i. Soft, pink petals drift in circles on the lazy breeze.
Birds sing as they chase each other across the blue sky.
Sharp, green blades of grass tickle the back of my neck.
The sun is bright, so I keep my eyes closed.
Winter has fled in the face of a glorious spring.

ii. A sad girl with a beautiful smile shares this room with me.
Her life is made of empty fun, empty loves, and empty bottles.
She paints her face to cover the darkness around her eyes.
But concealer can't succeed in hiding the darkness in them.

iii. You can't call someone else irresponsible when you act like you do. When you can count your empty glasses, you can try again.

iv. Floating in the clear, cold water, with the sun beating down on my face, I escape. I have no worries, no distractions, no obligations. I let the scalding rays burn freckles into my nose. I let the waves spill into my eyes. I have no cares. I am infinite.

v. A word of advice to the male type of human: licking your lips at a passing girl doesn't make you attractive. It makes her want to take a shower. Alone.

vi. It's 4:13 and I'm still awake. I haven't been doing anything but staring at the ceiling since midnight. Why is it that in the dark, everything seems more real? 4:15..

We fall so hard. We dust ourselves off. We pretend that it doesn't hurt, that our knees aren't bleeding. We walk on, our heads held high, trying to exude a dignity we lost long ago. We look at the others and think that they are different. We want to believe that they are stronger, yet we wait for them to fail. We rationalize. If the superior, the brave, the proud, the unbroken, can stumble, maybe we don't have to be ashamed. We all crave love as we make ourselves hard to love. We're all the same. We turn a blind eye. We pity ourselves. We loathe who we are. We make unfair comparisons. We make excuses. We accuse. We playact. Sometimes I can hardly stand.

Breaking my heart inadvertently, you pull me close to yours. I can hear it beating, but not for me..
Effortlessly taking my breath, fingers lightly dancing on my shoulder, you make me remember..
The memory of being held so gently against his chest, his chin resting on my forehead, floods my mind..
Casually, unknowingly, you smile down at me. I smile back, but I am in pieces..

viii.
one hour spent and you couldn't decide..
why does everything you do need a confirmation from someone?
be your own woman.
no one cares as much as you think they do.

ix.
high heels scattered on the floor
clothes tossed on the bed
make-up littering the desk
the scent of hairspray in the air
a drop of nail-polish on the window-sill
loud music playing
young voices singing along
bodies colliding in too small a space
jewelry traded, earrings lost
perfumes sprayed and purses ready

x.
black outlines of branches
stars slowly starting to appear
yellow fading to orange to red to purple to blue
lights in windows coming on
silhouettes through the curtains
fog rising to kiss the lowering clouds
lamps clicking off in sync with street lamps
cliffs darkening until they disappear
only a few hours till dawn now

xi.
people who say they hate drama are usually the ones who create it.
if you want something, ask (and accept the answer).
if you don't like something, say so (or say nothing).
if someone doesn't like you, say "I don't give a ****" (and mean it).

There is a girl in my class, who up until yesterday had never seen a stamp that wasn't peel-off with sticky backing.
I watched for 5 minutes as she tried to find the non-existent edge to pull before I told her to lick it.


There is another girl, stereotypical blonde, who thought Brazil was in Europe.

There is no hope for our future.

i.
how can it be that they simply walk by,
while I, in contrast, stand stupid in awe.
cliffs veiled in fog
the lights of Geneva
mountains framing mountains framing valleys.
when did they forget to look?
when did they become accustomed?

ii.
when I'm lonely I stare at the pictures on my wall.
the same faces are repeated often,
and I try to memorize them so that next time I'm lonely
I won't lock myself in my room.
but I can't.
I can picture the faces of people I met yesterday,
but not the faces I've looked upon for years.

iii.
my mind struggles to wrap itself around new grammar,
words,
and pronunciations.
I'm supposed to be learning a new language.
instead it seems as if I'm forgetting two.

iv.
head pounding,
heart racing,
lungs burning,
legs aching.
**** Le Saleve.

v.
cycle of loneliness:
something you see, or hear, or do,
reminds you of something you know, or knew.
thinking of something you know or knew,
especially if it's not there with you,
will make you dream of it a time or two.
which makes you think of things that you
used to see, or hear, or do.
which reminds you of things you know, or knew.
in turn reminding you of him, or her, or them.  
and we all know what that means...
chocolate.

vi.
yesterday, a beautiful golden boy sat by my side at dinner.
he smiled at me with his bright blue eyes,
and he winked when he said my name.
today, I hoped that he'd sit there again.
I even left a chair empty. (just in case)
but today, he sat by the girl with the hair.
I always knew I didn't like her.

vii.
together we sit at a bus-stop.
we missed the 10h25, so we'll have to wait an hour.
you gave me your coat because I was shivering.
the sleeves are so long they reach the hem of my skirt.
you rested your head on my shoulder a few minutes ago,
your hair just brushes my cheek.
it smells good and manly, just like your coat.
but all I can think of is that I have to ***,
and there is nowhere to go but the woods.

