I'm so restless. I could scream. Pent-up energy bubbling and moving inside me and making my movements fast and erratic.

i love to be sad.
not because it's beautiful,
no,
cutting your skin is not beautiful.
it is ugly and messy/
i like sadness because it helps me keep
my sharp tongue in my mouth
and my lips closed tight.
don't you say things you regret when you're soaring up in the happy sky?
i do.
it is not beautiful.
but what is also ugly
is losing interest in pleasing your partner
and reading your books
and eating
and drinking
and living.
it is not beautiful.
it is a hindrance
but i love it.

YOUR LIFE IS NOT A BOOK.
DISTANCING YOURSELF FROM EVERYBODY
DOESN'T MAKE YOU DESIRABLE.
IT MAKES YOUR FRIENDS LEAVE
AND YOUR PARENTS WORRY.
LAYING IN BED ALL DAY
FIGHTING NONSTOP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND
WATCHING NETFLIX, BINGING ON CHOCOLATE AND HATING YOURSELF AFTER
THESE ARE NOT POETIC THINGS
YOUR LIFE IS NOT A BOOK
NOBODY IS GOING TO LOVE YOU FROM A DISTANCE
NOBODY IS GOING TO NOTICE LITTLE THINGS
LIKE HOW YOU TALK WHEN YOU'RE SAD
AND HOW YOUR EYES LIGHT UP WHEN YOU THINK OF THAT BLADE.
NOBODY THINKS YOUR MASOCHISTIC TENDENCIES ARE "CUTE"
NOR ARE THEY "NORMAL" OR "NICE" OR "GOOD"
NOBODY WILL GET YOU HELP.
YOU HAVE TO DO THAT.
NOBODY WILL LOVE YOU IF YOU PITY YOURSELF.
LEARN ABOUT THE WORLD.
LEARN ABOUT YOURSELF.
FIND OUT WHAT YOU LIKE TO WEAR
FIND OUT WHAT YOU LIKE TO DO
AND DO THAT.
GET HAPPY. NOBODY ELSE CARES IF YOU'RE HAPPY.
YOU HAVE TO SAVE YOURSELF FROM YOU.
YOU ARE NOT A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS.
THE DAMSEL IN THIS STORY
SAVES HERSELF.
JUMP OUT OF THE CASTLE, RAPUNZEL.
GET HAPPY AND GO LIVE.
LIFE IS SHORT.
DON'T WASTE IT.

i'm stopped at a red light.
it's dark.
my cigarette bobs
up and down.
the traffic driving by
creates a soothing sound.
i am free.
i'm gone from that confining place.
i smell smoke and night air.
the light is green.
green means go.
go to the great perhaps.
live like your life is a book.

i'm an angel with a loaded gun
and a razor sharp tongue.
don't love me,
i'll **** you with a smile.

click-clack
my ever typing keyboard
keeps my family awake.
click-clack
my words pour out.
senseless confusion of teenage years.
not yet wise, but too old to be dumb.
i'm too young to start my life, too young to have experiences,
so i write about people who live.
click-clack*
soon i'll lose motivation as my mother utters a groggy
"Lights out, sweetie."
"Okay momma. Goodnight, I love you."
a walk to the bathroom.
brush my teeth, crawl into the warm covers.
thoughts i can't fathom into words
still running rampant in my
young mind.

flushed cheeks
from your cold walk here.
your red jacket
scented with smoke.
white snowflakes
rest in your fluffy hair.
is your hair blonde or brunette?
i always wonder.
you're so smart.
but you're such a ditz.
your hair is ***** blonde.
your eyes are the color of a winter morning's sky.
a beautiful blue-gray.
the kind of eyes
that are gray when sad,
blue when happy.
i crave that blue
but lately i've been getting your gray.
i miss your smile.
that smile you think is yellow?
the teeth you're sure are crooked beyond compare?
they're adorable.
you're perfect.
smoke scented, snow laced you.