don't you think it's completely wrong to tell a girl she is being "way to much of a girl"
don't you think its merely disgusting to tell someone they are way too happy
and isn't time you stopped being bitter for the sake of other people laughing when you can barley crack a smile

see I've been there, done that and comments have come and go,
and everyone seems to tell you to be a woman.
to be prim and proper,
to have the posture of a princess and the mouth of a doll
(see because dolls only talk when you make them and the only words that escape their mouth are the ones you want)
everyone tells you to take that frown that takes so many more muscles to produce and turn it into some fake smile and laugh every single moment off as if the world was your oyster,
(which i never understood, because who likes oysters anyway?)

and now you see, i took the worlds advice and now look at me, being criticized left and right and left and right once again,
just for being what i was taught to be when i was a tomboy with dirt under my nails and basketball shorts over my knees and hair slicked back in a braid
for laughing about things i would've never found humorous when i would cry almost every day over some vacuous boy who I invested my fickle heart in (but from that experience i learned not to believe someone when they say those three words that are commonly overused in a fourteen year old's dictionary of phrases)

and now before you spew out venom from your mouth which is connected to your pea sized brain,
i suggest you to replay the little broken record inside your brain promoting the anthem of "self love and no self deprecation, you are beautiful just the way you are! you deserve to be happy!" before you tell anyone that they need to stop laughing, stop being such a woman, and stop being so happy.
think before you teach.

i remember the way you fell asleep.
the pattern of your breaths would turn into my peace

These spills of ink tore the sheets of fantasy which wrapped my eyes from seeing reality. Splotches of heavy ink drops created pieces and problems I wish I could sew back together, repairing everything from the past. What I’ve come to realize is that each spill brought awareness into my life, giving me a new-found appreciation for things I would have never seen or discovered before. My life begins to form an impressionist painting, each dot coming together to form a beautiful life. Some pieces may not be pretty or meaningful on their own, but they each bring along a dot or more around to build a significant part of the painting. I am still under construction.

and when we meet, where can I find the words to tell you that this couldn't be a one time thing,
because my body could no longer accept fragments and blinks,
peices of emotions, chunks of hearts, files of information,
because I wanted to find a symphony, not just a few notes to create vibrations,
wanted your fingers to become magnetized to me; and mix up something other than butterflies

the holes in me felt gaping like the darkness that i laid in, an indistinguishable black that could swallow everything around into nothingness.
and there i was, so afraid to feel again, remembering how "i love you" felt like a rush of blood to the head, and you used these feelings to pry holes into my being.
and here i lay trying to sew myself up, with no thimbles nor light, and i continue to poke myself and bleed

When you are asked
What you look for
You say eyes
And a smile
And overall beauty
Like most of the guys

So my endless nights of studying
And attention I pay everyday
To further become a more intelligent being
And the positive thoughts I cram
Into my brain
To have a beautiful personalty
And the millions of words
I tie together to form
A meaningful poem
are nothing

So maybe thats why
We spend countless hours
Just finding what perfect shade
Of lipstick brings out our smile
And pointless times
Fixing our hair
And precious seconds
Trying to excentuate our eyes
And thousands of dollars
Of metal and wire
To straighten our smiles

and maybe thats why
I put down my books
And picked up the makeup


But I've slowly returned


To the books

Because

Beauty without
Intelligence
Is like a masterpiece
On a napkin

It always happened around two am, with the illumination of the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the blinds that could seemingly cover the sunlight but never the moonlight. The feeling of wanting to stitch tears back together. Tears falling, his sleepy voice questioning motives for crying. My reply, always “I don’t know.” It was everything all at once. A flipbook exposing every possibility of problem or memory, every significant, stitch able event. It was reality staining the once blank muslin pages with black ink, seeping into the fibers. Fantasy kicking, screaming, denying, tearing pages into pieces that would take eternities to sew.

