I wonder helplessly for the fate of lives I've abandoned
for those that once surrounded me
as well as that of my own
like running into an old friend
poking relentlessly
attempting desperately
to paint a picture of
their everyday life
as it stands today
unachievable through means of small talk
I often wonder for the lives my old lovers lead
today
I am coming to terms with the fact that
it is not my place
to care for them any longer
I often wonder where I'd be today
had I chosen to stay
awhile longer
I often wonder
just what it was
about this particular one
that made falling in love
seem worth it
and just how have I managed
to stay this long ?

I cannot be touched through your computer or cellphone screen.
Because, I am more than a profile. I am more than a few lists of music, movies, and books I like. I am more than a few cell phone captured photographs shared with “friends” most of whom we don’t even speak with. My love life is more than a relationship status. My taste is more complex than a list or two.  Our beauty cannot simply be captured and put on the internet. But alas, neither can most of our flaws. I cannot read emotion from words on the screen of a cellphone, nor can I express it to it's fullest extent. It is not real. I am a gal who must be experienced first-hand with smell, hearing, and most importantly touch. I am all I am, in person; nothing more, nothing less. Take it or leave it.

It's the thunder and lightning,
without the rain.
Striking hard, fast, loud,
I am soaked in anticipation, fear, loneliness,
everything but rain.
I am impatiently awaiting the water to drench me,
wash away the ghosts of lovers I've pushed away.
They are screaming at me,
guilt grows like weeds,
and I am in mighty need of a fresh start.
So where the **** is the rain?
Tell me,
what will wash away this pain?

You left me thinking that these are the moments we see in a flash immediately prior to exhaling our last breath.

My upper lip is still tingling from your upper lip's stubble,
and I am feeling nostalgic tonight.
Don't tell me to take care of myself,
I'm not joking when I say I'm looking for ways to
slowly force my body to shut down for good.
This place is a ghost town at this golden hour of 3 am.
I'm killing myself slowly.
I was brought up broken.
Skipping school, long bus rides going nowhere,
flashbacks like picture shows of a young, hopeless hooligan.
When I look in the mirror, I still see that child,
and she haunts me.
I've gotten by, by romanticizing the pain.
Finding beauty in the hard times
bad, ugly, sorrow dripping
hard drugs in bathtubs
like a movie scene before the upswing
and the happily ever after.
Though this life's been a cinematographic goldmine,
I just don't see the conclusion as being so bright.
Forever waiting on that upswing,
and there's simply no happily ever after in sight.
Who knew we'd still survive after so many years of
persistently seeking death ?
I never thought I'd end up here today.
So much has occurred I could've never predicted.
I never thought I'd seek the things I've sought,
There is so much of me that's still very much the same.
I never thought I'd carry this apathy so close all these years...
Who am I to plead remembrance,
when I've consistently chosen the path of least resistance ?
I am nothing.
Perhaps someday I'll fertilize the soil beneath your feet,
in this moment, that's where my aspirations lie.
In this moment, my concerns lie for those who's window lies across from my parking spot where my headlights shine bright as I arrive home at 3 am rather than for my car's broken mirrors or my expired license plate numbers.
Moved out to the suburbs sometime late August,
and in this moment, I'd be lying if I said I didn't often appreciate those long solo drives home in the early hours of the morning.
A tobacco smoke filled vehicle is my go-to place for self reflection.

Today was not a good day.
Nothing particularly awful happened,
Nobody was particularly upset,
But today was not a good day.
I wasn’t too hungry, or too tired, or too hot.
But today was just not a good day.
I ate meals, I smoked cigarettes, I drank coffee,
and I do not understand why today was not a good day.
The people around me were happy, and supportive, and very kind,
My atmosphere was overall congenial,
Yet today was still not a good day.

My forsaken heart yearns greatly for the answers to these questions I have in plentiful quantities. My castaway soul yearns for all the solutions. My distraught mind longs for the certainty to fix my conundrums, so tomorrow can be a good ******* day and not blend into this blur of unjustifiably somber days, I feel as though I have been living for so long.

There is a labor dispute protest
outside of the hospital I was born in and
I can't help thinking
Did this ****** up world formulate this ****** up mind?
Or did I  simply come into this world corrupt
with the surroundings to match?

I've been cripplingly depressed these last few months and
it is beginning to take it's toll on my body,
I'm so sick of regulars at my workplace commenting
on how thin I've become.
A friend hugged me,
felt my protruding rib cage and asked if I was okay.
I said, define okay, because the word has lost it's meaning
over the repetition of the phrase in my mind,
i'm okay, i'm okay, i'm okay.

These lows,
so easily justifiable
when I'm just drunk, and sad.
But it's so much harder
when i'm sober and my world's still falling apart.

I am soberish now and
realizing the extent to which I am not over so many things.
I am not over the rejection of the boy I still so badly desire,
and having to see him so happy with his old lover.
I am not over how drained I feel from 50+ hour work weeks.
I am not over the discomfort of the place I call home.
I am not over the past lovers who despise me.

