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.

Heart beats violently
Eyes start blurring
Pace is pulsing
Mind is racing
Tears are pouring

The first time I learned what *** was, I was 10. My parents didn't even have "the talk". No. I found out from a boy, grinning as he rubbed his erasers together. I asked my mom, "Mom, what's ***?" and because *** IS SOMETHING I SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF, she said something like "You're to young". TOO YOUNG TO KNOW HOW LIFE IS CREATED?! And let's not forget the time I learned what gay meant I thought it was a bad word. The word my classmates laughed at and called each other. I watched my first Modern Family episode in the third grade, my closed minded comments spilled out and increasing got more homophobic as I watched my fathers laugh feed into my immaturity. Looking back, I'm disgusted. I was a candle, dim but had the potential to light the dark room, surrounding me. I just hadn't been light yet. The time I realized I was a feminist i was twelve. So eager to please and maintain my perfect child persona, that being told my "bra strap showing was disgusting" I cried my way through pre algebra. To ashamed to tell my friends or family. LIKE YES. I HAVE **** UNDER MY SHIRT IS THAT A ******* PROBLEM?!All I could think of was how my MALE ASSISTANT ******* PRINCIPAL CALLED ME OUT AND ISOLATED ME ALONE, MAKING ME FEEL ASHAMED OF MY BODY AND MY GENDER! I shouldn't have felt ashamed of sexuality **** I shouldn't have felt ashamed of my gender. NOBODY SHOULD EVER FEEL ASHAMED OF THEMSELVES. Here's a letter to past, present, and future self, and to all those little girls who were raised to be closed minded and ashamed, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, EVERYONE IS WORTH LOVE, YOUR BODY IS NOT HERE FOR MALES TO GAUG AT. YOU ARE MORE THAN A *** ITEM, AND IF A MAN EVER MAKES YOU FEEL ASHAMED OF WHO YOU ARE, KICK HIM IN THE *****, FLICK HIM OFF, AND WALK AWAY. BECAUSE HONEY, US WOMEN ARE BETTER THAN THAT ****!

my mind hasn't been this dark since fourth grade when i was in a "depressed place" I would cry and cry and say I was just sad. no reason behind it. Maybe it was just hormones or part of growing up  but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop. Flash forward to now. I can't stop crying, a new reason everyday. it feels like a million little rain clouds took over my mind and blocked out my joy. I crave things that are destructive. that boy my parents hate who has an ego problem but the fact someone likes me makes me feel great. I crave that sharp knife going in to my big, awkward thigh. and the idea of death has become so familiar to me I welcome it like a friend. I want so badly to stop this but when people forget you ******* exist you let it in a little more than before. You picture crying and bleeding and screaming. it excites you like ridding a roller coaster. maybe this could stop but I'm so ******* alone. I forgot the boy who liked to talk about Jesus and I follow the one who puts me down. I forgot about my friends who snuggled and laughed but chose the ones who hate everything. I push things away that let me remember joy but keep the stuff that makes the rain clouds.

If I was a character in a romantic comedy, I would probably either be that random hot dog vendor on the side of the street or the best friend that sort of dies off after the first 6 minutes. The girl who has a pretty face but has absolutely zero relevance to the movie. Maybe a witty line here or there but that's it. My problems are so minimal. To others. My crushes are relentless, my sorrows are pathetic, and my all together appearance is lame. I'm the character that drinks white wine in champaign glasses at the bar but cries her self to sleep when the cameras aren't watching. I'm the character that ruins white wedding dresses with finger foods but wonders when it'll be her time to be the starring role in life. I'm the character who is passionately in the love with the bag boy but nobody cares enough to notice, not even him.

"I don't think euthanasia's a sin" you told me that one late night. it was the first real conversation we had ever had. I listened as you spoke so deeply about your dream to be a screen writer. you always loved movies. In fact we met that way. you gave me a list of movies to watch before I died. I watched them with the eagerness of a child opening gifts on Christmas. death. that was always a big thing for you. you loved to talk about how you saw the world falling apart. I guess I found that intriguing because as you talked, I was falling apart. you knew how cynical I could be, and I knew how ****** up you were. but I still got so happy when you liked that picture of mine the next morning. I think we fell for each other because neither of us really liked ourselves and maybe deep down, we believed that we could fix ourselves. I never liked you growing up, but now I can't get enough. but of course, there's a problem. there always is. I'm in love with someone else.

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.

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.

