I just want plain old you. I don't need no trappings. Simple plain jane.
I just want the you that wakes up in the morning
Having drooled on your pillow.
The you with morning, and coffee, and ciggarette breath
The you who puts her hair up when she doesn't feel like dealing with it
The you who sits next to me in sweats and one of my torn up t-shirts
Eating Ice Cream
and falling asleep on my shoulder
The you who doesn't always say goodnight or I love you
The you who gets mad and cusses and yells
I mean...who doesn't

I've just come to realize
That the plain old you
Is my favorite you
Nothing plain about you
You don't have to try to knock my socks off, good lookin'
Whether your walking to me or away...I like to watch your hips sway
Going to and fro
Ain't it a sight!
Lookin' in your eyes
Well, there's nothin plain about those eyes

it's 1:03
in the morning
and i'm so cold
my skin
looks like lace
i'm frozen
numb at the fingertips,
nails blue.
i'm reduced
to this: splinters
and a shuddering
ribcage

this is a different kind of starving

all i want
really, all i want
is someone to tell me i'm beautiful
who will hold me and
remind me that I matter
who will take me somewhere new
and say "see?"
who will accept me
though i'm not at my best
who will wake me up in the morning
and kiss my forehead
because it's saturday
and i've found
that all i want
really, all i want
is far too much

inspiration:
a collection of thoughts/papers/dreams.
with missing letters/words

I stay up for hours
filling in the blanks

I need __.  

circle one: (you/help/coffee/a cigarette/sleep)

I might be
    the lines under my eyes
    racing each other down my face
    and dreaming of being beautiful

I might be
    an ant stuck in paint
    suffocated, confused,
    hopelessly devoted,
    but ultimately wrong

I might be
    moths in a stairwell
    predisposed to believe that a flickering
    wall lamp is the one and only sun
    then repeatedly flying into it

The whole point of running in circles is giving up.

Because the deep of my mind is a buzzing thing
analyzing, thinking, joking,
the best of each thought hiding, staying, dozing.
But rarely in coming, a true thought strays,
out of mouth and into being.
It trickles through ears,
roars through brains,
soars the winds,
and it conquers the world.
But then it dies.