Part of me doesn't want to belong to anyone.
Part of me won't.
Because I don't want anyone to feel entitled to the things I can't give them.

The things I won't.

Why would you love a girl
that needs to lie next to strangers to cope?

It is not an excuse, but it is a reason.
It is not your fault that I am not strong enough to stop this thing I do.
This thing that hurts the both of us, but it really hurts you.
Part of me thought you already knew.
I convinced myself that you’d picked up on the subtle hints I’d dropped on your feet like soggy feathers.

I don’t need you to forgive me.
I need you to do what will make you okay.
I need you to be better in spite of me.
I need you to graduate and become successful.
I need you to marry someone with blue eyes and blond hair so I hate myself every day.

People make excuses for me and it makes me feel like hemorrhaging.
I don’t want to party.
I don’t want to dance.
I like to marinate in this pain I’ve earned.
To know that I may never know you because I got to know someone else. Might never open my eyes to the sight of your face two inches in front of mine.

Do not fall in love with these words because they are made of ink and ink bleeds, but I don’t.
I sent you all my love in an airplane that crossed over the sea.
And by the time it got there, you were half way to me.
Don’t let my tears coax you into settling.
My hurt is irrelevant when it is what caused yours.

So many things I want to say but have no right to.
Sign a permission slip to grant me access to the places closed off with yellow tape.
How could I ask for a second go at cutting you into confetti?
Come here, I said come here.

You need to be here, so I can stop being this way.
But is not fair to say.
It is not your responsibility to restore my innocence.
When did I become so selfish?
Why did I take directions from strangers that played their music too loud?

I should have done molly.
Should, shoul, shou, sho, shh. Sshhh.
I should have done more drugs and given less hugs.
Sshhh.
I should not have dressed that way or done my make up just so.
I should have been looking through pictures of you on my phone.
Oh, that face. The one that thought I was perfect.
You know the one, with the eyes I wanted to one day see on the face of our child.

I'm naïve. I am an airborne virus. You caught me on the bus.

You were never not perfect.

And he realized then that she wasn't his.
Passing her off like a spliff.
Round and round she goes.
Nobody knows how it feels to die.
We're all too busy pretending to be alive.
She fell to the ground just like the ashes.
And I inhaled her like the smoke.

This poem is for the man in love with the bottle,
because it's the only thing he can hold onto.
The bottle demonstrates its love by helping him forget.
Because the bottle is filled with magic
he thinks will make him loveable.

This is for the man that can't fall asleep
because the bottle is empty.

be still.
make a choice to avoid making any choices for as long as you possibly can.
what power do you have when so many other people's choices blur your own.

close your eyes.
decide not to decide.
decisions are for people that have nothing better to do than choose.

but I do.
i just choose not to.

blow up my ego with helium
let me go when my head gets too big
and watch me exhale into the wind.

Afterthought
Aftershocks
I am not.
Nevermore
Neverever
No I'm not.
Leftovers
Left brained
No more.

Slowly, slowly pull me apart
And put me in a stew.

Her lack of self-restraint was a conscious decision to be self-destructive.
She sought a reaction that would produce the attention she fed on like a greedy infant noshing on dimpled knuckles with a mouthful of swollen gums.

She preferred cassette tapes to records “just because.”
She liked long, drawn out silences.
She enjoyed the way crumbs gathered at both corners of her mouth as she devoured a box of strawberry Poptarts.

At any given moment it was quite likely that her tongue was rattling behind her teeth, that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that she was falling in love with a fictional book character; perhaps even doing all three simultaneously.

My fears seem legitimate in the expanse of my mind
But I'm so preoccupied by their irrationality that I forget to fear rational things
Like aimless wandering
And death.

Not many things are as satisfying
As peeing when you're drunk.
What a rush.

I always realize how lightheaded I am
And that makes me laugh.

Then it's back to the kitchen to replenish
My body's alcohol supply.

We’ll grow up and forget the ways we used to be.
What it was like to be a child altogether.
We’ll forget that we kissed with our eyes open because no one had ever told us not to.

I’m lying in fetal position, the bed is the womb.
I am nothing.
I do not exist yet.
I practice breathing.
Sharp in and out breaths.
Growing calmer. More fluid.
I feel myself forming, taking shape.
I do not exist yet.
In out in out in out in out in out.
I move oxygen. I stir the air.