She was
Wasted space
In a catalog of people.
All loudly displaying
Some sort of talent.
Leafing through the pages
You find them
Dancing gracefully
  Playing with a ball
   Singing a melody
    Solving a math problem
     Being a beautiful model
      Strumming a guitar.
Flip to the page
And find an unknown girl
With bland brown eyes
And brown hair
With tears streaming
Down her pale face
Because she could not perceive
her gift.
  She was barley even visible
   And everyone surpassed her.
What a waste of space
In a catalog full of people
  Blooming with talent
   While her only talent
    Was being invisible.

its been chasing me for six years.
a wave that i fear will turn into a tsunami,
something i thought i could mend with other people,
finding hands with fingers to intertwine with,
lips that kissed the crevices of my mind,
words that crawled up my veins and pumped something new into my heart.
any element that could contribute to the dam i was building,
a wall to stop the waves from coming again,
where i would never think about ceiling fans and ropes again,
something that would tell me wrists and scissors do not belong together,
a first aid to bandage up my eyes from envisioning what i constantly saw.
every time i had a connection i would hope this was the light at the end of the tunnel,
drove through boys who did not perceive me as worth while,
kissed lips i'd never see again, intertwined fingers with hands that did not fit right, heard words that did not heal anything.
i was running away from myself...all i had done created nothing but memories that push through the walls of dams, making sure the waves came back year after year,
and now i fear to face the truth, that the only one that can mend this current is myself.

there are countless moments
when i know i could've done it
where i know i could've taken it
where i know there would've been an end
there are countless things i cannot say
things that would bring me to a basement
things that would bring me to the church
things that would make me seem crazy
things that they would never believe
things they'd be embarrassed about
things they'd be disappointed in

lately its felt really bad
everything is coming back
things i used to feel are reappearing
worse
worse
worse
worse
worse
its drowning and exploding all in one
i'm bursting with everything bottled up
a shaken bottle with carbonation boiling inside
spewing out every time

words aren't enough anymore
there is no escape

i told myself i would not stain these pages with words about somebody else again
leafing through old writing reminds me of the countless people that have provoked feelings,
that make my mind string together words that become stanzas as long as the time i spent thinking about their being,
pages i wish i would find in journals of others, printed with letters dedicated to my name,
a way to bandage cracks that have insecurities leaking through,
an oasis of words to caress my soul in the middle of this desert,
and i continue to write about those who will be temporary,
those who will never feel the same,
those who will never fall as hard,
those who i look at through the rose colored glass,
those whose faces i seek in a crowded room,
those whose eyes meet mine and my heart meets its peak,
those who i will never get the courage to tell how i feel,
those who will become another chapter to read,
those whose beauty will live on between the ink and the lines, between crossing my t's and dotting my i's,
forever captivated in a wave of infatuation, kissing the shoreline of their essence.

and my heart sank
like a rusty two ton anchor
in the sea of depression I used to swim

you were my lifeboat for two weeks
and i'm sinking again
i'm drowning deeper than I was before

and you will not come a save me
because you'll be distracted and focused
on that charismatic beautiful girl.

bottles sprawled, linen sheets, old mascara, crumbs and leaves
i lived in a mess.
every week came a time where it drove me to places my head couldn't hold onto,
but every time i tried to fix things all i could do was sit frozen,
hands fidgeting, eyes locked, legs tingling, mind on overdrive.
the hollow feeling inside desperately looked for people like you,
knowing i didn't need to be completed, rather, complimented.
no prescription worked better than you, someone that made me feel so at peace with my life, whom i could sit in sand in silence, and feel so full,
a new breath of life into lungs that have been struggling to cycle old air.
made me feel brand new in three days, spoke words that made me work my brain, made my stomach feel like a maze, made my body feel like treasure, made goodbyes something i'll hate forever, knowing miles were the murderer of these lungs,
back to choking on old air and silent tongues.

when you think that there's no one else left for you in the world,
do not dare to give up.
remember you live in a small town,
and out of that small sleepy town,
you may know merely one-fifth of the population.
one day he or she will appear in the most unexpected place.
and you will find beautiful people you would have never imagined or fathomed,
you'll be so amazed because you never thought someone like that actually existed near you.

one day you'll look up and then distract yourself so they won't see your jaw drop in the presence of them,
and you'll stare so frequently, but you'll strive to look further than their physical appearance, because you've never seen someone as beautiful before.
you'll search and find that despite their beauty they are a person just like you.
your heart races when you exchange looks
and you find the most intricate details of them alluring
but then just like that,
the masterpiece of a stranger has to leave,
but he lives on in my mind for hours,
and lives in these words forever.

