i don't answer your calls
because it hurts less
when i don't hear your voice

they did this.

they said that skinny is thin arms, a petite waist, and knobby knees. they labeled this as perfect, and those who don't thrive to look this way, are fat and ugly.

who gave them that right? who allowed them to stand superior to us all, and set standards? i want to know why i have to struggle every day and sacrifice my mentality just to look perfect.

i grew up watching the gorgeous actresses and models on t.v., and i saw that they had boyfriends and everybody thought they were beautiful. society labeled them as the body types we have to strive for.

there's that saying that "its my body, i'll do whoever i want to it."

but the thing is, it's not your body, it's society's.

your kind of like a double negative.

always going back on your word,
never doing what your told,
loving me blindly,
and hating me clearly.

it starts with a burn,
a deep-set fire in the
pit of my stomach,
then comes the rising,
up, up, up, the flames
lick the soft tissue of my throat,
my fingers twitch
and my chest heaves,
i roar each time the
flames leave my mouth,
i cry out for peace,
i cry out for the guilt
to leave my body with each flame,
i cry because i wish
i had control of the fire,
but each time i give in to the twitch,
i cry because the fire has control of me

i'm watching a movie
in which you're the
damaged soul,

and i'm the stupid
girl who tried to
fix you

Sometimes I think I'm dead.

I'm breathing,

I'm moving,

I'm laughing,

I'm smiling,

I'm doing all the things someone alive would do,

but there's this feeling,

like mold on a bathroom floor,

or the smell of ***** dishes and trash,

or rain coming down in showers on your birthday,

the feeling that, no, it's not going to be okay.

That feeling is worse than being dead.

Because if your dead, at east you can escape the feeling.

c.r.k.

I used to imagine myself standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower,
or exploring whats undiscovered under the sea.

Teaching children with words of wisdom,
or singing to a crowd who adores me.

Taking a road trip across country,
or soaring through space alongside the stars.

Instead I have no dreams, but the ones that are yet to come true.

one day you'll ask me why
i hate the smell of beer,
and i'll have to tell you
it filled the air when he hit her,
then you'll notice
how i avoid red wine,
and i'll look away to say that
she reeked of it when she screamed at me,
you'll pick up on
how much ***** makes me gag,
and i'll be ashamed to tell you
i washed it out of my hair at 3 am while sobbing,
i'll push away jack
and you'll be sure to ask why,
and i'll cry and tell you
i can't remember why i hate it,
that i can't remember much at all

and then you'll know who i was
when i wasn't me

i want to live in a world with truffula trees,
and caroling who's,
cats that balance objects on their head,
and raining green goo.

i want star-bellied sneetches,
dancing on beaches,
and colors,
on everything.

i want green eggs and ham,
offered by sam-i-am,
and a lorax to use sarcasm on me.

i want to escape reality,
and where better than childhood memories.

you say you love me,
but you don't even
know me

i planned never to fall in love,
but then you
and your stupid ice water eyes
****** it all up.

i wish i could scream,
let every alcohol-soaked emotion out,
i wish that i could shout
until every tissue in my throat tore apart,

because i see you everywhere
especially places i'm not,
and it kills me, it ******* kills me,
because all i want is to be yours,
but that will never happen,
and i want to lay down and give up,

i don't love you,
i need you,
but you will
never need me

the night
is our day,
and gin
is our water,
loose morals
are our morals,
and love
is forbidden,

we had a path
that was
supposedly
good,

but why walk
a straight line,
when zig zags
sound better

my mind is racing,
i try to pretend i'm dead,
that my thoughts are meaningless,
and my being is no longer relevant,

but my ideas, hopes, aspirations, memories,
my greatest moments, and my worst ones,
they're all whizzing around,

they won't stop,
please stop,
it hurts to think,
when no ones's there to hear your thoughts

he was the kind of guy that liked
big busted blondes,
and that chronic ****.

and i was neither of those things.

i know you're not real, but your voice is so vividly clear that i swear it's like a tiny person has made their home in my head.

and those moments where it feels like a shadow is gently tickling my bare back at night, i know these are not visions. i know i am sane.

when i can smell the scent of pine, and fresh mint, i know it's you. i'm not hallucinating! i'm not crazy! you're there! you are!

but i slowly began to realize those haunting calls, and subtle touches, and the faint scent of mint and pine, are not dreams. they aren't visions, or fantasies. but instead nightmares.

they are the memories you've whittled into my brain, slowly but surely ruining my sense of reality.

