.