knowing there are so many beautiful people out there waiting to be met is what keeps me going.
I want to know them all.
I hope one day I will be someones beautiful stranger

i was doing fine
fine as in
nothing at all
doing nothing at all

things felt settled down yet unfinished,
kind of started and then left there
like a puzzle a child started to solve but never came back to because he got distracted
new people came into the room
breathed new air into my lungs
which allowed me to expel the old air of old friends and old people
(old as in, i'm able to get tired of you, not old as in wrinkles, though they caused wrinkles too, like smile lines and crows feet, sometimes those hundred elevens between your eyebrows too)

i sit patiently because i feel something coming
i see something rising
i feel as if there's a whisper of the big man
telling his daughter to wait patiently and follow him in the pastures he planted
the city and art will come along as well as the people who breathe new air into me
goosebumps rise along lanky arms as i think about the new dawn
a new life is soon
maybe soon as in three years
maybe soon as in the man's three years which convert to three minutes or seconds
i don't know
but i'm willing to wait

i'd like to tell myself it didn't hurt at all,
that nothing was sorrowful, and you were transparent,
i should've listened to the overpowering insecurities in my head,
who devour the moments of beauty i manage to collect,
the sound of your words became deafening and all i wanted was to hear the magnitude of your thoughts,
i stared at pictures of her and tried to figure out what made her more alluring, seeking reasons for me to be less compelling, questioned if there were pieces i was missing that you found in her,
i retraced steps and wrote out maps, built bridges and came crawling back,
i was lost and there you stood,
creating and collecting temporary bliss and falsehood.

he told me to do what i did best, to stain pages with ink, to give chances to my words, to write as if i had never ceased to write for a year, after my creativity burst because i was enveloped in a world of warmth and his skin.
the only art i created was in chaos and newfound feelings of love, art was only there when i began with infatuations, and when the blinds were shut to block out the light of love.
i wouldn't know when was the next time i could spew out words, forming sentences that rolled off fingers and into my tongue, sending shivers of emotion down the spine i bend forward in times of burning fires, flames from peoples mouths sending your head into sparks and melting my being. trying to shield myself from the ashes of others, sticking onto my skin, clinging on. ashes of rumors and past words, ashes of mistrust and judgement, ashes of the thoughts people had when the saw me for the first time.
there was one thing that stopped the pain that caused writing to happen, and it was consistency with you.

two hundred and eighty seven hours
i have two hundred and eighty seven hours and one minute
to convince myself to open my mouth and mind
because i was not going to let myself lose an opportunity  
which is what i do as often as the sun sets

the only thing i can think of is how the first time i saw you
i remember thinking that maybe the cliche stories of love at first sight (that were as believable as a man claiming he has never sinned) were actually true.
the smoke rises and the lights come out and the vibrations in the room raise and all i want is for you to hold me like the girl that is in your hands right now
and all i get from you is a step on my jazz shoe and a look on your face that speaks "i'm sorry" and then a smile of 100 watt light bulbs

and i think about how light bulbs come in different shapes in sizes, and we are both the curly q bulbs with twists and turns and heads of curls
but we never were too daring with using too much energy and didn't make much noise

i needed to know you like the man needed to reach the moon
like the woman needed to find a perfect shoe
(unnecessary in reality, but extremely important in their mind)

now there's two hundred and eight six hours and forty three minutes
until the wattage dies and the sun will set

I prayed
And prayed
And prayed
For God not to
seperate us

My biggest fear
is I'll fade from your mind
like old ink
on yellowed paper

I fear I'll forget
How your pale skin
Is something of beauty
and how the freckles
on your arms
are like a connect-the-dots
And how fascinating
it was to see
Your liquid copper
Strands of hair
Frame an interesting face

I fear I'll forget
your face of focus
and how you almost always
need music to breathe.
And how your swift walk
contains a wonderfully incorrect posture
and how uniquely words flowed
from your mouth
when I rarley heard you speak

I fear I'll forget
the language
our near black eyes
spoke day to day
Trying to communicate
words I cannot say
it was as if
yours were speaking back too.

