it hurts. it hurts like you never thought it could hurt, never imagined it could hurt. it hurts to be alone, it hurts to know that you don't have him anymore. and what does that even mean, anyway? to have him?
for me it meant safety. it meant never wondering how you were going to spend your free time. it meant always having someone to tell your secrets to, someone's hand to hold, someone to hold you, someone to kiss. it meant having someone to love.
it hurts, having all of that taken away. all of the circumstances, every reason that led up to it; they're all irrelevant because nothing makes it hurt any less.
it's kind of like walking around with a hole in your chest. a big, enormous, gaping hole where your heart used to be.
one time I cried at the orthodontist, and it was awkward and all - lying there, crying with some strangers hands in my mouth.
but it's been even worse at night, lying in bed, crying, when someone who used to be my entire world has their hands inside my chest, scraping out the half of their heart I'd become so accustomed to carrying around, I actually let myself believe it was my own.
it hurts. I know.
and I'm so, so sorry.

you are eighteen and you're in love
with a boy who hates his birthday.
you don't know it yet,
but the world gets so much bigger than the back of his car.
you think he needs you to be happy and so does he
but both of you are wrong.
it'll take you almost a year to stop crying.
and then you don't talk for another three
and when you finally do,
he thinks he still knows you,
but your heart is heavier than it was then.
and you **** him because you're lonely
but it isn't the same.
neither of you can fake love.
at least he still makes you laugh.
you'll pretend it's enough
because at least he's a body.
at least you're not by yourself.
at least you're alive
and you're good at *******.
because bodies are distractions
from the things we hide inside them.
you have him inside you
and he wants to gut you of your ugly, your sad.
he scrambles for an excuse not to stay the night
and you laugh.
you know what this is and how it goes
and you both love someone else.
you swear you won't **** him again
but you do anyway because you're still lonely
and you like the way his hands fit around your neck.
you **** him because it's good for your art
and you get bored of your own hands on your body
and you're fine with letting him feel useful.
and you think about when you were sixteen
and how *** was supposed to be special
and it makes you cry
because you're not who you wanted to be.
it makes you cry, because the world got so much bigger
after you left the backseat of his car.
the world is so big and you don't know
how it ended up on your shoulders.
you would have died for him.
you have been ready to die for every person you have ever loved.
you have dreams where he dies
and you can't save him.
you have dreams where people die
and you can't save them
and you're the one who tied your hands.
your mangled heart and all its bleeding.
nobody asked you to die.
what good is all the love in your chest
if you don't leave any for yourself?

- m.f.

the hickey you gave me lasted longer than we did

I wish I could tell about the depths of my heart
but no one ever asked, and strong girls don't.

My family is absolutely ridiculous.  Every single time we have a family gathering, it always somehow results in everyone sitting around the table absolutely heated over political issues and everything that’s wrong with the government.  They’re all disgustingly republican.  It’s almost painful to listen to their views on certain things.  I’m the only person in my entire extended family (that I know of) that is more on the moderate/liberal side.  From what I’ve gathered, moderates/liberals are more of the younger crowd of people, because now that the older generation that was shamefully conservative is becoming scarcer and scarcer, some people are beginning to wake up.  They're also more of the "artistic", open-minded, down to earth humans, which is what I consider myself to be. I feel as though I've been shaped into who I am today because of the people I've associated with, the media, blogging, and just simply opening my eyes to what the world really is. We have a choice as human beings on whether or not we want to see the world as what it is, or the world with a filter over top of it, so we don't really see it for what it really is. Some may argue it's the "romanticism vs. realism", or at least I would. I learned that from one of my ex boyfriends, which was sort of the turning point in my views of the world. His name was Stefan, and he lived in England. I don't think that's even a real relationship, but he definitely helped me realize some stuff, although I already had fairly strong views on certain things already. One of those being the debate on same *** marriage. This hits very close to home for me, in far more ways than one, and is probably one of the things I dispute over most with people. I won't get into it completely here, but I am 10,000,000,000% for it. Just as same *** marriage, I have very strong feelings about self expression. It is our first amendment right to freedom of expression, and in school we are violated of that.  I couldn't imagine having to go to school with my hair in a bun, no makeup on, no more than one piercing in each ear, no ****** piercings, no nail polish, etc. To me, that is a violation of your first amendment right, let alone having it go against everything I believe in. This is why I'm so eager to move to New York City; where I can look however I want to and attend as many protests as I want and create as much art as humanly possible. Until the day the rest of America wakes up, the early risers will continue to brew the coffee in hopes one day the sleepyheads will smell how wonderful it is.

i cannot wait for the older generations to die off and as awful as that sounds im so sick of being consistently judged for who i love or what i believe in and what i do in my free time, being told im going nowhere in life because i failed a math test is not how to go about a future in an art field and i swear if someone who is not an artist tells me or any other artist we will not make it in an art field one more time i will take it upon myself to produce the most beautiful art possible and shove it down every unartistic egotistical *******'s throat until every inch of their insides is as colorful as a cubic centimeter of my mind is

you've always been the hand on my throat that restricted me from breathing but you were so beautiful while you did it that i forgot about your hand around my neck and got my breath taken for a completely different reason