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.

I flattened my palm against yours to see if we were compatible.
My hand was dwarfed by yours.
                                                          ­         

                                "Are we compatible?" you ask.

"You feel familiar,
like a memory.
Comfortable.
Like shoes,
with worn in soles.
Like a dream,
that became reality."

What if we had been strangers on a train
And I asked you what book you were reading.
You'd say:
“The Old Man and The Sea.”
Then I’d tell you I’d never read it before.
You’d say it was your favorite.
And ask for mine,
“Tuesdays with Morrie,”
I’d answer.
We’d bond over similar music taste
The **
PRiNCe
Flight of the Conchords.
You’d compliment my sweater.
I’d admire your socks.
Maybe I’d be bold and ask to take your picture,
But probably not.
Instead I’d ask you name
And you’d ask mine.
I’d smile at your reaction.
”Nice to meet you Oshin.”
Then you’d go back to reading your book
And I’d try to find another excuse to talk to you.

She spent her whole life dreaming. Everything and everyone she encountered told her
to stop. “It’s a waste of time” “It’s not healthy” “Grow up” they’d say. And eventually she
started to believe the things people said. She wanted big things - for herself and for
others, but it didn’t take long for her to realize the importance of settling. It made things
easier and she had the tendency to complicate them without even trying. She felt
isolated from the world just outside her door but she didn’t know how to change that or if
she even wanted to. The best things in life tend to waste away after a matter of
moments. They pass away as if they’d never existed. Maybe she’d imagined them all.
She began to condition herself to expect disappointment. It worked for a little while, but
hard as she tried to shield herself from the pains of everyday life - the bullet always
seem to find her. It always came, without fail and pierced her heart with little regard for
the repercussions. She longed for the day she would be good enough for the people
she loved. Maybe you had to earn it, and she hadn’t yet collected enough gold stars to
pick out of the treasure box.

I hate and love my bellybutton at the same time.
It's half inny, half outy -
as if playiNg coy.

I'm down to my socks and knickers.
I'd describe them, bUt you don't care.

I choose a flattering filter on my webcam
and strike a pose
as the countDown begins:
Three - two -
on**E.

He said: "Of all the chat sites in all the internet, she walked into the one I happen to use."
He was drunk when they first spoke.
But she was too enthralled by the fact that he thought she had good taste in music to notice.
It had taken her years to train her ears to appreciate the sound of a bass solo
and learn to distinguish the no name bands worth knowing, from those that were not.

She had an appreciation for clavicles
and wrote too many poems about what love was, wasn't, and should be.
She liked to pretend that she hated cliches, yet her favorite movie was chalk full of them.

She said: "I dig you."
She dug so many things about him.
He had so much worth digging.
His love of the ocean and all things aquatic.
His green-gray eyes.
His general lack of amusement with things of the romantic sort.

He was too sincere to ever use lols
and fancied himself most competitive cooking shows.
And though he'd never driven a car, he had been para-sailing.

She said: "You're my person."
He said" "Make the world your person."
So they continued on in their mutual amusement,
exchanging selfies, sweaters and songs.
They spoke a unique language consisting of
puns
snark
lyrics
and innuendo.

I'm around too many people that are too obsessed with their bodies.
I'm afraid of being too skinny. I'm afraid of being too fat.
Molded into the right shape by the wrong society.
Pinching your tummy fat between sickly fingers with manicured nails painted blood red.
Your power lies in your body.
Men desire us
So we ought to be optimally desirable.
Inject fat from your *** into your lips
And give us a big sloppy kiss.

Craving affection, I did what any girl would do.
I knew he wanted me
and I knew I would regret it
but I pushed past the guilt
and willed my thumbs to be bold
because my mouth would not.

                                                     * I'm bored. Want to make out?

He replied almost instantly
though not looking in my direction
where I sat not more than a foot away.
My phone buzzed.
One new text
Open.*

I convinced myself he would know it didn't mean anything.
So I kissed him in the poorly decorated guest bedroom.
I didn't like the way his mouth felt
or the way his hands passive aggressively caressed me.
He was surprised by my utilization of lip nibbling.
He said he could get used to it.
He closed the door.  

                                   "I'm not going to have *** with you."

He's terrible at pretending he's not phased by this.
I don't let him walk me to my car,
fearing he'll expect a goodnight kiss.
But that's not what this is.

Maybe he'll realize
I was longing for someone else's kiss.

They shared a mutual hatred for people
that disclosed unsolicited details about their relation*****.

Even though they spoke everyday
goodbyes never got easier.
brb, gonna sleep for eight hours.
What will you dream of?
You want me to say you, and I want me to say you, but I have no control over my dreams. You're only reserved for my daydreams.