I strive to stay in your mind
like a coffee stain
on a white linen shirt
until we meet again.

after 8 days in a place where my name was unknown i am convinced that i need to leave.
not leave this earth, just leave this town.
i needed to go to a city, something like nyc, los angeles, chicago, london, or miami.
i figured out why, because i need to be alone.
yes of course, this sounds so silly, a city is full of millions of people and you are practically enclosed in a shell of other peoples skin and encapsulated by human noise.
but the city has that thing about it, everyone is alone. you are anonymous.
you will not see the same girl who whispered curses at you in her brain at the coffee shop and the same curious boy who would not take his eyes off of you on the subway.
in order for that, you would need to push yourself to talk to them if you would like to see them again, and you would dare to speak out so you don't loose opportunity.
you wouldn't think, "i'll talk to him next time i see him around."
you will not hear rumors about the girl at the coffee shop or meet her friends and be a part of their life. you could shake her off and never see her again and again.
people were fast paced and running,
city dwellers do not live in family sized homes, they usually came alone or in pairs to chase dreams they are hungry for.
i needed that time alone.
when i had that time, i could figure myself out, discover what i want, plan, meditate, think, breathe my own polluted air.
i needed that.
its why i stay up past midnight while everyone at home is asleep, its the only time i get alone and the city shifts a little closer to me.

I dont know
Who I am
And if I lost myself
In the recourring events.
I'm somehow
a blurred fingerprint
out of millions
On a telephone screen
Or a mut on the the street
(Unable to be defined as a certain breed)
Or a speck of dust on a window pane
Observing everyone.  
Its like floating in an endless turquoise ocean
distancing from the people on shore
While they couldnt care less
or even notice
they just keep playing
their games and staring into the sun
until its too late.

I thought by now
I'd be fine
But at times
You creep into
the crevices of my mind
Slowly seeping in
and deepening wounds
You once had stitched

I am in a state
Of feeling inferior
And your false promises
Echo in my brain
They whisper
That I'll never be the same

the worst part is
I sit patiently waiting
for someone to stitch me up again
While my conscience
Trys to protect me

Please take time
To compliment someones flaws
Tell them how
The wrinkles under their eyes
Are a beautiful touch to their smile
How their eye bags
Are the most beautiful color of violets
And how their freckles
Are like a field of flowers
And how their green veins
Showing through their pale skin
Are like tunnels flowing through
a beautiful city

i had been finding it hard to let myself sleep.
my body has asked for it, eyelids turning heavy and letters becoming blurry, a mind slowly melting into a liquefied puddle of what i was feeling, trying to describe what i was experiencing inside constantly.

i remember when we did not sleep all night, we stared at each other and only blinked to shut our eyes to listen to a song better. you spilled words of admiration, knew how to unravel my strings and convinced me that i was beautiful. you told me you could've treated me better than exhibit a and b. our voices continued until sun mingled between the blinds, but for me that was the least of my worries, because that was a conversation worth sleep deprivation. you pleaded for me to leave the person who was not treating me right, and a couple weeks later you turned out the same.

i remember exhibit a. he also kept me awake, we stayed on the phone every night until the patterns of our breaths were peacefully asleep, and i heard him rustling around in sheets, our dreams intertwining into a life he chased with me. he tried to wrap me around his finger, and had a ring to prove it, and i guess mom was right when she said "everything happens for a reason" because it was lost one morning in new york. many hours of delayed sleep developed into the "love is blind" syndrome, and i lost myself in a cloud of fog which was your grasp. at one point you returned the ring and i keep it, dreaming of a coming of age moment where i throw into the ocean, to be calcified with meaningless treasure.

i sleep with half shut eyes, wanting to expel the memories, rewind a tape and push everyone away, grab sheets and bury my head inside, hoping these clicks on keys can sing me to sleep.

there are poets that sing you to sleep and there are poets who ready you for war and i want to be both.