It was because he was mine,
and I was his,
and we were each others.

We ignored the pain,
and the sorrow.

We didn't think of ourselves as poisonous,
or treacherous.

We were the epitome of youth,
and love,
and hope,
and home.

And in my heart I knew that one day I wouldn't be with him anymore.

I would turn to my lover and whisper between kisses,

"I remember the first boy i ever fell in love with."

or

I would turn over to my lover in-between kisses and whisper,

"I remember the first time I fell in love with you."

And god ****** did I hope it was the second one,
because he was mine,
and I was his,
and we were each others.

Every soul is born pure.

It's the selfish actions, and the unkind words,

the angry glances, and the malice filled minds,

that fell like ashes and slowly, but surely,

darkened all the innocence.

c.r.k.

if you asked me who i thought i
was this morning,

i might have answered with my name
and my favorite color and a few hobbies
i enjoy.

i might have shared childhood memories
and talked about what i hate in this world or
explained how i like my coffee and why
my mother doesn't talk to me anymore.

if you asked me who i thought i was this morning,
i might have told you these things.

but it's no longer this morning
and that is no longer me.

it hurts to breath,
and pains me to smile.
the light in my eyes is forced,
and my words are produced manually.

bad things happened, and i have to pretend they didn't.

we stare, but we aren't looking.

we yell, but we're never heard.

we don't listen to what we know is true.

are our similarities,
happy coincedences,
or bad omens?

every time he didn't answer, i died a little inside.

Maybe he's busy,

saving a life,

dancing in the rain,

falling in love with a stranger,

kissing in cars,

climbing a tree,

writing a novel,

driving to Disney,

but all he was doing was forgetting me.

c.r.k.

i'm stuck in my delusions
that you want me,
but you're eyes are on hers,
not mine

you were my sunshine,
but then you were
blocked by the clouds
of feelings and self doubt,
and now you're my rain.

i’ve learned that some
people try to find as
many pieces of themselves
in others as possible.

even if the pieces are
a bit chipped and
they don’t fit exactly right,
they need them to feel whole.

and then there are the
people that seek out
the unattainable pieces,
the ones they know will
never fit, the pieces to a
very different puzzle.

because it gives them
an excuse to remain
alone, pieceless.

you can only love so many times,
before you can't love anything at all.

and each tiny fragment was
only held together by the
thinnest of strings,
until one day they
slowly tore apart
piece by agonizing piece;
my heart is no longer whole

i try to shut you out,
and move on,
but the cerulean blue of your eyes,
reel me in,
like a fish
being caught in the ocean.

its funny,

i know you talk about me to others,
because you talk about others to me.

i'm just another teenaged runaway
with no hope for society.

i didn't know ghosts
could haunt themselves,
until i met you.

its the real life horrors
we fail to see

my mind says,
'i don't need a man',
but my heart
begs to differ.

i've watched from afar
as you've broken her
heart so many times
it doesn't even resemble
one anymore.

happy people
become unhappy
when they begin
to question why
they were happy
in the first place

one big tear in
the fabric of society,
the shut ins,
the outsiders,
the comic book geeks,
the gamers,
the carefree lovers,
the jokers,
they all want to fit in,
but why would you
want to be on the inside?
the biohazard *******,
and ken dolls aren't cool,
they're cruel.

if i had known that
that was the only time
i'd ever get to hold your hand,
i would have held on longer

sirens are
a lullaby,
yelling is
a constant,
lying is
a habit

i can not beat you,
so i will break you

imagine the feeling
that crying in your
younger brother's
arms gives you,
and then try to
forget it like i'm
doing right now

"boys will never love you when you harm yourself. that's disgusting."

well mother,

"men will never love you if you drink yourself into an oblivion, and completely ignore your family. that's disgusting."