They exchanged a plethora of photographs.
#thighhighThursday
Send.
I lIkE yOuR sOcKs.
It wasn't long before they perfected the art of taking selfies in the shower.
Send.
LeT's PlAy NaKeD tWiStEr.

Sometimes they broke the unspoken rules they'd agreed to.
The rules that banned them from getting too cutesy;
or twee as he liked to put it.
Cuddling is just hugging laying down.
For much longer.
*Cuddling is just horizontal hugging for a long time.

Let's get married in Vegas.
Cheap rings.
Cheap wine.

Let's have a ramen noodle dinner party.
A quaint occasion.
In our quaint cottage.

Let's dive into the ocean
Floating among the plankton.
Glowing like stars in the sea.

I want to cuddle and listen to the hum of the fridge.
I want to trace your features
With my fingertips.
I want all of me
Touching all of you.

You smell fizzy.
Everything you do is what I want.
You're fun to be in love with.

You make my heart hiccup.

I remember the precise moment I stopped loving him.
We had gone out to dinner.
I was just getting back from the lady's room.
He looked up at me and smiled.
His eyes, I noticed, were dead and lifeless.
Not even a dull glimmer of light remained.
I blinked
thinking eyes would appear in the two gaping holes in his face.
They only grew deeper.
He looked at me quizzically.
Perhaps something in my expression had given me away.
I sat down beside him
avoiding looking at what had once been a pair of chlorine blue eyes.
It was as if something had changed in the time it took me to use the restroom.
When I left everything was normal.
But when I came back he was no longer the man I loved.
I denied it for a while,
dismissing it as a feeling that would pass just like indigestion.
But it never did.
It only worsened.
An unexplainable bitterness began to build up inside me.
Today I looked through some old photos of us
and realized that I'd imagined those chlorine blue eyes of his
because he'd never had eyes of his own to begin with.
Funny howI was the one with the eyes and I was blind the whole time.
Maybe I should pluck my eyes out.

Mommy said if he's mean it's because he likes you.
She said boys are backwards and upside down.
She said boys are young dumb and fullofcum.
She said close your eyes when you fall so you don't see how much it's going to hurt.

I still have bruises, she said.

Offensive.
Something that one of us said.
Taking turns playing the victim.
Apologies laced with guilt.
The horrifying rush of almost losing you.
Shove the doubt down deep.
Keep quiet until morning.
Don't make a mess of this.
Part of it is ***.
Part of it is just me.
I'm wavering.
Shoveling hurts into a fire.
To make them disappear.
Never sitting still
Too afraid of thinking.

I want to hug you for three hours.

                 Make that three hours
                 and four minutes.

I want to feel the weight of your head against my stomach.
              
                Listen to the rumbles.
                My belly button is not an "on" switch.

I want to touch your lips
                
                  With my fingertips.
                  Imagining how they'd feel elsewhere.

I want to  moan for mercy.
                
               Watching you
               *Watching me.

What's wrong?
Why so sad?
Why so mean?
We've still got six months
Left of our sentence.
But you're stuck in isolation.
You don't hear me.
You're not listening.
We don't talk,
We yell.
We don't discuss,
We shout.
These bars have hardened us.
They'll be no niceness left when we're
Released.

mommy's first mistake.
hair and eyes the color of freshly mixed mud.
too small and lumpy.

passed off to daddy like a hot potato.
that potato grew.
and now i'm daddy's regret too.

Conversing,
Conversing,
Conversing -
seen 11:05pm
Typing,
Typing,
Typing.
Delete,
Delete,
Delete.
Too busy to say bye.
Leave,
Leave,
Leave.
*******.
Let me cool down.
I don't want to talk with you right now.

I saw you with her
Smiling that smile.
I’d love to wipe it off your face.
Is she better than me?
Freakier?
Weirder?
Funnier?
Cuter?
Don’t answer that.
You punched me right in the face…
So hard
That my ego
Gasped for breath.

I always wondered if love
is nothing more than holding onto what you've got
from fear that you won't find something better.
Just one big settlement.
Deal or no deal.

We carried on in our mutual settlement
weighing the pros and cons.
Trying to determine each other's worth.

When my pockets were empty
I decided it was time to make a return.
I could no longer afford all he had cost me.

I give you permission
To dream of me
In something that comes off easily.

I consent to your hands
Trailing down my body
Until my vision goes spotty.

Touch me at every red light.
Make me feel right.

Don't make me ask again.

Cause I'm lonely, that's why.
Or I'm bored.
Cause I'm sad and I need a distraction.
Because why not?