I miss the warmth that comes from being held.
I miss the gentleness of arms wrapped around my waist,
and the feeling of a rough cheek pressed against my neck.
It is not you I miss, though I did once.
It is the sensation of safety, of time stopping, of being loved.
Some may miss passion, the moments of losing themselves in someone else.
Not I.
I miss falling asleep with the sound of another beating heart in my ears.
I miss listening to breath other than my own,
and forgetting for a while that anything and anyone else exists.

Everything happens for a reason, and people change.
But sometimes the reason is that you're stupid,
and often change is for the worst.
What then?
Bad decisions are made by all of us, aren't they?
      Mistakes happen
      It's part of growing up
      Learn from those experiences
      This too shall pass
Or so they say..
But what about when we learn from mistakes,
and ignore the knowledge gained?
And we were never told that for it to pass,
we would have to move.
You can't just stand there.
Yet we do. We stand in place and we ask,
"Let me be pure, but not yet."

Ils critiquent afin que je sais que je ne suis pas extraordinaire.
And oh, how I know it.

There is a rage that fills me so quickly that I think I might just choke. My fists clench tightly, involuntarily. I want to slam my clenched fist right into your face. But I don't. I know it would just cause more strife. But the urge to hurt you is almost overpowering. I can feel the anger and the hurt sitting in my chest, right on top of my diaphragm. It keeps me from breathing properly. I know I should let go of it, **** it. But in a way it feels so fulfilling to cling to this emotion. I feel like I am on the brink of doing something stupid, of losing control, of saying what I think.
          Were you ever scared to jump into the pool as a child? Did you stand on the edge and prepare yourself again and again? Did you FEEL yourself about to jump, every muscle tense, even holding your breath, but the part of your mind you can't oppose said no? That's what this feels like. I am prepared to let all hell break loose. To give you a piece of my mind. Every other cliche you can think of. Why the hell do you make me so crazy?
           And when you are done with your anger you discard it. It disappears as if it never was. That makes me crazier than your anger, sarcasm, condescension, idiocy, inability to comprehend. I am not done being angry yet, **** it! Let me be angry. Don't take this from me too.

My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made.
There they are.
Orbiting around me just out of reach.
I want to hold on.
But I have lost my hold on the things I want and love.
Circling around beyond my grasp.
Strange.
Distant.
Empty.
Translucent.
The sensation of being detached.
I realize I am losing myself as well.
My fears are pulling them away.
My dreams, my loves, my very soul.
At first, in a panic I struggled.
Lunging and grasping at air
I wanted it back, what fear had taken.
And so I fought.
Gathered every shred of what I had inside.
I reached out to reclaim myself.
To clutch tightly a piece of the life I had, in my hand.
To pull it back to my center.
If it had returned to it's place, the rest would have followed.
I would have conquered the fear that tried to conquer me.
Relaxing, I would have allowed my life to flow and ebb.
Around me, but in control.
But I failed.
Miserably.
In trying to get it back, I lost even more.
Doing what I thought was my will, I did theirs.
I watch it all fade out into the darkness.
I won't try again.
Let it happen, I don't care (but I do).
And so I sit.
Writing this pathetic missive of a failure that didn't have to be.

Frustration.
But why?
I chose this.
Chose control.
Chose an easy target.
Chose to pull the strings.
But when it's not a game.
When it's not subtle.
Frustration.
When I don't get to play the puppeteer.
When the puppet asks where to go instead of being led without knowing.
Frustration.
Self-awareness is a ***** sometimes.

I wash my face in a sea of tears
a sea I often travel.
I should know it well for all the times
those cold black waves crash over.

Yet strangely, every time I am immersed
in this sea of darkness
the waves pound harder, the night seems blacker,
finding light more hopeless.

As if each time I fall
I'm plunged a little deeper.

haunting melodies, unspoken prayers
rising high, riding on the wind

stand at the window and watch the gray sky turn gold
and remember
it happens to all dreamers
and since all have dreamed it happens to us all
a story of a derailed dream
of high hopes dying
the epitaph of a long faded dream
three words of pain
Now. I'm. Stuck.
changing direction in life isn't tragic
losing passion for it is