My friend Ethan tells me not to get my hopes up too high because I don't want a repeat of the last time. I know he's right. The last time I put just a little more love than I should've and I cared just a little more than normal. But this boy is different I swear to him. He's mature and not awkward, plus he's got experience. But I know deep down that he's probably just the same. And that at the end of all this I will be crying on the cold floor of my bathroom, throwing up just to avoid the near occasion of bumping into him. Like it did last time, and the time before. I pray for a sign begging God to PLEASE SHOW ME IF THIS IS WRONG. And maybe He does. But my heart shaped glasses are too ******* dark for me to even realize it. But I know deep down that I do see it and accepting that is too hard so i lie to myself. Because i want it so bad to be real. I imagine kissing him as I press my ever so ****** lips across my hand. I imagine him hugging me every time the sweat breaks out during my panic attacks. I want so badly to be his. And so badly do I want him to be mine. I tell my friends I'm okay. Swear that I won't fall to hard and let this hurt me again. But everyone knows that I fall fast and hard. My hopeless conversations are just an attempt for love. Like a mating call a bird makes but is more like a call into the distance because nobody hears. I feel so pathetic, lying to myself and hoping i guessed right. My stomach is sick and I haven't slept much. Love makes me sick. But maybe it's the thought that I've dug myself into a hole that only ends with lava. A self destruction mission and I just pushed the button. I started a game I can't end. A game I know all to well. And even if I tell myself i wouldn't, I will get hurt.

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.

I still have them
those stupid vampire teeth
the ones you won for me
and it's almost Halloween
and I wonder if you have yours
or if you think about that day
the rainy days are filling my head with ****** memories of being in love
and although I pushed you out for so **** long you've managed to sneak back in
with you're endless supply of songs "I would like" or you're sweet smelling cologne
but it hurts so bad
because you're in love
with that girl who loves your family
and dress ******* normal.
I'm just the girl who fills your days with conversations and keeps you comfort on those long, dark, bus rides.
but I'm never the one you'd choose
because I love you
and that would be to **** easy

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.

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

it's all purple now,
our memories.
every time I think of you, the pain deep down in my heart breaks me open like a flower that just couldn't wait to bloom. do you remember? the weekend we just couldn't help but love each other? you promised to spend the day with me, holding me tight when the tears poured out because I knew this wouldn't last. and I was right. you know you  were the first boy to ever call me pretty? and as much as I loved it, it just made the purple a little more violent. our love, once so exciting, has left me banging my head against the bus seat where it first started. every time you wrap your arms around her, I remember how it feels to be in them. every time you laugh with her, I dig my nails a little deeper in my arm because I remember how intoxicating it is, and the pain is my morphine. the purple is uncontrollable. the pain is uncontrollable. you are uncontrollable.

I'm sad right now
I'll probably be sad later
I hope it will stop
I'm sorry
for bringing you down.
please don't leave me
again

you stabbed me with the best you had. an arrow with the word"pretty". you shot me with the word "cute". you poisoned me with the word "love". I fell so hard. I was so sick. and then I realized there's a way to live. I pulled that arrow out and drank the elixir. I was once so scared to move, but am now more relaxed than ever. i can breath again. I feel the best I've felt in a while. you can shoot me again, but now I'm immune. I know the signs and I know where you hide, lurking on insecurities of sad girls. you always had a thing for the broken. easy prey, I guess. but I'm getting stronger by the second. you stood me up again last week. said you'd be there and you weren't. I saw your family at church too. it reminded me of how desperate you were to be like them. flashbacks poured in and I felt like fainting on the exact pew you held me in after that long weekend. I remembered all of our midnight conversations and my old war injury flailed up. but then I remembered all the stuff you said to me, the way you never were there. and I remembered why that arrows out and not still in. you used to be so powerful. a villain in disguise. but no longer can I be the victim. I'm done with this battle.

a lot of my thoughts are you
but don't be fooled
sometimes death is there too

I'm okay

remember when you used to untangle my headphones?
back when you were untangling me?
you had such pride in it, it was cute.
I wonder if you had that same pride in me?

I was a toy you played with until it broke. your mom warned you not to turn it off and on too quickly but you just couldn't help it. you loved to see the way it light up when you pushed it. it was made for you. you loved the way it worked only and always for you. but one day, it stopped. you came home looking for something to play and you found it. broken. but you didn't fix it. it wasn't worth the time. didn't even check to see if maybe it just needed some love. you left it in pieces. little did you know, the game was working. it just needed  to be played for a long time. it needed to know the owner needed it. it needed to know that it was more than just a button.