I don't like people that use the word "epic".
I don't like people that are overly optimistic.
I don't like people that "read twilight before it got popular".
I don't like the cold.
I don't like insults disguised as compliments.
I don't like tardiness.
I don't like
I don't
I do
I do like
I do like people that wear ironic t-shirts.
I do like people with green eyes.
I do like people that are awkward.
I do like raw cookie dough.
I do like writing ****** stories.
I do like you.

Let's get under the covers together
and make a lil love tent.
Warm, cozy and
snug.

Wandering love tent hands.
I'll be gentle.
But I don't want you to be.


Pushing our love tent bodies together.
Love tent lip bites.
No pants allowed in our lil love tent.

Sometimes you get me stuck.
And the words we add to the equation
Only serve to dig me deeper in the dangerous swell of my unabridged mind.

Sometimes I need you to be selfless
And let me sleep instead
of playing the victim of our relationship before bed.

I was teetering on the precipice
of something.
edging towards the glimmer.
mashing tongues,
you tore me limb from limb.
I'm glazed with sweat.
you baste me in honeydew.

in the bedroom we speak in vowels:
oooOOHHhhooo
uUUHhh.
AAAAaaahhh
The sounds of death,
Long awaited for.
I died like this every night and loved every minute of it, bruised down to my bones.
i i i, want moremoremore.
Give my teeth a whitening.

You are the eye of the storm
the first leg into a pair of pants
the bone with the best sense of humor.

you left me high,
but not dry.

accept this broken french as a gesture of my affinity:
je taime
tu me manques
je tadore mon lapin
bisou bisou

I ran to keep from
UN-
raveling.

The soft bounce of my shoes on the pavement
was my way of pushing back when the world kept pressing its weight on me.

baby grew up
and baby turned bad.
but all the babes liked her,
which made her daddy mad.

If you say I love you, you're signing a contract
A document that you acknowledge the sharp pains that keep you from sleeping won't cease.

You're forfeiting the feeling of being loved in order to show someone love.

You're saying: "I know this will happen again and it is worth it."

I did it.
Guilty.
Shame has a way of hollowing me out.
I showed you my scars and you said they were nothing,
but now they're consuming my heart.

There's lots I could say,
want to.
But my credibility is only as good as the rest of me,
which is not.

I said: "not all things that have been broken are bad"
but now I'm distraught.

I could play therapist and analyze myself:
daddy issues - check
trust issues - check
abandonment issues - check check
check.

I ****** up.
I don't want to find an excuse
that'll make you stay.
Maybe that's why I pushed you away.

I don't want you to leave,
but I care too much not to let you.
I wish I would have realized sooner
and gotten my priorities straight.
We could lie together
never touching
and that would be okay.

And you could **** all the girls
and go into gruesome detail.
As long as you still had your finger on my heart.

But you wouldn't do that.
Because you're not **** like the others
and that's why I picked you.
You're perfect.

I'm afraid I'm not anymore.

Je t'adore.*
I say it in French
so the words don't seem as heavy.
Heavy things leave both parties weaker
than when they started.
You make me feel all carbonated inside.

I'm so                       tired.
Sleep beckons.


Come hither.

but I refuse to succumb
before I'm ready.

My shoulders ache
my eyes burn.


I can help.
Let me fix you.
You need me.


How can I refuse?

I don't like any girl that could steal you away. Because she's there and I'm here.
She'll fall in love with you,
because how could she not.
First your skin should have ownership of (painting permanent pictures with needles)
and then the bits within.

I think I like writing because it’s another distraction from those feelings I try so hard to outrun. For a short while I have a purpose and I can feel as though someone is listening to me. Someone can hear me. But of course I’m just talking to myself really. That’s all this is. Me trying to comfort myself. And the thought of that saddens me more than I could have anticipated.
My life is an indie drama that no one’s ever watched. It collects dust on the bottom of the shelf along with the other VHS tapes that are no longer of use to the video store… by this point I’m sure you’re beginning to grasp what kind of mood I’m in. Introspective. Deeper in thought than I’d care to be.
As I now will myself not to cry I have the urge to walk down the hall, through the kitchen to my dad’s room and wake him up just so I can have him hold me for a few moments. So I can remember what it’s like to be comforted by someone other than myself. Someone that hardly has the choice to love me. Would he hold me? Let me cry briefly perhaps? Or would he turn me away before I plead my case? This could seem like a cruel response, but I too have been cruel so maybe it would be my karma.
I know it’s hard for him to see me in a fritz. It makes him feel uncomfortable. Something he can’t fix. I just want him to be my dad for two minutes. Then I could shuffle back to my bedroom, slip into bed and drift in and out of sleep. I don’t know when my dad and I became so afraid of each other. Our relationship is now that of two roommates that don’t really care for the others company. It’s as if I woke up one day and realized I was homeless, yet ironically living in the home of my father. The separation we’ve built up between each other serves as an emotional wall so we can’t hurt each other. Those are two things we’ve both become experts on – hurting each other and building walls.
It’s strange the way all these feelings well up inside me all of the sudden. I was able to keep them at bay all day, keeping busy at work. In fact I had a great day – even making a decent amount in tips. I keep torturing myself. This self-mutilation only seems to worsen.

