His touch was too eager.
Almost as if he was afraid
She would evaporate into thin air.
She wanted to.
But she laid there instead
as he murmured drunken slurs into her ear.
She could taste the bitter fluid on his tongue.
He never seemed to want her when he was sober anymore.
It made her feel utterly repulsive.
Was it her unsatisfactory performance
that had driven him to his alcoholism?
Or had her looks deteriorated so rapidly
that the thought of touching her was sickening?
Perhaps this is why his movements were always so rushed now.
He wanted to get it over with.
Maybe he no longer enjoyed it
but saw it as a right of passage he had worked so hard to earn
he felt obliged to indulge.
Frankly, she no longer cared
to know the answer to these questions.
She felt his body convulsing on top of her -
a sign that he was close.
So she closed her eyes
and clenched her jaw.
"It'll be over soon" she thought.

Where's my inner beauty.
Rolled up in a spliff.
Where's my peace of mind.
Jumping off a cliff

"You're an open book, but in a language I can't read."

*I'm the book you'll never take the time to read to the end.

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.

I rely too much on others to sew me back together.
I wanted to be the one to fix me this time,
so I'm not waiting in pieces until someone arrives with a needle and thread.

So I found a playlist to suit my mood.
And weathered the storm.

I'm bleeding boredom
While you're revising the things you said.
For me?
Probably.
Apology.
A redeeming soliloquy
painted ivory.
But I'm still bored
And I haven't stopped bleeding
Or believing you'll leave me.
Pity party
And too much cacophony.
Bring me down
Bring me low.
Sweet chariot
Let me go
Let me lie
Beneath the covers
Until my eyes are dry.

Why be alone
When you can pine after apparitions
Of something better.
The good and the
Bad of it is
We don't always get what we deserve.
Why be bad
When you can fail at self improvement.
You're just a lil baby
Stumbling
Lil brat of some selfish lil ****
And that's why boys don't like to love you
But they love to use you.
Why feel sad when
You can choose to be happy you idiot.
Be mindful.
Be quiet.
Don't argue.
Don't prove yourself.
Don't care.
Pay your rent on time.
Be ****.
Be brave.
Be confident.
Submit.
Why be anything at all
When there's a great big ocean
For you to walk into.

Skinny is not synonymous with confident. Nor is funny synonymous with happy. But if you weigh 110 pounds, and make people laugh they will ignore your tear stained cheeks. They will overlook the limpness of your movements.

You could fall dead without having been known by anyone. They will peer at your corpse and claim to have known you. They may even cry.

Had I been fat and humorless they would have known me.

im a sexed up

cumwhore

after a drag on

your **** pistol.



im as quiet as a

mouse in my

shiny, black school shoes.



im a baddie

and im thinking

of your head

grazing against my teeth instead

of this (decadent)

cherry –

now you know why im drooling.



im a gracious

guest and the

hostess with the

most-est, covering

my mouth when

I laugh too hard,

mixing a cocktail

that’ll put hair

on any man’s chest

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.

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.

Do you like me?
With all my tears and scar tissue?
Even though I'm emotionally unstable
And I'm still a bit afraid of the dark.
You know I'm sensitive and grumpy.
You know I'm insatiable and clumsy.
You know I'm a writer
Cynical
And spiteful.
Could you love me?
This mess of frizzy hair and insecurities?
Even though I self sabotage
And I very nearly hate everyone I meet.
You know I have stretch marks on my ***
You know I'm clingy.
You know I'm afraid of drowning
Heights
And losing you.

Well as long as you know.

How tacky.
                                                                ­                      Tacky.
                                    ­                                        Tacky.
                  ­                                                 Tacky.

*****.

I'm flattered
that you find my words worth stealing.
But I hate you.
And think you're
                                        Tacky.

Pathetic.
Taking credit
for something that belonged to me.
I hate lairs.
So I hate you.
I'd say it wasn't personal,
but then I'd be a liar.
Like you.

You'll never be a poet.
"Thief"
Is a name far better suited for you.

******.

He was the kind of boy that would listen to you talk about your dreams
And watch you try on a series of hats only to tell you he didn't like any of them.

This boy that could talk about kiwis
without seeming dull.

He had an affinity for hip hop music and ironic T shirts
and fancied himself a good club crawl every now and again.

The two P's were often on his dinner menu (pasta and pesto)
And he was quirky.
Not in a Zooey Deschanel kind of way,
But in the way that is effortless.
In the way that intrigues people.
Intrigues me.  

He wasn't the kind of boy you read about in books,
but should have books written about him.
I wanted to be the one to write it.

It started off as a fan-fiction
and ended as wishful thinking.

Through our time together I too learned a lot.
I've taken the experiences and grown from them.
I learned not to give up at the first sign of trouble. Sometimes the discomfort fear provides is necessary in order for us to better ourselves.
I'm sorry for blowing things out of proportion.
And mistakes I never atoned for.
I'm sorry for the times I was so busy trying to fix you that I forgot to improve myself.
I wish you many successes in your future.

