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My sadness is mediocre
My words are bland
The thoughts I think were thought before me, I don't understand.
I don't understand why I feel the way I do
But that's supposed to be okay because neither do you..
or you,
...or you.

I'm sorry but I don't want to be like you, though.
I don't want to be a piece of the pie.
I want to be the pan that the pie shapes itself after.
I want to be a blade, a shepherd, and an imprint in time.

My hair is curly, brown, with bronze streaks.
My mood is fairly down with sullen words my world sinks.
Her hair was dark, eyes containing broken earth and lullabies.
My love was true, the only thing not mediocre and that isn't a lie.

Let's dance on a table in a diner full of orphans, and try not to be slaves
to our loneliness.
...Do you love me?
Yes.
...Oh, okay.

Sometimes I want to die so ******* badly, it's hilarious.
I can't **** myself in case she comes back. How amazing.
I can't cut myself because I don't want to scar my flesh because if I do
it may decrease my chances of getting her back.
Even my motivation is mediocre, and my tolerance so strong it could be
mistaken as pathetic.

Put me in a silver chair from across the room she'll stare. My love will go nowhere and I swear to God we are eternal. And you and I infinite, and the world is the wind behind our feet as we run into the inaudible where the world is mute and where our love is loud, in and on my lips you trace the words you did imprint and from lightning you strike the lettered indents you did or did not meant. I cannot decide.

My mouth tastes of chocolate milk, 1993, and 1996.

Insomnia stains my eyes. I can't go to sleep because I see you.

That was so mediocre.
If we are to ever fall in love, remember these things. Remember the things that make me laugh the most as I will need it when I am grumpy and in a bad mood, i have a love for bad jokes and anything ******* related, it is noted that I have the sense of humor relevant to a  12 year old boy. I was 12 years old when I first learned how to hate my own body. I mastered the art of dissonance while simultaneously shredding any sense of self worth from my paper skin, I was taught that I was not and never would be good enough. To this day, I still don't feel whole. Thats not to say I never will, I am constantly growing and learning to love my whole being. Still, when you tell me that I am pretty, or beautiful, when I am in your arms and you tell me that I have a perfect body and a loving soul, a part of me will not believe it. When you compliment me, I will lay there silent, not because I don't want to accept it, but because I truly don't know how. How you could possibly love something that has been broken so many times before, I will constantly second guess myself unable to believe that you are somehow capable of loving something as ******* up as me. I am always trying to ***** into place all of the pieces that define me, always checking to make sure that the glue i've used to put myself back together is still holding. Holding me in your arms will always be calming to me. I could be jumping out of my body but the moment that you rest your hands around me, I will fall quiet. If you remember anything, remember that touch is the one thing that can speak to me when nothing else can. Use your fingers to form words on my skin and your palms to send heat to the arctic places of my trembling frame. I am always trembling. But I am not nervous, rather calm with a disorder that causes my nerves to constantly spell out fear as if I am afraid. if I am afraid, I will not show it. I will hold it in because I was told at a young age that vulnerability is synonymous with weakness. But that is not always the case. The strongest moments I have are when I am face forward, naked soul, and crying. If you get the chance to see me cry, you are special. Remember that you are special. Remember that I can be happy too. Remember that even in the darkest of storms, the sun still lives on. Only in rain can we truly learn to admire clarity. I will be your clarity. When your vision is blurred and your ability to see is hazy, know that I will guide you through any fog that you encounter. I will not surrender until you force me to and even then I will refuse to give up. Astrology has told me that i am hard headed and strong willed. And ******* its true. I will walk to the ends of the earth for you before I give in, remember this. Remember that in my book, love is the biggest chapter, one that is constantly being scratched out and rewritten. Love is the part of my story that I have yet to figure out whether or not will ever be finished. Remember that I remember things far too well to ever forget you. I will not forget you. I will love you. Sacrifice my limbs to worshipping every part of you. I may not do what most lovers do. But most lovers don't remember the details. And the details make me who I am. So love my details, my imperfections, my lines, my freckles, love me like the way the stars admire the moons ability to be elusive. I am elusive, obsolescent, and desolated, yet I am free. But i can only be your moon if you let me. So please, let me be, your moon.

— The End —