He was a quiet boy
obsessed with death.
Some said he was depressed.

And his smile.
his smile was worthwhile;
his smile was.

But the boy was not right.
His demons dressed in their Sunday's best
to keep from being caught.

He knew all the nice things people would say
at his funeral.
That he was smart,
inventive,
affectionate.

This poem is for that boy.
The boy that never got to hear all the wonderful things
people had to say
because he is dead.

why do you even like me?
4,432 miles away
and you still find a way to make me
nervous.
I calculate my words
and find that they are lacking.

Our romance is long division.
Did I forget to carry the one?

what is it about me?
Is it the way my hair frizzes when it's wet?
or the fact that my teeth are still slightly crooked despite my having had braces?

No.
Surely it's my flirting.
And how my attempts at **** come off pathetic.
I'm sure you find it endearing.

I didn't notice that face,
the one I make when I'm concentrating -
until you mentioned it.

a bit of me is bothered,
bothered that you notice my embarrassing habits.
but another bit,
and a more prominent one -
is flattered.
flattered that you're watching me so closely
that you can see things
that I haven't noticed for 19 years.

My bed is an island
Of isolation
And comfort.

On all sides surrounded
By obstacles
And confrontation

I sleep in til noon
And live off the fat of the land.

This is my
*Paradise.

Why did you feel like you had to prove something to everyone? Innocence isn't bad you know. You were going to wait. But you were just so **** eager to prove your point. Perhaps a bit of it was spite. You felt over sheltered, so you overcompensated.

You have bad hair and bad taste in boys.

Still you shouldn't have broken up with him via text. Twice.
Making the third time by phone call wasn't a bad idea.

You have small *****. Get over it.

Stop being so insecure. Do things by yourself. You’re prone to codependency and neediness is not a good look for you

Invest in a pair of cute thigh highs. Delete your ****** blog. Get your eyebrows waxed (it doesn't hurt that bad).

While I have your attention - DON'T ******* FAIL CHEM!!! You end up retaking it with the same teacher whose face resembles that of a rat.

Enjoy being a social butterfly because it'll get old quick. Also beer is gross so you didn't miss much at parties.

*You'll grow into your skin.

He lived 150 miles away.
but there was something far greater
than a two and a half hour drive separating us.
You're 4,432 miles away
(I know. I googled it.)
yet you seem closer.
Though not close enough.

He made my bones feel dry.
brittle.
I was afraid I'd break from the slightest movement.
but then you.
with your bedhead
and smiles
and love of the sea.

He wants to be a doctor.
Admirable I suppose.
Excuse me if I don't wait in line to kiss his ***.
He did more hurting
than he did healing.
bitter.

You'll be a marine biologist
and we'll live by the sea
and have a beautiful multiracial family.
*Bliss.

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.

The black cursor pulses with intimidation;
urging you to fill the white blankness with letters that form words and transition into sentences.

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.

She has sharp hipbones
that jut out in a way that seems painful.

And I think her lips are too thin
but all the boys think she's beautiful.

I could be like her.
The Malibu Barbie type.

I could wear more makeup
and style my hair like the celebrities featured in Cosmo;
but would my prince charming be able to recognize me
through all that eyeliner and the smog of hairspray?

He was a boy with beautiful eyes
and an appreciation for colorful socks and generic tea.

A boy that played the drums and went to festivals.
The kind of festivals that left him longing for a proper shower
and his mother's pork belly stew.

He dyed his hair a fitting shade of black
And though he was underwhelmed by the idea of anything romantic
his use of smiley emoticons was enough to make up for it.

He taught me the importance of learning to appreciate cheap wine
and the power of using compliments sparingly.

He was the kind of boy that would be fun to spoon,
or so I assume
because I've never met him.

I wish i were a lighthouse;
Then I'd be my own safe place.
And the dark wouldn't seem so threatening.

My tongue was red
And yours was blue
So we made purple.

Tie dye my taste buds.
Paint my lips
With a kiss.