I wonder how it's like.
To be skinny.
To fit into clothes.
To look pretty.
To wear anything at all,
And yet look nice.
To eat all the junk food you want.
Even my favorite, beans and rice.
Munch out everyday, and be thin.
Go shopping at stores, and also be fit.
I wonder how it's like.
Just for once.
To be skinny, and pretty.
Just for once.

I sometimes think it is unfortunate
That nothing escapes my pen but tales of an unrequited love.
I wish I could write about
Why I have not stepped foot in a church
Since the day I found catharsis in the word "alone",
The first time I truly felt safeguarded
Or the first time the word "divorce" shattered me.
I wish I could describe
The smell of a chilly fall night with crisp air and rain-dampened pavement and how it inaugurates autumn
Or the remorse felt toward a child who let go of his balloon to be left to the mercy of capricious winds on the Fourth of July.
But instead I am stuck incapable of writing anything but run-on sentences about Loss,
Why the burn of whiskey tastes better than that misconception of 'home'
And turning cracked pavement into metaphors about heartbreak.

strings are played in the background,
the lights dimmed,
shadows twirl into fairy tales
and come to life
where I watch
all alone...
you come at me,
offer me a hand and a handsome smile,
i grab it and we do the swing
as i laugh.
giggling i dance the night away,
young and free, for once.

its when,
i feel the most free,
like im a balloon and can now fly away
far far away into the galaxies that await my arrival,
this is when
it disappears.
punched, shooken, everything goes wrong,
guest yell and scream, running away from
me...
he stares at me and backs away from me slowly,
a monster.
i look down.
I have melted off my costume, my mask,
and all thats left
are my scars, the blood,
a living hell.
i look up and away.
I grab his hand and drag him back with me
to the hell that i belong in.

I believe
That writers are
So brave
Because each time
They start writing
Blotting ink onto
Their paper
Frustratingly typing on
Their laptop
They rip their heart out
Of their chest
And show the world
What it's made of.

I can't begin to fathom how to describe how this feels.
It feels good like a cup of coffee in the morning,
But it also feels like an afternoon crash.
It feels like a high so good
But also a withdrawal most painful.
It feels like everything
Yet nothing at the same time.

You think that intelligence
is measured by words
by sentences
by essays
but no combination of letters you put together will be enough
to erase your ignorance.

I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway
my impulsivity often overpowers my conscience
yet I am almost always fully aware
of the decisions I make
and their consequences
I am not exactly mentally stable
but I am sane enough
to know right from wrong
yesterday from today
love from lust
although sometimes I mix them up
I have a tendency to lunge at any pair of arms that open for me
my mind and body often disagree
my body saying yes to eager hands
my mind saying no
constantly looking towards my heart
thinking how stupid one must be
to fall repeatedly
get hurt every single time
and still manage to do the same
over
and over
again
I wonder
how many times I will have to hit the ground
in order to learn to stop falling face first?
I often say things
that should be left unsaid
I often do things
that should not be done
sleep in beds unfamiliar
make believe love to strangers
get to know people who will not remember me tomorrow
I am gone as quickly as the hangover
I can be washed off the tongue
just as quickly as the liquor
I often believe I am capable of inciting change
I kiss temporary lips with permanence
hoping that I can train them to stay
I love temporary people with permanence
hoping that I can train them not to leave
and when they do
I claim to have seen it coming
I am incapable of forgetting
a scrapbook memory of skin and heartbeat
of touch and moments
I know not to look directly into eyes
for they can be blinding
and I still
do it anyway
I know of the risks that shouldn't be taken
well aware of their consequences
and I still
take them anyway
you could say
it is my own fault
for the way that things continue to turn out
but I can make no promise of apology
instead
I will live momentarily
**** up intentionally
love recklessly
fall unguarded
break enough times to learn how to put myself back together
crash into concrete enough times to learn how to shift a crooked smile
into something worth seeing
I have been told that a life lived in fear
is hardly a life lived at all
so I intend to live every second
like it is the last one I will have
I will write each night as it happens
narrate my own stories
and hope they turn out okay
I will regret this in the morning
but I will do it anyway.