I wonder about the boy on the park bench
He sit's on the left- I on the right,
We sit in silence waiting for our rides to arrive.
I worry that he won't be there one morning
I've developed an attachment to him.
I've noticed his scrapes and scars
and I think he's noticed mine.
It was Sunday morning,
we sat together,
no buses to take or
time to keep
But closer than usual
Our breath clouds the freezing air around us
We sip alcohol from our coffee mugs
Our lips locked, bodies steamed.
I think I am in love with
The boy on the park bench.

a twenty-six year old woman sits alone outside a coffee shop, waiting
she plays Snake on an old Nokia that was discontinued long ago
her red dread locks are tucked neatly under a worn beanie
that she stole from the boy that she gave her virginity away to
in a skate park when she was nineteen

a twenty-six year old woman sits alone at her desk, writing
she has a one night stand whose name she doesn't remember sleeping in her bed
her mascara is running and her lips are dyed black from henna
that she stole from the girl who offered her shelter when she ran away to live
in her car and dingy motel rooms after college

a twenty-six year old woman sits outside a Stop and Shop, drinking Shasta
she recently tried to publish her book of poems , but it was rejected so:
her shorts barely covered her backside and she wore the bralette
that she stole from her brother's girlfriend while she was visiting
in the false hopes that he would register how badly she needed him (or anyone)

a twenty-six year old woman sits in a little blue rowboat, drilling holes into the bottom
she skims Red Kayak before she leaves home and ties rocks around her ankles
her thoughts are set on mentally regressing the pain of her teenage years
that she wishes she could steal back to at least put some emotion back
into her heart

it'd been better than feeling nothing at all

Smile
Even if you don't mean it
Fake it like your o face
Make it like you're going out of style

I don't know why I keep going after the broken ones.
Maybe there's a piece they're missing
like I could be the peace of mind musing
her fragile little soul.

Maybe I just want to fix something.
The perfectionist architect,
The anti-hero archetype
Letting my emotions build castles
instead of locking me in some dungeon ruminating.

Or maybe I'm the ******* broken one
Dead set on divinity
Dormant in between rock bottom and a dark place

I'm ok, I swear to a god complex

Praying for some princess clad in punk rock armory.
Tearing through the motions
in the mosh pit of reality.
All for her crown of fire and flowers,

Come on, save me,
The light of my life
Fire of my *****

Lusting into supernovas
To encompass this astral plane
Where we're waging a war against reality
With the fantasy I'm wanting to pull out

a 4th wall broken

You think you're not beautiful  because there is no space between your thighs;
Yeah, well every girl that suffers from anorexia would **** to gain some weight, but instead pieces inside of them just die.

Girls think the definition of "beautiful" is skinny legs, a flat stomach and skin and bones;
Well the truth is: being beautiful is so overrated and every girl should be accepted for the image she owns.

We are expected to look like Victoria Secret models who have "perfect" written all over their bodies;
Have you ever heard of photoshop? No girl is perfectly made and for that they get teased.

All over the world there are girls risking their lives to try and be perfect, whatever that means;
They don't even know how much they are hurting themselves and yet they are only teens.

The media has planted a picture in our minds of how we are supposed to act and what we're supposed to look like;
What happened to being accepted for the individuals we are on the outside but also on the inside.

We have all been brainwashed by this sick thing called society, where we are forced to be perfect and act like robots;
Nobody is recognized for who they really are, it's all about the numbers on the scale and how much weight you've lost.

Well, I can only say one thing about what the world has become;
I'm sick of everyone being judged on what they look like because if you're happy with yourself than the opinions of others should be. NONE.