A boy that's good for your body
And better for your head
That's who I dreampt of
As I squirmed in my bed.

Tingling limbs
All fire and heat.
Making it hard to stay in my seat.

A boy with a soft body for cuddling
And a strong will for a healthy mind.
But above all, please let him be kind.

The curves of your mouth
Are poetic.
Your eyes
Are two serenades
Sung by the sea.
Your voice  caresses
The ears of those that hear it.

You are a melody.

He wanted to be a man
But he was
Nothing more
Than a 19 year old boy
With buttons for eyes
And a claustrophobic soul.

I was there for a while,
The tops of my feet
Just skimming cloud nine.

Baby, I danced on air.

But then I looked down at the treetops,
And I traded paradise for earth.

Because I couldn't feel love or life or anything up there.
But on earth I can feel dead loveless human beings.
And aren't they worth that fall.

He's so. *******. Perfect.
Like,
****.

He likes all the bits of me that I hate
and finds beauty in the things I can't.

I want to eat sprees with him in the bathtub
and dedicate every Magnetic Fields love song to him
and cover him in an endless stream of kisses.

He's the saving grace
that gives me a reason to pray.
And he gives me tinglies in my heart and in my underwear.

I'd gladly endure nine months of nausea
in order to have a miniature human with his eyes.

He makes me forget that I'm average
and encourages me to infect his dreams

I want you endlessly.
I want to be with you,
but for now a pillow will do -
**ish.

you dream of us.

long boarding to the beach.
having dinner with your dad.
discussing cheese preferences.
"Shredded."
"Sliced."

I dream of us.

making french toast.
syrupy kisses in the kitchen.
powdered cinnamon on your nose.
eggshells in the sink.

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

im bad at boys
and they're bad at me.
what I want is not always what I need.
***** and moaning
about every little thing -
you're too nice and i'm too mean.

this is hurting,
but I'm deserving after the way I hurt you.

I don't know how to begin to ask for forgiveness
for my sickness.

I wish it was the flu.

treading lightly
so you don't see how tightly I've bound myself
to keep from coming undone.

riffling through my old journals
I stumbled across some unsent letters I'd written.
You may not have read what I wrote
but I feel I still owe you an apology
for the nasty, hurtful things I said.

I was such a ****.
I can hardly believe I wrote them.
I don't want to believe it.

But maybe it's good that I don't recognize the girl I used to be.
Maybe it means I'm changing...

for the better hopefully.

I suppose I've forgotten my past
intentionally.

Ignorance is bliss?
in this case it is.

I don't want to cry.
But sometimes I do.

I'm not a prayerful person.
But sometimes I pray.
Not that any of my prayers deserves to be answered.

I've been driven to beg.
Bartering.
Ultimatums.

I want
I need
Give me

Do you ever feel so hopeless
that it paralyzes you?
All you can do is watch
as fate demolishes your plans for the future.
******* all over your dreams.
Tearing up your innocence,
not even bothering to recycle the debris.

Put childish things aside.
Grow up and get a real job.
Get married and start a family.
You owe it to yourself.
To everyone.

Another birthday passes.
Another debt to pay.
Another year spent.

Come undone.
Waste away.
Lie awake.
With me.

Don't speak.
Not a peep.
Be alone.
With me.

Kiss my knuckles.
Stroke my cheek.
Write a fairytale.
With me.

The voices in my head
Silence the words
That come from my mouth.
I want to be heard
But my volume
Is mute.

it's that sinking feeling,
you know the one-
like getting water in your ears
or wearing wet socks in dry shoes.
Like when a person takes too long to reply to your
"I love you"
or simply never replies at all.
I'm sure you've felt it,
the feeling you get
as you wait for the police officer to return
with your license and registration.
Five minutes seems like five days.

I think a lot of people find silence scary.
Is is because we're afraid of ourselves?
I wish I hadn't removed my blindfold.

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.

Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.
Bite my lip and I'll kiss yours.
Say my name and I'll say
"More."

You want to keep me
But not own me.

Be close
But not hold me.

Love me
But not need me.

Have the power to break me.
I'm crumbling.

i've been called a *****.
been called a tease.
been called a ******.

and that's just the start.

flinch at things that have no meaning,
but sound like they should be offensive:
****.

no, no sweetie.
the words that hurt me
are the ones laced with gold
and grown in a field of baby's breath.
no, no honey.
the words I fear
are ones you can't hear
because they're hidden between the lines.

I know the weight at which I will find balance.
Yet I can't seem to loose the last pound.

The scale is always tipping.
I'm too light.
I'm too heavy.

I'm too available.
I'm too busy.

