The past is always relevant; but maybe we ought to ignore it.

If we have 20/20 vision in hindsight, then foresight blinds us.

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 don't feel good
I don't feel good
I don't feel right
and there's no good reason why.
I want to sleep
but I won't
cause I never do.
What if I miss something
while I'm sleeping?
But I won't
cause I never do.

There
Is
A
Purpose
Behind
This
Pain.

I promise you.

This year I won't bash Valentine's.
Not even when I check my Facebook
and see that whogivesashit just got engaged.

I won't make gagging noises
when I see couples engaging in acts of PDA.

This year I won't be a cynic
because I too have a Valentine.

I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips
as I read back through yesterday's journal entry.

I want to stand under the spray of the shower with all my clothes on.
Perhaps while the water is cold
to give me a thrill.

It's like lying with your head beneath the blanket
just long enough to labor your breathing.
How long are you willing to bare the discomfort?

How long can you hold your breath?

people
are
the
greatest
cause
of
loneliness
because
we're
all
too
busy
keeping
ourselves
company.

Casual brush of friction wrought felsh
Causing metallic sparks of the rusty kind.*

Red cups.
Shuffling feet.
Dry tear ducts.
Unnecessary screaming.

It's only midnight.
It's only one.
It's only four.
The party's not done.

Take a shot.
Take a bow.
Keep your thoughts inside
Let the ***** out.
Not in the street.
How much did you drink?
What the **** is all over your shirt?

Go home.
Rest up.
Let's do this again real soon.

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.

i don't remember the last time you stayed up until five a.m.
but i remember the boy that did.

your curfew may have changed
buy you're still the man i love.

it scares me how deep we can dive
and then in the next instant we're floating on the surface.
all that water in my ears.
all that sand in my mouth.
pffftttttt

let's piece together the continents
so you're not so far away.

it's fun to remember,
i'll list all the things i miss.

number one is you
number two is me
and number three is endless bliss.

He was the kind of boy that wore sweaters
and had a blog about music you've never heard of.

And he was cute
in a socially-acceptably-awkward kind of way.
The kind of way that was charming.

He had quick wit and clever quips.
And he stayed up until 5 A.M.

every hour he grows nearer to perfection
until he turns to dust.
it's those sounds he makes before he falls asleep
that make it hard not to touch him in the night.

he dances through my dreams
with fistfuls of daisies
he says they're the color of me.
his words turn me to vapor, and I'll cling to the first thing I see.  

he is every living green thing.
he cleans the air around me.
he purifies.
he makes me drinkable.

I am fresh with bruises,
the kinds you get from bedtime wrestling.
I want to nuzzle myself into the space between his two front teeth
and use his uvula as a tire swing.
sliding down his happy trail, I'll explore my surroundings.

this boy with the electric tongue, that shocks when we kiss.
static at the tip of every follicle of hair.
lightning in his eyes,
always coming a few seconds before the thunder in his head.

he is the tang of honey mustard,
the swell of a sea,
the crackle of a record;
this boy that stays up til 5 A.M.
(just for me.)

Fragile finger tips
That dip into you.
Dewy eyes because he's sleep deprived.

Filled with helium,
He floats up to the ceiling when he laughs - with a sharp exhale through the nose.
Easily deflated,
But not replaced.

Boy, oh boy
What I would give
To gingerly caress
That bearded face.
That face of a boy,
Hidden behind hair and glass and  others' expectations.

He is the end of a candle wick,
Unexpected and satisfying
He escapes in a spiral of smoke.
But I know his presence
by his smell.
(And cling to it when he vanishes.)
It clings to your clothes.
I inhale until my nostrils chaffe.
Linger and let linger.

It's light for him to be
And heavy when he is not.
But he is just a boy staying up past his bedtime.
A boy to whom my servitude belongs.
A boy in the shoes of the man he is becoming.

A boy in the midst of a growth spurt,
I kid you not

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.

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.

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

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

you were always far away,
but now you're always gone
and i'm always waiting for my phone to light up with the notification that means you're back.
new email.
missed call.
new updates.
but not you.

the thing about you leaving is
i'm afraid you'll realize you don't have to come back.
and then you won't.
but i'll just keep waiting.
more emails.
more missed calls.
more updates.
but not you.

Use your lips to numb mine.
Use your hands to smooth away my rough bits
like sandpaper softening wood.

Char up the walls of my mind
so my flaws melt away.

Mince my mouth
when I talk too much.

Peel off my scars
as if they were stickers.

Cut me up
and put me in a jar.

Coming to terms
With things you don't like
Is part of living a grown up life.

let me tell you about something I learned through my travels,
regardless of the fact that i've only ever stayed in one place.
play with the same toy enough,
and if you're not careful - you'll break it.

it's scary to open up and let people in
to see the bits of you that you try to keep hidden.
To give them the power
Heal you or hurt you.

To become hopeful
And dependent on promises made late at night.
To let their hands touch your heart;
Hoping that they're clean.

It's scary
To bask in the glow of another's affection
And to know that you need it more than you'll let show.

The road glitters
Like tar flecked with diamonds.
I'm warm from the buzz of graduating from wine to liquor.
My mouth tastes of cinnamon
And the cool air feels blissful against my skin.