I need a drink like hella.
To soothe my sorrow and make me mella.
I ******* hate this mind of mine
Always churning
Won't stop til I d.i.e.
Plug up my eyes
Ears
Nose
And mouth.
Trapped in the sewage of my harmful thoughts
I am sinking in ****.
Can't breathe in
Won't breathe out.
Ded.
Too rekt.
Too ****** to give one.
It's all in my head.
I'm not crazy
But i wish I was dead to the world
At the bottom of the sea.

the world is a dangerous place for
daughters,
for sisters,
aunts,
nieces,
girlfriends.
she asks herself if she deserved to be
taken advantage of,
chased,
belittled,
grabbed,
hurt.
fear is instilled in each girl,
their rights withheld,
respect weaned,
voiced silenced
because of their anatomy.
filled with guilt at their mere existence
while rapists sleep soundly.
people say it wouldn't have happened
if you dressed more conservatively,
if you didn't lead him on,
he couldn't help himself,
it's natural,
you should be flattered you stuck up ***** I'm talking to you.
a man that goes too far is excused for being a boy,
while a girl walks to her car in the middle of the night, fearful for her own life.
a naked woman lying in the street is not asking for anything
that she doesn't speak.
why does the first "yes" mean "yes"
and the first "no" mean "persist" ?
why do you get an excuse to act how you want
but I'm not granted the same privledge every 28 days?
at what age do you tell her that she will be
violently pursued,
cursed,
assaulted,
undermined,
paid less
because the structure of her body.
Why does every girl have a heartbreaking story
that she was made to feel guilty for?
like she could have done something to change it,
when the thing that needs changing is the one that thinks "well you see the way she dressed, she brought it on herself."
I hope I don't have a daughter,
but a son instead
so I won't have to be the one to put fear in her head.

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

*** with you felt like it was my first time.
it was nice, to feel virginal again.
to be pure.
innocent.
this clean, untouched thing.

arguing with you felt disheartening.
made me scared.
amplified what little doubt I had.
and then there was that one time,
the first time,
and hopefully the last
when you felt like my dad.
(you complained from up on your tower,
about how my complaints were unjustified.
only later to complain about some other matter,
but I was too inside my brain.)
and I had to tell myself there was a reason,
God had a purpose for the pain he was letting me feel -
to thicken my skin
so that nothing and no one could hurt me ever again,
because I wouldn't let them.
wouldn't give them the opportunity.

Words aren't so reassuring anymore
Because words are what got me to this nowhere place.
The place I can't feel your flesh pinched between my fingers.

My nerves don't remember the sensations
That once nurtured me.

This is an apology
To make up for all the arguing.
I'm sorry
I'm not gentler
Not what you need
Not patient
Not relaxed.
I'm sorry I'm spiteful
And I get hurt so easily.
I'm sorry for yesterday,
The day before.
For the times I'm argumentative.
That I don't like bowie.
Sorry for when I'm sad
And when I make you feel bad.
When I pity myself
And get jealous.
I'm sorry.

He was always looking for ways to classify his sadness.
But the way I see it
the world is a sad place to exist
and most of the time the people that live here
can push those thoughts to the very back of their mind
but sometimes they grow weak and the realization starts to creep back in and fill up your head until it feels like its pouring out of your ears
and you're sad and it seems like you don't know why
But sad is the normal response to being alive I think.
It's all the other emotions we experience that are abnormal.

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.

My bed is my sanctuary.
Your voice is my song.
A murmuring melody
That rolls in with the dawn.
Sexed up hair
And cloudy eyes
All taking in
The hazy sunrise.
Pink cheeks flushed with pleasure
Heated bodies
Beyond all measure.
Give me dew drop kisses
All along my spine
The passion of your lips
Is truly divine.
Love me on Monday
To the weekend
And back.
My eyes are hungry
Its you they lack.
Curl up your toes
Inside your socks.
Your whispers seem loud
During our pillow talks.

I want to be the girl
That makes you feel lucky
And all your guy friends jealous.

I want to be the girl
That cooks and cleans
In my highest pair of stilettos.

I want to be the girl
That can wear a one piece bathing suit
And still dominate your fantasies.

I feel your breath
Against my ear
Whispering
Sweet nothings
I long to hear.
Filled with seduction
And burning desire
I lose myself within
Your fire.

It's easier to vent here,
Where the people that find what you have to say worth hearing - can, and do listen.

Maybe if I used auto-tune
When speaking about how I feel.
Or used catchy lingo
And played a sick beat
You
Would
H e a r
Me.

This whirlpool of useless words,
A point made a thousand times over -
Speaks no louder than a whisper
T(w)o ears that are closed.

Don't laugh okay?
Swear.
Swear not to laugh.

Okay so remember that guy I was telling you about?
Yes the one with the puffin sweater.
Well we didn't actually meet at an Arctic Monkeys concert.

