"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as **** a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

I'm not the first, or the last, to admit this
but those days
those wonderful days when you can run out of a pizza place past midnight and drive
standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
with music so loud that no one can hear you cry
with wind blowing your tears back behind you
so you don't have to worry about getting them on your clothes
holding your arms out
like they do in Titanic
Perk of Being a Wallflower
Superman
but you don't feel the joy that they do
you don't feel what everyone else does
you cry and feel broken
because your mind is a cruel place
and your worst memories and fears come up when you should be having the most fun
so you stand up
constantly watching
to make sure that these empty streets really are empty
constantly hoping that the credits dont roll yet, because you have so much more to do
and you keep your hands to yourself
because you can't let your sorrow spread to the others
once again the tears in your eyes are from the empty hours of another sleepless night
for another night you keep your hands to yourself
afraid to reach out
four heartbeats and a loud engine
all drowned out by a summer night being lived in a horrible way
standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
and doing your best not to jump out and cry

Sent Jun 29th, 12:10am

i just want someone to want me
to fall in love with my personality
and not the temporary
aspects of me

You are not a person,
******* it,
you are a nebula.
You don't have skin
you have island universes of stars
and your hands aren't hands
they're the whole ******* solar system branched out through your fingertips.

I can't look at you
without feeling like I'm spiralling through your galaxy
without losing breath
because after all
there's no oxygen in space

But the worst part is your eyes
those great opal voids
your infinite ******* chasms
that engulf me every time

And I always thought I'd be scared in space
like it's too big, too empty, too unexplored
but here I am
floating
not scared at all

Driving back, I couldn't wait to get home.
Now I'm home,
smoked a couple cigarettes,
took a shower,
started a load of laundry
and it took me a minute to realize
all I really wanted was not to come home,
but to come home to you.

i bite my nails
and i bite my lips

my room is a mess
and i pick at dead skin

i look in the mirror when i
first wake up
and right before bed

i fall too hard
and i bruise too easily

and i write about boys
who will never love me

heads
i love you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and think about the good times

tails*
i hate you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and cry about the good times

although i'm not in love with you anymore
i still think about you fondly in my dreams

you're just like the others
i don't want to be with you
i've learned my lessons
and you're only out to hurt me
saying you cared about me was a lie
you only care about yourself
and you want me to fix you
since you can't fix yourself

i'm not your band-aid
i'm not your babe

pour into the palm of your hand
lather gently though your hair
rinse and repeat
rinse and repeat
until you're clean of me