Though their faces seem happy to see me,
I don't know these people.
They know my name,
But not why I came.

There is an odd sense of community on the dance floor.
I'm drinking a clear fluid that tastes like fruit loops.
Strangers are spliffing in the garage.

I don't check the time
Because I'd like to pretend it doesn't exist.

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.

your eyes
plus my eyes.

that's why.

if nothing else,
curiosity.
curiosity about what our math equations equal.

but let's wait until we're old.
and by old I mean 25.

You've always got that face on.
Always the victim.
Always bored.
You always say always.
I'm always late.
Always busy.
Always waking up early.
I always say sorry.
We always snark.
We always swoon.
We always fantasize
About a day in the future
When we're never not together.

Other places
Other toys
Other sounds
Other boys.
Round and round
They spin within.
I am a spectator of my own life.
I am a child not a wife.
My liver still works
But soon it won't
For liquor is the elixir
For which there is no antidote.

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.

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.

countback from three
two
one.

when I get to zero
time stops
and resets.

one
two
three means it's okay.
everything.
it's okay
it's okay
it's okay.

And what isn't, will be.
Eventually.

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.

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

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.

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.

Most love stories follow a similar pattern.
One which unfolds in chronological order.
How quickly that pattern grows mild,
underwhelming.

What if the same love story was told in reverse?
(Hear me out.)
What if the story started at the relationship's end,
and progressed to the beginning?

Two lovers being slowly unsewn from each others' memories.
Back to a time before the two had ever met.

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.

I'm writing you a poem,
not to boast of my eloquence
but because your very existence has given me a lifetime of inspiration.

You are not a mere muse,
but you are every word spoken softly,
gently.
In my ear.
But if spoken loud enough everyone would hear.

So I will speak for you.
I will say it in a room that echos
so it can be heard again and again
until the words return to their original form,
a whisper.

You beautiful creature.
You beautiful boy.
I saw the honesty in your eyes.
**Like I heard your whispers.

Maybe beauty can run deeper than my skin
Because my skin is quite thin in the first place.

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.

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.

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.

You've made no effort
For me
But every effort to lift a bottle to your ******* mouth.

I love you
Im sorry
I miss you
Do not act as a get out of jail free.

You've sullied
Longing
Remorse
And affection.

You've made me the thing
You never wanted me to be
By never choosing me
Over superfluous drinks.

Hangovers
Tummy aches
Early starts
Never get in the way of you
And the thing that matters most.

If only I were on tap,
But I'm not the right blend.

I bite down on the orange, with the intact rind. My teeth break the thick skin, and I find the soft fruit beneath. I slurp the juice that's begun to dribble out of my mouth and down my chin. It burns my cracked lips and the sores in my my mouth I've acquired from gnawing the skin off the inside of my cheeks. Using my tongue, I feel around for stringy, hanging flesh to rip from the walls of my cheeks and roll around on my taste buds. I look up at the sky, the sun shining in my eyes - but I manage not to squint. It's a Thursday and the morning is ripe with possibility.

My feet crunch the grass. Softly smoldering the bright green flames. They rattle in the wind and scream upon my approach. With a glare, I urge them to shrivel. Before me lies a small ***** covered in weeds. The type that grow small white and yellow flowers. I lower myself into a cluster and weave the flowers together in a white-yellow-white pattern. Bees kiss my knees. I'm disrupting their means to make honey.

I can see a figure standing stiffly in the distance. The figure is a person. The person is Bailey. Bailey is my boyfriend that moved here from Chicago and talks too loud. Dating me makes him feel interesting. I imagine he likes to tell his friends he's dating a girl made up of sharp angles - a girl that hasn't shaved her armpits in over a year.

My ******* are the size of half dollars. I know. I've measured them. They're pink and puffy - jutting out from the small ***** of my breast. Contrary to what you might think - I keep my ***** hair trimmed short and tidy. My *** is flat and wide as a door. I am the inverse of every man's fantasy.

he made her chest fill with air.
tight, constricting air that made her feel like she was suffocating.
tight, heavy, constricting air that suffocated her with sadness.
heavy, suffocating, uncomfortable sadness
that makes her feel spinny and her mind loose.
a slackened heart,
a tensed intestine
a clenched grin
while people drone on about nothing
she is a cavern.
she spirals into a thread of insecurity.
she lunges for shiny objects.
she is made of broken bones and glass.
she is everyone that has been pushed aside.
and she kept her promise not to cry.

I have a big HURT where
my heart used to be.

I have a big EMPTY
that fills me with dread.

I have a red hot skewer
running through me,
making me
hot with anger.

(I have a big REGRET
that I am here.)

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.

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.

You can't fix what's not broken.
What never was.
You can't keep silent the voices in your head.
Because I hear them too.
Violent whispers of remorse painted blue.
We can't be the antidote.
We're too busy talking over each other.
Too busy talking about our relationship
To actually have one.

Nobody told me.
I didn't know.

I bled because it's the only way I knew how
to love you.
All that red.

Dip your fingers in it -
the romantic parts of me.

Color me all the shades
in the spectrum of your affection.

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.