I want something real in this world of fake
I want something simple in this world of mess
I want something true in this world of false
I want something sweet in this world of sour
I want something loving in this world of hate
I want something pretty in this world of ugly
I want a Liam in this world of Marks

When I try to explain to my mom how I feel, she tells me the same thing. Make friends. I say "mom,I feel alone". "Make friends" "Mom, I have nobody." "Make friends" "Mom, I've cried myself to sleep every night for the past 4 months." "Make friends"  
WELL MOM, I would love to make friends. That's part of my problem really. But friendships only evolve when somebody else feels the same as you and considering just HOW ****** UP I AM I WILL NEVER HAVE FRIENDS. I don't choose to be lonely god if only making people like me was really that easy. I hate who I am I hate the people I call my friends I hate random people I see in the halls I HATE EVERY ******* SOUL. AND I HATE IT. I hate how I cry watching my friends hanging out even though they invited me earlier that day. It's kinda funny really, I choose to be alone but I don't want to be lonely . I watch my friends bonding over people who love them. They laugh and smile, they share secrets, they hug each other, memories are made. I watch them wondering when I'll get that.

I am pretty sure I'm in love with you. I love the way your freckles fall perfectly in place like the ones the draw on American girl dolls. I love the way you smile, crinkling up your small little noes and squinting your eyes like the books you always read have damaged not only your adjustment to light, but the way you see earth so that now everything seems unfitting. Unfitting for a king like you. I love the way your hair looks like you just woke up. I love the way you smell. I love the way you walk like a character from the Incredibles, hopping around. I love the way you look when you read one of your novels. I love your eyes. Your eyes I could stare at forever. Reminding me of our first conversation, time I complemented your eyes . Your eyes. As if some one took the bluest lake out of your newest book and shrunk them. I love the way you talk. I love the way your voice sounds when you read aloud. It reminds me of being a kid, curled up in my pink cat pajamas, listening to my father read Good Night Moon. I love the way you dress. I love the way you laugh. I love you. But to you I'm just a friend. The person you get the homework from as you rush to study exactly 5.5 seconds before a test. I'm just the girl you smile at. But I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I love the way you acknowledge me as just a friendly face. I love the way the way I love you is just a secret.

The sound of your laugh bounces around, reminding me of when I was the cause of it. The shame in your eyes dance around my head, reminding me that i am too the cause of that. I remember so vividly the tears that poured down like rain and how they flooded my thoughts from then on. A text that seemed so mature and respectful, there was no way you'd turn me down. My ears burn like the fire I wish I could light my thoughts with. Burning them out. You were my first real love. My first real, real love. Covered in embarrassment and sprinkled in depression. You know what they say, everything happens for a reason. Well, I'm not sure what God was thinking up there when he made me love you, but I think I'm a poet so I guess that's a clue. Throwing around lines of pain and past love that could've been, so you can read them and maybe hurt a little too.

Is hard to find peace in religion just ask the middle east. But a church is like a library where you can hear your thoughts speak. The words that your heart whispers but your mind doesn't hear. It spills like a faucet leak. One word at a time till you've cried a river. Repent the pastor said. Repent the pastor said. And when I did the load was lifted of my shoulders. But once I was free that same world I was reliefed from put the nails through my hands and feet. Slowly so I can feel it piercing through the skin. Crowned me with thorns as they mocked the king. Father forgive them for which they don't know of their sin. This is where the fall of Rome begins.

On the way to 2nd period, every single day since that night, I realize how cold the hallway is. Maybe it's because the glare you give me is just the same. Cold. But I stare down at my books. Pretending I can't see your tide pool eyes drilling holes into my mind. On the way to second period, it all rushes back like the blood in my face as I pick up my pace. I remember the way we danced, me all in and you, well you did what you always do, stood there. I guess I looked too far into that looking glass that things became blurred. So on the night I told you I loved you, I believed we had a chance. But you smashed that hope the way you always did, by standing there. I paced back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until I took a ******* hint. Our love was a rainbow, supported by only one cloud, and no *** of gold on the other side. I tell myself I'm over you. But it's been 5 ******* months and no matter how many times I walk to second period I wonder at would could've been.

They say they're laughing with you, not at you but if you laugh along to hold back the tears does it count? The more I laugh the more I hide, burying it down deeper and deeper. I mask my insecurities with a funny face or a silent laugh. I'm a magician, I put on a trick to get  a reaction from the audience, don't get to close or the magic is lost. At any moment I'm able to pull a new mask out of the hat, but if you watch closely you can see the slight flick of the wrist that changes everything. A trick is ment to keep the imagination going, continue the wonders, and disguise the ugly. Deep down, though, the magician waits, hoping one day, his trick will be explained.