There is a point at every party
where I look at myself if the mirror
and realize how drunk I am.

Then I laugh because I don't recognize myself.

I have no backbone because I've been bent out of shape. I compromise my morals so I can tolerate the skin I'm in. What I want is to cut it off. I want to expose the tissue, muscle, and bone underneath. The wind is harsher when you've got no skin. No protection. I don't need my skin to be thicker. I just needed to be new. If the scars disappear I'll forget how I got them.

I'm leaning up against you because I have no backbone.
I have no morals.

I'm okay with not knowing who I am.

I thought I understood it until the ink bled together into one unintelligible run-on sentence.
It made sense until it didn't.
I thought I could keep up
Or fall behind if that's what you needed of me.
No one told me second place meant losing and losing meant mascara streaked shirt collars.
When people ask why you eyes are red
Just say you're tired.
And they will pretend to believe you
Because they don't want the burden of your tears.

Internal struggle.
A perilous fight.

It's been said that guilt is a human invention.
A form of self punishment that enables us to attone for our mistakes and shortcomings.

I guess that makes me a *******.

she dances at parties because the people that dance at parties
look like they're having fun.
she never learned that fun isn't a synonym for happiness.

maybe daddy hates her because she reminds him of mommy.
*mommy danced at parties too.

He knew she wasn't a ****
she just needed to make up for the attention she never got from daddy.
He loved her because she needed him to
because she couldn't make up for a lack of daddy's love all on her own.
He'd endured the self loathing she felt now like a paper cut dipped in alcohol.
He'd endured it and it went away.
It went away because of a girl.
A girl that loathed him more than he loathed himself.
She loathed him because he needed her to.

I don't need to be what makes you happy
I just need you to be happy.

I'll try my best to be a catalyst.

I'd stay awake if it meant the stars wouldn't go away. I fall asleep next to you if I could. I'd make my home in your heart because it never gets cold there. Your arms could be my foundation. Nevermind walls, your embrace should be what holds me together.

Ephemeral. I finally found it. The word to describe the frequency level of your DNA. But I'd rather you didn't disappear.

What started off as a cold shoulder
Escalated to frozen stiff
And I was afraid to be around you  
from fear I'd catch pneumonia.

maybe I misheard.
happiness is(n't) a fluke.

I need a remedy for my dependency.
It's killing me slowly.

indulge me for a moment and pretend I'm interesting.

I find it amusing that you always inflate your cheeks with fluid when you drink anything. Why not simply swallow the moment it's in your mouth?

Then I met you and I understood.
Some things are meant to be savored.

Ephemerality is not my specialty
But I can be short-lived if you want me to be.
I can be fleeting.

I arrive at the party early and head straight for the kitchen.
I half and half a fruity flavored ***** and cranberry cocktail juice in my red solo cup.

It tastes bad.
I drink fast
It tastes better.
My cup is empty.
Refill.
Hunch punch it is.
****** drinking games
****** music.

I go out on to the patio.
I'm greeted by a circle of hazy expressions
And red eyes.
1 hit
2 hits
3 hits
4.

Jenga truth or dare.
lick the faces of three people
Girl that dared me - one.
Girl with purple hair - two.
Guy with buddy holly glasses - three.

Space Odyssey plays on the stereo.
5
4
3
2

I wake up fully clothed on a makeshift mattress made of couch cushions.
I'm ******* freezing.

she wrote her number on a cigarette.
three days later I inhale smoke as the numbers burn away.
the pile of ash on the ledge of the balcony is the only proof that she ever existed.
if she doesn't exist then I can't miss her.
I didn't lose her because she was never here.

but the smoke feels heavy in my lungs
and that's proof enough.
it felt as though those digits were swirling around,
choking me
so that with every cough I ingrained the memory of her deeper in my mind.

*she's gone. she's gone. she's gone.

Tell me all your fantasies
And I'll make them come true.
Tell me what you want
And I'll do it for you.

I'm not as fragile as I look.

What makes you tick
What makes you tock
I wanna spend time with you round the clock.
To make you feel good
To make you feel bad
I wanna be the best you ever had.
Will you let me
Would you mind
If I set out to blow your mind?
Savoring softly
Breathing deeply.
In this bed of mine
I'll do the talking.

Don't you dare touch yourself.
That's my job.
I'm going to touch you in public
to make you want me in private.

But I'm going to make you wait.
Make you want it.
Feel my arousal.

