O
(     )
)        (
(           )
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We are

From out the ugly story comin  down

We understood

We got the hell right out of town !

•

Freely dyin in the rain

Hear the cryin child

If we make it so can you

••

We are

Here for the duration and the truth

However ?

So it is

You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.

You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.

You like the idea
That I'm  the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.

I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.

Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist  
Fascist.

I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.

I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.

You make me feel wistful
With your tight bellies, limpid eyes and endless manes of hair,
You make me feel afraid.

Dainty Angels,
I can't...Quite...Remember...

You make me feel jealous
With your waiflike allure, sad vulnerability, delicate beauty,
You make me feel inadequate.

Fairy Foundlings,
I won't...ever...be....

You make me feel ancient
Outside, dated and decrepit.
How do you feel? What do you need?
Why are you all so sad?

My dreams are your nightmares.
I tasted raindrops once, too
I almost have it, almost understand.

I  w a s  l e f t,

  m    a
  i      t
  s      
  e    b
  r    e
   a     s
      b     t
         l      
               e     

   D a n c i n g      o n   t h e   e d g e
\a n c i n g /         o n  t h e  e      
\n c i n g /        o n  t h e   d      
\c i n g /       o n  t h e   g      
\i n g /        o n  t h e   e      
\n g /        o n  t h e   o      
\g /        o n  t h e    f      
         V              e d g e                 

o  
       f    

             s  
                    a  
               n  
       i  
            t    
                 y

It's true, what they say
people are mirrors
I look into your eyes
everything is backwards

What you see,
eyes and lips
hips and thighs
dirt and twigs
curves and lines

If my proportions
are enough, but
not too much
then...
I have your attention
and maybe
If I press my clothes
burn my hair
paint my face
maybe you will
like what you see?

What would I see?
If you never told me
I was beautiful
When I cover up
brush my hair
across my face
then...
would I know?
could I see?
The girl that's dying
inside of me.