I am a tree.
a tree goes through season of blooming
(and seasons of death where leaves fall off from sadness)
a tree is deeply rooted and steady
but winds can sway its branches.
and tree has delicate flowers that are frail
and need to be taken care of
a tree stands there and doesn't scream for attention.
people often don't appreciate the beauty of trees
but some special people that don't come around often
appreciate the tree and its flowers, its dying leaves, and imperfections

most of all a tree isn't perfect

carcomeindo mi corazon
llagrimas de llama
del fuego que incendias por adentro

algunos dias eres la abeja que da la nutricion a una flor
que es mi alma
algunos dias eres la mano que empuja el viento fuerte
que son mis emociones
algunos dias eres la luna que controlla la marea del oceano
que soy toda yo

un dia terminaras desmonarando mi corazon
pero te dejo el priveligo
mi lindo amor

I replay the moments in my head
Of when I first grazed my eyes
Across such a wonderful being
And how I had to take a second look
Because you were like the mysteries
That I craved for

I remember how your lips curled
Into the 8th wonder of the world
And from then on
You and your pale face
stayed etched into my brain

It was like slow motion
As if time around us slowed down
Like in the cheesy movies
And from then on
I was intoxicated by you

But you had a greater love
for mary jane
I knew you were no good for me
But thoughts of you sprinted across my head
Back and forth through the days
And soon I had accumulated
Millions of lined pages
With poems of you

I was ashamed of liking
Someone in love with mary jane
But you were one of the most
Interesting people I had ever seen
Without words I felt a connection
And your eyes held stories
That I yearned to discover

Wanting you was like
Pulling a string on a beautiful sweater
(My life)
And slowly unraveling it to become just
An entanglement of yarn
the thread had to be cut off
by authority (God)
and so he seperated us

But I still see you
and remember that moment
clear as day
and I still see your wandering eyes
And hear your voice in the halls

I try to stay away
but I slowly drift back.
In my dreams of you
there is no mary jane
you are not intoxicated

but if you are temptation
why are you in my
God given dreams
I know I can't change you
so
get out of my head
get out of my head
**get out of my head

they say you become like the five people you are around the most.
i was constantly scared of finding undesirable pieces of me that were originally from someone else, their constant presence creating opportunities to create a magnetization between bodies, intertwining energies to create a few sparks, either benign or destructive.

the reason why my mind spent so many years on you was because of the admiration i held up to the way your mind appeared to function. the way you carried yourself, and the perseverance and joy for life you captured within. the knowledge you perused and the curiosity that fueled your interest in the beauty of cultures. the passion you cradled in the smile that spread across your face when you talked about something  you are passionate about. your qualities were pieces i would be delighted to find in myself, if our energies were to dissolve into each other, i would not be quick to separate myself like i have done with others. i did not want to romanticize you, and at this point there was nothing superficial about this infatuation, i did not want to write Shakespearean sonnets over your flesh, i wanted your soul to be the influence and muse to write like pablo neruda and paint like pablo picasso.

i could write till my fingers locked up and i'd still never make sense of this feeling

she was the most draining thing i have ever known
arms made of paved streets, no potholes, no stories,
identical freckles aligned across her face
similar to zero-lot-line houses

clothed in green,brown,grey, no city billboard neon,
her breath was humid, her body radiated warmth,
her eyes resembled those photographs of the sea
her skin tan, rough, dry, grainy like beach sand

she would never leave, a tight grasp around your neck is what she felt like, her constant security of what will happen next, where we will go soon, like a body guard who told you that you could only go to two or three places. those who had the strange desire to be with her were lured by her blue eyes, the tan skin, and her constant "i'll be there for you"

she whispered ideas of smashing the window and running away,
or drowning in the bathtub
my first dictionary vocabulary oozing out of her glossy gossiping lips,
words of a braggart, spewing, spitting, sputtering on how beautiful, advanced, polished and intelligent she was,
when in reality all she was, was ***, drugs, blood, cuts, aluminum cans of alcohol, and suicide.

my soul is a city
it looks like glistening sky lights, picturesque advertisements, and phosphorescent open signs
its sky contains twinkling constellations of stars hidden behind pollution and street lights
it has it's 5 o clock rush hours, 1 am parties, and 3 am sleepy time
it is divided into areas of charm, abandonment, and shabbiness
it holds crime, but there also innovation, prosperity, and thriving ideas
it is abided by eccentricity and idiosyncrasies
it is accepting of a variety of colors, beliefs, and characters
it holds unknown places, discovered by those who were willing to explore
it is visited by millions, but only some dwell, some leave an impact, some fall in love
and it is open for people to call it home

I love mysteries
but not just the type
  printed in black ink
   in binded books
I enjoy the mysteries
that walk
  that contain a set of lost eyes
   whose lips speak words
    in a particular voice
whose ears always have earphones
whose mind drifts off
  whose face of concentration
   is something quite beautiful
I like that kind of mystery
whose laugh is unique
  whose smile is a rarity
   and has rarely spoken
    to me
we only speak with our eyes
exchanging wondrous stares.

