"So tonight I decided that everyday I'd try and write one thing people don't know about me.

It's hard for me to remember my past, so I associate different songs for different memories. Kisses Over Babylon by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros played when I was on my way to confront him that day. It fueled my rage and I remember feeling the surge of adrenaline as my heart picked up pace. Shark Attack by Grouplove played when I had my first magical, starstruck kiss. And Wake Up by Arcade Fire played when I realized I was in love for the first time.

It's extremely easy for me to memorize lines, lyrics, stories, just about anything. I still remember my lines from my first play 5 years ago.

I'm afraid of drowning. I even dislike drinking tall glasses of water or take giant gulps.

I've read more books than I've seen movies! My favorite book is Speak by Laurie Anderson. (Fav. movie is Requiem for a Dream)

Ever since it happened I've felt like I'm always performing. Always putting on a face and that I must always be this perfect, bright, happy, and outgoing girl. Like it would be a sin for me not to smile. I feel if I'm not acting happy and **** and smart and outgoing and cute and funny that they are winning. That the person/people who did everything they could to tare me apart are laughing at my weakness and lack of confidence.

I have depression.

I'm very empathetic, but sad to say, I rarely feel sympathy for someone.

I love a lot more people than I should. That tends to come back to hurt me.

I'm constantly craving food but I have to make myself eat.

I never intended on posting this.. but I'm going to."

Have you ever wanted to just jump into another's life?
You see someone on the street smiling, holding hands, kissing the one they love
You push them out and take their place
Filling their life as your own.
And for a couple days you're completely hopeful and confident in your new life.

But suddenly you see
Their life isn't as beautiful and full as it seemed.
Because behind the smiles and kisses the truth lies
The truth that no one's life is perfect and everyone has secrets
They keep hidden in their minds.

Secrets that consume them at night and send them in a swirl
Secrets that
Scratch their skin
Burn their brains
Bite their lips
Pull their hair
Slam their fists.

Sometimes I think,
That my insomnia,
Is because
I'm so
Excited to
Be Alive.

I think
If I drift off,
For just
One second:
The world
Will stop turning,
Trees will stop breathing,
Tides won't turn,
Peace could happen,
And worst of all you might stop loving me.

Temporary fixes
Is all I've ever looked for.
A little something to take the edge away
A little something to make me forget
A little something to make everything okay
But it never lasts
This temporary fix of mine.
It's prescribed for my head
But never for my heart.
I keep wanting more and more
Because more and more
Just piles up
With
Each
Passing
Day.
This place I call home isn't the safe haven
I've grown up in anymore.
The endless laughter and smiles
Can't cover up the pain I dig into.
My precious notebook and pen
Can't scratch out reality.
Things have changed,
And I just want to get away.
But the more I've tried,
The more I've been denied.
It doesn't work.
It doesn't work.
The pain can be buried,
But uncovered once again.
The cuts might not bleed,
But they've left a scar.
There has to be something more than
This-
Than this temporary fix.

The diverse assortment of enrapturing conviction
Is but cacophony to most other than me,
Discord to the passionate,
Defending concepts they find true
Clamor to the indifferent,
Those value peace and human happiness
Above factual correctness
For years they’ve all, with incessant attempts
Given their utmost to indoctrinate me,
The most easily swayed of all—
But I’ve found in the rupturing of the fervent,
All ideology, ethic, doctrine,
And in the serenity of the agreeably pacific
I’ve found faith, hope—I’m sure that’s my own,
Art is by no means meaningless, I find,
Especially so when inherent by human ability
And ascribed to this lyrical poem I’ve crafted
Consisting of what I, by my means, find true
Diverse conviction is beautiful.

I think poetry is for the dependent
Those who can't strive a day without
Constant writing, perpetual recording, meticulous brushstrokes
On the painting of a vibrant story
Told through heavy language or light yet elegant babble

Or perhaps it's truly for the lost
Those lacerated and devastated
By life's inevitable nature,
The deviously maleficent,
Or even their own bewildered selves.

Still, I look back
At the days of unbecoming
Horrible ignorance and unprecedented knowledge
Proverbial wisdom and undiscerning youthfulness...
When life was a default wonder.

Poetry had not been my guide
Without a pillar I trudged on.
Yet! What a horrific period of life!
Oh, if only then I had the mystical treasure
Of which I certainly possess now

I think poetry is for all who appreciate it--
If not, then those who take from it,
The insecure, shameful, resentful, narcissistic, far off, logical, illogical, confounded, missing, gothic, dying, feral, lonely, creative, incapable, hopeful, and dead
It's our universal language
In times of hope or death