Two pieces in the entirety of the world
     exist as separate parts of a single soul.
Together each portion that we are
     brings a clarity previously grasped for.
I taste you in the very air around me,
Sense your presence as it crowds mine,
And though we must eventually part,
know that we,
     the two moieties,
     exist in one rhythm.

I'm sad,
and no, I don't want to talk it out
because there's nothing you can do about it.
It's a sad sad,
the kind that permeates,
stays and repeats things in my mind
until it confiscates every vestige of peace.
I'm sad,
and no, I'd rather not discuss it,
because there's nothing you can do to fix it.

"Make a wish," he says,
"you get a wish on your birthday."

"Anything I want?" she asks...

"Anything," he promises,
          not realizing
          he's already made all her dreams
                    come true.

My biggest fear has nothing to do
     with monsters, the dark, death,
     or any of those usual frights.
No, my most intense scare comes
     from the anticipation that one day
     you may see me the same way
     I see myself.
For you see I'm not the girl that guys
     conjure up in their daydreams.
I could never hope to pass as one
     of those flitty girly-girls who know
     of quizzical things such as
               make-up
               cute hairstyles
               or fashion.
My blemishes show, and honestly
     I haven't a clue how to hide them
     anyway.
I look at braided hair, beachy waves,
     and effortless updos with envy
     My hair has two styles: up or down.
I've never in my life looked casually cute,
     and am obviously uncomfortable
     in a dress.  Please just pass me
     my jeans and t-shirt back,
     I'm much more myself in them.
     How does one even walk in heels?
I'd like to think I'm one of those
     "cool" girls that guys claim
     they love, the low-maintenance
     type chick, but I don't think
     I'm "cool" at all, really.
When guys describe those chicks,
     they do things like
               play video games
               quote Star Wars
               read comic books
     like some ideal gorgeous geek.
Well that's **** sure not me either.
     I **** at video games,
     love Star Wars, but
     I'm terrible with movie references,
     and have never read comics.
     Does manga count?
     I'm kind of starting to get into that...
I'm not the nerd's epitome of perfection
     either, the everyman's ideal.
So what am I? I'm just boring,
     little ole me.
I love to read, and would rather
     spend the night reading
     or watching something than go out.
I'm shy and self-conscious to a fault,
     so don't try bringing me around
     friends, I'll just bring you down.
Honestly, I'm basically a child. I love
               Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
               Gargoyles
               Tom & Jerry
               Animaniacs
     and cartoons in general.
I'm quiet and contemplative, often caught
     writing in my notebook,
     detailing my observations
     about the world around me.
I have a ***** mind and a messed-up
     sense of humor, giggling
     of the worst times occasionally.
But all in all, I think of myself
     as pretty boring.  Laidback,
     but with the most capricious of moods.
     I'm both low and high maintenance.
I don't know why you think positively
     of me, but I anticipate the day
     you realize I'm really nothing
     special at all.
The day you discover the truth
     I already know all too well.

All the things you've said
     that have struck me down the most
     were said as nonchalant utterances,
     or disguised as whimsy and play.
But those are the ones
     that dig in the most,
     drill into my core
until I'm so ******* and hurt
     I want to spit your venom
     right back at you.
Your words work their way
      slowly through my system,
     steadily poisoning my thoughts.
And it's the worst when I'm alone,
     with only my now-tainted mind
     for company.
Problem is, sometimes
     I feel that same loneliness
     with you right beside me.
So, despite your ardent claims
     to the contrary,
I'm quite unsure of your ability
     to handle my capriciousness
     for the long-term.

What am I supposed to write when I feel nothing at all?  When the letters and words beat at me, begging to be let out, but no poetry falls from my pen? How do I express the feelings when I am quite simply exhausted from their very presence and my mind has become a jumbled numbness? I am unable to express myself and so am stuck with the yearning to create without the ability. I sigh, not liking this mindless haze that is becoming the home of my brain, wishing I could find my way back to my voice.