My parents still ask about you
And I roll my eyes
And pretend I never think about you

but every time it rains
you reappear in my mind
It brings me back to the day you left

When the clouds cried along
And the sky turned pale as my skin
On the fridgid June day

I don't know how to feel
angry or sad
and I'm still as confused as I was back then

i remember the feeling of weightlessness.
i wonder if you're up there experiencing it too,
suspended into clouds and hanging gardens,
veiled in beauty beyond my understanding.
there are moments when the weight of my heart knocks everything down in sight. when the lids of my eyes feel so heavy, when the words my mouth can form are not enough, when these keys are the only thing my fingers yearn to touch.
i miss you even though you never existed, and my eyes create rivers i wish i could teach you how to swim in,
to watch you grow into another piece of the fractions i am built upon.

the words could never come out of my mouth,
and as much as i have written them over pages, and laid them down millions of times, my mouth cannot seem to utter anything close to what i think of you. hands cannot seem to reach for what i've always wanted, you became something made of glass, something i only admired from a distance, glistening. fingers could not fan out, i could never seem to risk seeing reality, fearing to fall out of this dream. the nervousness of failing on something my mind has daydreamed about for ages. the silence that was projected, caused by a mind of flying thoughts, of whether i'd regret doing nothing more than regretting making a move. i lived in fear for every wrong move i could ever make, trying to solve the mystery of what your mind really thought of me and why there were moments you disappeared. i tried to search myself to see if pieces of me were wrong, if maybe there were components i was lacking, if being beautiful like the girls with the glassy eyes and structured faces would've given me an advantage.
my mouth became a cage for the words i'd never say to you, and my hands will lock, eyes scared to fix themselves upon you and create more feelings that will be jammed into lumps in my throat.

me acuerdo cuando soñaba en largar me del lugar endone naci. encontraba todas las razones por qué odiaba este lugar y era la canción que mi mente cantaba día y noche.
ahora que me voy por seguro, estoy descubriendo los lugares que voy a extrañar,
los lugares que me dan alguna razón de vivir aquí,
que me hacen el corazon latir con esperanza,
un motivo para extrañar un lugar que nunca aprecie.
en unos meses ya no te tendré, y voy a acordarme de los petalos de flores, los besos del sol, el olor del mar, y la música de las palmeras en el viento.

and in that moment the wattage of the light bulbs died with one last flicker of energy, and the sun set like the days in autumn when it was pitch black at 5:30. I was still fog and he was still a light bulb, shining pretty for another girl. fog was yearning for a chance to ascend once again and become a cloud, her last hope in becoming meaningful. she wished to carry rain drops to heal droughts and move to display sunshine

coffee breath, lead stained hands, fingers numbly typing in numbers that have more value than my test scores,
numbers stab like axes cutting down trees that cry in silent screeches in the forest.
numbers like ninety seven, ninety, and eighty two.
numbers that will never define who i am on a college transcript
and these numbers are worth more than who i am in this world, since we are defined by numbers today
even though we made the same mistake in 1939, turning people into numbers by stabbing pigments into their forearms, creating a lesser value for them.
a forty eight is stupid and a fifteen percent is like a hollow head.
i am defined by numbers like fifteen and forty eight and i am told that i should be embarrassed of who i am, or for the number that i am.
and if an equation can't be solved," i'm sorry m'am you cant move on", because your capacity is again,
defined by a number.
i am not a number
i am not the forty eight or the fifteen that scratches the back of my eyeballs like nails filing down a chalkboard.
i am not the one forty five i sleep at when ripping my hair out trying to solve equations of irrational numbers when i should be solving the equations of my irrational thoughts
and everything is turning round and round and round like the infinite possibilities of solutions to equations,  
and i go to sleep, and lay my head down as early as possible, but my mind is running in circles with numbers taunting me and defining me and interrupting my sleep.
it is morning now, my mother comes and checks on me to see how i am in this "new wonderful day"
the tiredness seeps through my purple eye bags that i try to cover with tan makeup, and i think about how i really feel in the morning. i stare in the mirror and numbers stare back, i weep as i sit on the floor with the numbers streaming down my eyes, evacuating them from my system, because numbers have made me mentally insane.
there is no hope of numbers leaving because they carry through, even after algebra two,
weight and credit scores, and the amount of money you owe in debt, your mortgage payment, and the amount your retirement fund has swallowed up for your uncertain future,
i am not a number
i am not a number
and i will fight numbers off like the moon controls the tide,
the tide will never control the moon,
and numbers will never control me.