Then there is you,
the former lover I still lust for,
I'm so very much not over you,
yet I know things couldn't possibly ever work out.
I am ******* sick to death of dreaming of you every god ****** night,
waking only to feel utterly demolished inside.
It's been months, why won't you leave my mind?

I'm on the brink of insanity and
I don't even know where to begin
to find the path to recovery.

I can't help the pieces of him
from falling to my feet with every step I take
I am a ******* wreck of a person
right now
perhaps always
my trivial problems overwhelm me
just as much as the guilt I feel for letting them
whilst watching the migration of the homeless
as winter approaches with bitter ferocity
whilst stepping over the blood soaked carpet
of a friends apartment
trying desperately not to stare too long at stitches
and I still cannot even bring myself to take down
the ******* picture
he gave me
still hanging on my bathroom wall

We sat in silence while I stared off in to space,
and he stared at me
trying with all he had to get into my head
alas, to no avail.
A sadness so deep, it penetrates quivering bones.
So thick, he'd surely drown.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but instead
I ****** him.
Because I wanted nothing more than to feel close to him,
if only for a moment,
and that was the only way I knew how.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but I was afraid to wake up alone in the night.
I was going to end things,
but I couldn't stand the thought of losing him from my life.
I should have ended things,
because I feel so god ****** detached.
Because I feel so much *******
nothing.

Uninspired,
I lie a vacant, lonesome, callous shell.
When the wind hits, I am crumbled,
crushed,
dust in the breeze.
I am nothing.
I've left no trace,
no mark,
no meaning
in this world,
although still cursed with the audacity to plead remembrance.

I feel so empty, so numb.

I look into your eyes and feel nothing,
nothing but fear.
Fear for how bad it will hurt.
Hurt like your first scraped knee.
Kneecaps quivering like leaves.
Leaves that change color seasonally.
Seasons that change around me.
Me?
Unafflicted.
Me?
Empty.

Foggy, windy, madness,
beauty city.
Anything, and everything but calm,
yet I feel so at ease,
and I'm pleased to announce
that today I felt
happy.

As the fog rolled over the trees, buildings, and all that lay between
so very
effortlessly
and the ferocious wind allow not a thing to be still.
The moisture penetrates my bones,
seeping deep in my pores,
refreshing as anything could be.
The sun setting, a sight to see,
walking home with groceries in hand.
How could such moments not consume me?

Now, give me a moment to recollect
the depths of my perception,
what I'd experienced prior to my momentary consumption.
The wind kicked up,
my skirt blew.
I had flashed a silver fox,
he blushed,
as did I.
Much too soon for goodbyes.
We both continued with our lives.

Onward,
into the grocery store,
the cashier asked me from where do I hail.
Just how is it that easy to tell I'm not from these parts?
I never thought myself to carry tourist vibes.
I don't think that's quite it,
I think it to be this look I possess
of wanderlust and pride.
Perhaps my excitement and wonder,
upon observation of my surroundings,
it's all so vibrant,
so alive.
I don't ever want to lose it,
however long I reside here,
I wish to always see it this way.

However long I stay.
May I always feel this way.

Polishing off the bottle of wine I intended to ****** you with,
alone.
One glass in, and you ceased your drinking, our romance, and my foul intentions.
I want so badly to be broken by this, be angry, be sad, be hopeless.
Instead I'm thinking about how admirable your honesty is, how I wish more people had that courage.
I'm left here wishing I was lying when I said I was just that detached.

As we lie together naked
smoking cigarettes in bed
running fingers up the curves of my body
he said
"I wish I had more hands"
And now for the first time
to somebody
I am a person
worth loving
not a role
worth filling

I am feeling so trapped inside my head.

How is it, that I am just that easy to read?
It took everything I had not to burst into tears when you tilted your head down, looked me in the eyes, and asked me if everything was truly alright.
It wasn't.
I am going to be so lost when you leave again...
I am scared I can't bear it, what will ground me when nobody will reach into the depths of my mind and pull me out?
I keep wondering just what it is the people around me see in me.
I can't tell if I am being admired, or pitied.
I wonder, do people see so easily through this shell of thick glasses and tootsie pops like you do?
Do they see my weakness and uncertainty?
Can they feel the strength and knowledge I have gathered over the years? Can they know my entire life in one glance, void of any judgment or prejudice
like you can?
Or am I just as much of a mystery as I wish I was?
Is it that I find solace in the solitude of my own mind?
No, I will not let all this hope I have worked so hard for go to **** in one measly night.
I can't.
It really, doesn't matter.
I am fine.
I'm just tired.

Really, I am alright.

I want to feel as though my heart has been dipped in hot wax.
Layer, upon layer,
A sharp heat at first, until cooling begins and I begin to
relax.
I want to feel captured in an intricate, never-ending puzzle,
around every corner there's wonder,
and I am taken aback.
I want nothing short of hopeless passion,
to sell my soul in a mysterious fashion.
I am so sick of my heels over my head,
my feet placed so firmly on the ground.
No longer can I lay alone here in bed and be
content.
This drifting must come to an
end.
This wax heart must feel
again.