Nails trailing down my spine.
Sandwiching your bottom lip between my teeth.

*I'm counting the minutes until I can taste you.

Calloused to the distance.
Adding sand to the hour glass.
Turning back time.

Call me Mr sand man.
I'm a dream.

make a mess of me.
peel me apart until my insides are exposed.
tell me who I am:
dumb, ****, trouble, fickle, helpless, weak, crazy, damaged, bitter, *****.
tell me who I'm not:
beautiful, independant, successful, innovative, compassionate, patient, wise.

now tell me something I don't know.

I don't want your body,
too many people have had you.
You've got the scratches and bruises to prove it.

I don't want your mind
you always say what you're thinking.
Your pictures never look right unless your smiles are sincere.

I wanted your soul
and you didn't resist when I took it.
*"I have no use for it anyway."

Wake me up with your mouth
To put me to sleep with your fingers.
The tickle of your hair
The warmth of your breath
And I'm very nearly dead.

It's okay it's okay.
Everyone is always saying that
And now the words have no meaning at all.
Ironic how everyone  says it's okay
Most often when it's not.
Even if things were "okay"
I wouldn't believe you.
I don't believe myself when the word
Repeats in my head.
Tell me things are good.
Hell, tell me they are bad
before you tell me they're okay.

I don't want to be okay.
I want to be perfect or I want to be dead.
Which is easier?

*okay.

That's all any of us are trying to do.
With the edge of a blade
the edge of a spliff
or sipping on the edge of a glass filled with a distraction in liquid form.

Let's just hope we don't jump from it.

No one likes the truth when it's not watered down.
Without a chaser.
When it's said too loud.

No one likes good news with a dose of bad.

I'm getting okay with who I am
What I am
How I am.
I'm okay with it all
At least for today.

Kiss me against the lockers
or behind the bike racks if you'd rather.

I'll hike up my skirt so you can give me pleasure.
One hand for inducing my moans
the other hand to silence them.

Translating the movements of your body
and replying with movements of my own.

I don't just wanna be your come down.
I wanna be what gets you high.
I wanna be you THC.
Your MDMA.
Your TLC.
And all the other letters in between.

She fell into a happy medium between feeling and not where she could experience emotions without being whisked away by them into a dimention with no doors or windows.
Content with the mildness of an average day.
Very nearly satisfied.

She mirrored the images that were projected onto the screen in front of her.
Her waxy smile smearing as the heat pressed down on her.
Her drug of choice was love and she always paid the price.

I never want to forget the fear associated with being completely in love with someone
Or boat rides I took with my dad and sister where we all lied to ourselves for thirty minutes.
The salty air demanded our smiles, stole the laughter straight out of our mouths.

I never want to forget the new years eve when I drank so many mimosas I couldn't stand up and watched you fall asleep in the closet of a stranger's house.
We were both so drunk and it was perfect.

I never want to forget that I promised myself I'd be happy, and that the opposite of happy isn't alone.

She was never apologetic about the fact that she kissed him like she hated him.
As if by some strange spell her kisses were slowly poisoning him from the inside out
And then one day he would pass away and no one would be the wiser.

And just as she imagined her kisses had the power to ****, they also had the power to bring to life; but she was less fond of that feature.
She didn't want to fix things.
She preferred to break them because so many other people spent their whole lives fixing.
Destruction was something of a natural instinct to her.
To anyone really, but especially her.
She didn't need to be taught how to break things.
And there was far less competition in this category.

So she kept on kissing, and one by one the boys dropped dead. Always boys, never men.
Because they shrank to a shell of their former selves when they kissed her.
They hollowed out so that the wind howled through them, echoing against frailing bones.
All their insides drying up with every dart of her tongue, which she weilded like a sword.

He told me he loved me on a Tuesday. I remember because while he said it the thought flitted through my mind that he had chosen one of the most insignificant days to say something so significant. And then my next thought was relief. Because I'd known I loved him for a long time but had restrained from saying so in order to give him the time he needed to decide how he felt about me.

No girl sets out to be the type of woman that needs a man.
Yet here we are.
In a man's world, run by little boys.

the internet was invented as a means for people who get lonely late at night to cope.
can a website cure your loneliness?
can a URL fix the virus in your heart?

I like the idea of being a people person
until I think about what that truly means.
Then I just go back to being anti social
because it's easy
and people subconsciously like people that don't like them back.