November 6
this day
Brought me a feeling inside
Of deep depression seeping in
How I witnessed too much
How she cried over the ring
Of her parents broken marriage
Tears forming in her eyes
tilting her head up so they wouldnt fall
To reveal the pain she felt
But it radiated towards me

And how saftey pins and beads
Ment so much to her
An unknown meaning
But I felt her emotions gravitating
Towards me

How the boy
With rebellion tattooed in his mind
Had a quiet face
That showed how angry he was inside
But his smile was something
Rare and special that I had barley seen

how the girls
Could claim
To be my friends
But swiftly leave
And isolate me
Without a care
loneliness was something
That occured each day
more *often
The the day before

How I have to see
you
The being I once deeply cared about
That I gave my all for
With someone else

How that boy
Stared at that girl
In a way I envied
No, not with lust
But with a love
Searching for every
Perfect thing in her

Observing
All day
is a habit
Which I hate
I discover
Things That
I should
Not know

so i breathe freely again,
slipping back into my old flesh,
discovering the places of myself i had missed.

time feels like a dali painting,
dripping down my chin , oozing into a wasted space.
i wanted to feel what a day was like with out your name ringing in my head, and solve the mystery as to why you resided there for so long.
to be unaware of your existence would be surreal, a euphoria for my tired mind, a serenity for this relentless desire.
my emotions have exhausted over the same person for eternity, clocks disintegrating like quicksand, wondering if i'll ever be enough, if anything will ever live up to this waiting, if its true when they say "good things come to those who wait", right now i'm feeling deceived by such a theory.

We are introduced
into this world
with our eyes closed
with blurred vision
on a glorious day

And soon
we close our eyes
to dream
to rest
to kiss

We are led out of the world
out of our misery
into paradise
with our eyes closed

Is it because
the best things in life
cannot be seen?

stabbing words
cut it like scissors
tough emotions
crumple it up
manipulative actions
tear it up as a whole
flaming slurs
disintegrate it like acid
bad memories and experiences
yellow it

kind words
temporarily stick it together like a glue stick
lovely actions  
fix rips for a while like tape

please don't fracture a paper heart,
it'll never be the same.

I'm not beautiful
I'm not bright
I'm not talented
Or precious in anyones sight

I'm plain
With brown eyes
And brown hair
And average everything

No I don't want you to pity me
I don't even want to pity myself

I'll never amount to anyones dream
I'll never be enough
And I'll usually be ignored

I have to cope with what I have
And who I am
Because I can't wait for someone
To change me
And pick me up
And make me feel significant
Because there will be a desperation
To tough to handle
Like an alcoholic
Waiting for their next drink
And cigarette smoker
Waiting for their break
To smoke another.

And they will never
Get their drink
Or get their cigar
And they'll die
Of weariness
Like I die
Waiting for
**you

Don't be the fluid
that slowly fills my lungs
and makes it harder for me to breathe

Just because my problems
Are smaller than yours
Does not make them inferior
Or insignificant

Dont you dare tell me
I am over exaggerating
Because you are not in my skin
You dont really know how this is

Just because you've gone
Through millions of miles
Of problems and successes
Does not mean my achievements
Are measly or amount to nothing

Just because you are numb now
Doesn't mean you should numb me too
I can't have a life full of anesthetics

**Just let me be