We met online.
Like in a chatroom.
We cured each other's loneliness.
And then we went from there.

I am daughter to a man strung together from a multitude of inconsistency.
always late, lying about things
or with people he shouldn't be.
I am the product of a man who could not bring himself to give a compliment.
Trust is a five letter word synonymous with the word "myth" -
that is the greatest lesson my father ever taught me.

I love men who make promises they can't keep.
I love men that pull away,
make me doubt what I deserve.
I always wonder if my daddy thought I was pretty.

Boys love me when I laugh at their jokes
and make them feel like the most interesting thing in the room.
They like when I put their insecurities to bed.
Bed,
the most bittersweet place for a girl like me
to be.

I'll go first
#1: I can finally smell your hair.
#2: Your grandparents would be furious.
#3: You.

I'm offended I'm only #3

Fine
#0: You.
There. Now you're pre #1
#4: Your chicken.
#5: You.

My turn
#6: Festivals with me.

(In unison)
#7: The Neutral Milk Hotel gig.

#8: Soul mates.

#9: Seeing you naked.

#10: Legal drinking.

#12: Taking advantage of you when you're drunk.

#13: Lack of time zone annoyances.

Yussss
#14: Making French toast for you.

#15: Cuddles are better in the cold.

Get out of town! I was just about to say cuddles!

We're psychic.

#16: Watching you sleep.

#17: Creepy comments about me sleeping.

I need to move to Britain.

and I watched you
while you slept,
wishing I were with you.

But I could settle for this.
You felt real.
We were as close as we could get without touching.

at midnight I made a wish.



Not hard to guess what it is.

upset tummy after a night of liquor
while I stayed in, unable to eat, getting sicker -
I can't hold down a bite,
my stomach won't have mercy on me.
Dry heaves,
wet tears
and a bed I wish wasn't empty.
it's night like these
I wish for my mother's womb -
a warm, dark place fit for the likes of me.

I don't know what I'm doing,
but it feels a lot like drowning.
being with someone
can feel scarily like -
you're holding your own hand.


I fear the morning,
because I'm afraid you'll leave in the night.
(That's how they all go.)

Too many parties.
Too much numbing.

I hate this song.
I hate this ****.
Just kidding, this is so fun.
lol nope.
wher u b at????
oh my god I think someone roofied me.
probably shouldn't have smoked.
YAY TRUTH OR DARE!!
****, I'm hungry.
im not tired.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

People don't fix loneliness.

But loneliness likes company
That's why she went to the party.


*Parties are a celebration of loneliness.

When love and like aren't synonymous
I feel anonymous.

i'm tired of defending myself.
the things I do or don't do.
sick of explaining the way I'm feeling
and the reason behind my means to cope.
the less fight I put up,
the more attacked I feel.

I don't want to talk
because you don't like the things I have to say.
They're too negative
or I don't say them with enough zest.

I vent to you and I can see the hurt it causes.
I hold it in and I seem short.
What is the use.
I try, only to have the worst assumed of my good intentions:
"Don't make a thing out of this (you argumentative *****)."
So maybe I should quit trying so **** hard
(if i'm just going to end up wrong either way).


******* out of here.
I'm sick of being sorry.
(I'm allowed to have off days too.)

The words echo in my mind.
disgusting
I feel like I'm dying
or dead.
ashamed
I take my punishment.
I don't make a sound.
Not a peep.
you will be forgotten
Sometimes I miss the old me
because no one could love the new me.

I'm painfully aware of your eye contact.

Let's use the rain as an excuse
to stay indoors.

Give me the right words
so I don't say the wrong ones.

I haven't always been this shy.

Hello.
My name is Oshin.
I used to be somebody's girlfriend.
Now I am not.
But I am still Me I think.

"Hi Oshin."

I like the perfection of your mind
And each of your body parts.

I like that you're more than willing
To look up the answer to my questions on Google.

I like the amount of irony
Involved in our flirtation.

I like the fact that we have
A joint blog on tumblr.

I like that every love song
Reminds me of you.

I like that you never add "too"
To the end of an "I love you."

Ashamed
is the word for what you're feeling.
And i can't be bothered with this.
Because we don't feel real
Until you admit i exist.

Invest all my assets in this stock.
Empty my pockets,
Take my pride.
All I want is a guarantee that you'll stay
And promise to love me.

RSVP for our future.
Look into a crystal ball
and tell me what you see.

Is it me and you - us?
Or is it me, you, and the sea still in between?

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.

When I'm high I want to eat with my hands.

The texture is part of the experience.

I thought I was being philosophical
But I know I was being annoying.

Sweet,
with a subtle carbonation.
Forefinger and thumb
running up the length of the stem of the glass.
Palm at the base of the bulb.
Swirling
Clinking
"Cheers."

Cold,
but warmed by the wine.
Touching lips.
Touching tongue.
*Kiss, kiss

i need to create
to keep from decomposing.

to keep from
r
o
t
t
i
n
g

but my flesh falls off anyway.