I don't sparkle anymore.

the boys that try and save me
don't know the damage my daddy did

the boys that love me
don't know how foreign that love is

the boys that know me
don't know everything

Let me tell you about my best friend. He is a trigger, pointed right at me. He is the last moment before dusk - a crisp line of color amidst a wide stretch of grey. With exotic lips, lush with an obscene shade of red-pink. Stout sturdy fingers feed into the wrist upon which I tug so that he is forever hurdling towards me. His limbs are animated by hesitance and laughter. his every pore a perfect seal. teeth like ivory, used delicately to inflict a pain pleasantly. His mind is an etch-a-sketch, a single line of thought expands into an organized madness. he is a man of many sounds, all of which tell you something about him - he is eager, sincere, boyish, enigmatic, pure. eyes alive like two magnetic coils, sizzling like a heated brand. he is more certain of the flicks of his tongue than the movement of his body and this speaks to his priority.  I've never seen a man more willing to love imperfect things. a patron saint in doc martens. he is ever unintentionally the accumulation of these things, to which the sum is incalculable.

How do you mourn for someone who hasn’t died?
For someone that’s alive and well,
And worst of all – without you.
How do you let go of something
You swore to hold onto?
When you build someone up in your mind
It’s so hard to demolish what you’ve created.
I’ll pretend I don’t know who you are
The next time I see you around town.
I’ll pretend I’m not jealous
When I hear you’re with wife and child.
I’ll pretend I don’t hope you’re a wreck without me.
        And I’ll pretend I didn’t mourn.

I don't want to be found.
people are hard,
People are hurting.

But I'm a fragile beautiful thing
it's just going to take the right person to see.

just get through today. Just get through today.
there's nothing wrong. You're perfectly OK.

Use people like tissues.
throw them away after one use.
discard your emotions
until you hear further news.

I'm okay with being an acquired taste.
I'll repel the wrong people.
the right people will fall in love with me instantly.

I'm not convenient.
I'm not easy.
I'm fickle.
I'm bored.

love me and leave me like all the others before.

"Trust your womanly intuition."
But what if I don't want to?
What if my tuition says:
"you can't break the cycle."
Or:
"you're a **** up."

I'm tired of these things.
These things my mind does
To sabotage.
I'm tired of protecting myself
From me.
I'm tired of not having the words
To explain how I feel
In a way that makes sense.

**** intuition.
Can't trust it
Because I can't trust myself
To do the things I say I will:
"Be happy."
"Be productive."
"Be better."
"Forgive."

She drew out their goodbyes as long as he'd let her
because she never really wanted to leave him.

                      I adore you.
                               I'll miss you.
                                    Goodnight boo.

                                                 But waking up to his messages somehow made her bed seem less empty.
                                                                ­        And she hated empty things.
                                                                ­                           So she endured goodbyes
                                                        ­                                               in exchange for tomorrow's good morning.

Your lips
Are two pink marshmallows
I'd like to
Bite off and eat.
I undress you with
My eyes.
Now I'm hungry for more.
You're tongue
Is a sweet ****
That hollows
out my insides.
Your hands play
The invisible keyboard
On the small of my back.
I melt against
Your rock candy frame.
One taste of you
And I'm on a sugar high.

Everything was empty
and flat
when he left.
I collapsed into myself
as the dimensions
of my heart shriveled
up into the ash
that would one day
consume my entire body.

You are more important than proving a point, or whatever else excuse I can come up with. I don't want you to wake up mad and I'm sorry you had to go to sleep upset. It was wrong of me to drudge up past mistakes when I have far greater offenses and you never do that to me. I'm really sorry for being unfair in that way and for undermining you. You were justified in how you felt.

Remember when we were driving home from a concert and held hands above the stick shift.
Recall the instance where I made you close your eyes so I could kiss you.
Think of the time we fed each other bites of mango with sticky eager fingers.

When you're sad know that I love you.
Know that I'm here for you.
And know that you never need to apologize for how you feel.

You're exactly who you're meant to be.

I decipher your ever word
hoping to find some hidden message
entangled up inside;
That you miss me.

You were thinking of me.
That much I know.

I was thinking of you too
as I sifted through old photos
of us at your sister's wedding.
My favorite is the one of us kissing.

I'm scared I'll never forget you
but I'm more scared of being forgotten.

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.

She felt so one dimensional.
Like the  clock hung up on the wall.
No one sees the gears.
Without proper acknowledgement they hardly exist.
All people see is the clock's face.
All people want is the clock's time.
Not the clock itself, but what it represents.

And when people look at this face, they don't often like what they see.
Where is the time going? It's moving too fast.
or
There's so much time on our hands. How shall we **** it?

Never the right balance.
Not even at noon.

that was the night we went downtown and I snuck to the bathroom
to take off my underwear,
only to come back and shove the small knot of fabric deep into the pocket of your jeans.
the pink mesh ones with the lace trim.
I liked the way you looked at me.
in a way that conveyed your understanding.
that we shared this little secret among the throngs of people that surrounded us.
through the infinite noise and slush of cider filled cups,
the jostling bodies, the whistle of the wind along the seafront.
amidst all this,
still this one
silent
and simple exchange was shared.

how delicious are memories such as this
when recalled on nights like these.

I was lying in bed all wrapped up in my favorite fuzzy red blanket remember fond memories of C and I. Sometimes as a lie within my red fuzzy cocoon of comfort I feel as if my bed is an extension of myself. It is hard to tell where I begin and it ends.
It’s tiring being so painfully aware of how single I am. I don’t want to be this girl I’m becoming. The girl that doesn’t exist unless she’s somebody’s girlfriend. I want to exist apart from someone.

She was the girl that hated being called cute
Because she felt cute
Was a word that should be reserved to describe puppies.

She was the girl that used her daddy issues
As an excuse to cling on
Too tightly to the ones she loved.

She was the  girl that could be read
Like a book.
Wearing her emotional spectrum
Right between her eyebrows
That were  overdue
For a waxing.

She was the girl that wore lipstick
Instead of gloss.
Any shade of red or pink would do.

She was the girl that tried too hard
To please everyone
And forgot herself.

She was quite the girl.
She was.

boys make me tired boys make me ache boys make me want to scoop out my eyeballs  with silver spoons so I don't have to see the hurt I'm inflicting on myself

boys want attention I think they need it more than me. I want attention but I also want to be happy

people are mean fickle things
Inflicting pain to heal their hurt
They aren't nice because niceness burns and stings

****** martyrs
Tipsy tastes
Lavender coated lashes
And wordless betrayals.

Sometimes being in a relationship means
Being called a ***** at 1am becasue you're too drunk.
Sometimes it means breakfast in bed and savoury kisses.
Sometimes it means annoying the **** out of each other with words that don't mean anything when you can't even remember why you were upset in the first place.
Sometimes it means holding hands inside your coat pocket just to have an excuse to touch.
Sometimes it means you need to hurt him like he hurt you in order to dissolve your own pain.
Sometimes being in a relationship means, the little victories overshadow the defeats, which is enough to make a love endless.

that little facebook notification popped up on my phone.
the one that means someone has sent you a message.
you thanked me for all I'd taught you.
five years?
had we really know each other that long?
all that time
and you saved the worst parts for last.
that or your best parts were a mask.

don't read too much into the fact that I didn't reply.
I forgive you.

I wanted to make love
Because love is something you make?

No,
But I wanted to
With you.

I'm mad at you for being so far away.
Because I need you.

It's like you don't care.
If you did you'd kidnap me
And write a ransom note out of letters
cut from magazines.

If you cared you'd take the ransom money
and buy us a house by the sea.
One with big bay windows
And a purple door.

But you don't.
Care, I mean.
So you won't.

I'm mad at you for not being here
To fall in love with my mannerisms.
And make fun of the way I touch my face too much
When I get nervous.

It's like you don't even care.
If you did then you'd be here
And we'd be arguing over what to have for dinner.
We'd settle on purogies.

But you're not.
Here, I mean.
So we don't.

I'm mad at you for being so far away
because I want you to hold me
so I can feel small in your arms.

But you can't.
Hold me, I mean.

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.

I am completely sober.
...I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.
I want to stay in,
and take off all my clothes.
I want to go out,
and get all dolled up.
I want to be seen
...by no one.
I want to know...
what I want.

Karma isn't always instantaneous.
The cruel reality is that it can be drawn out...........
It'll trick you into thinking you're safe.........  
You've escaped.
Baby, you may be money
But not enough to post bail
When it comes time to answer for your crimes.

I want so many things.
But mostly I want to be wanted.

I wasn't aloud to  like myself.
Without permission.
                         "Do I feel pretty today?"
"No."
                          "Am I happy today?"
"No."
                           "You're hurting me."
"Some call it love."

I want to blow myself to smithereens.*
There's a tightening in my chest that accompanies the shame I feel.
I can be a good girl
I can fake a nice girl
I can detach from my own skin.
Smile. Nod your head. Agree with everything being said.
And when it hurts to be a shell of a person
Remind yourself that you've hurt him worse.