I was born on February twenty-third
I was told by my mother that I'm a Pisces
I weigh one hundred twenty-five pounds
I'm five foot eight
And a half.

I have watches and sweaters and things to keep me warm and know when to be home to call my grandmother
I have blankets to tell me nice things
and curtains to keep the branches of my neighbors from entering my room but they don't mind.
They hate the feeling of glass
Even with the Sun piercing their every pane and the Moon blaming them for not being as bright.
The trees whistle through my curtains anyway but I don't mind, I'm a good neighbor
They think I'm a good neighbor.
I block them out to hold tight the thoughts of them just being there.

I have shelves to hold my things the things I hope to last forever but the very same things that will only last a moment.
I try to take care to my alarm clock by not pressing the snooze button
It stiffens my blankets and pushes the branches from my curtains

I'm still learning how to whisper even though...
Even though I don't want anyone to hear me breathe.
I'm afraid of spiders
I'm afraid of the branches waking me up from my 2am turnings
I'm afraid of my caffeine-run smile.
But you make me mesmerize into your eyes and I realize I'm not afraid of waking up or the threads of my sweaters unravelling or my blankets insulting me I'm afraid of what my eyes will do when I wake up and when all I have are threads and my blankets are no longer trying to keep my fingers and toes warm
You remind me of how I'm afraid of not being able to hold my sweater threads
You remind me I'm afraid of how my blankets aren't even able to keep themselves warm.

What will my curtains do without any branches to hold there
What will my blankets ever warm up
They'll be begging for me to light candles but I'll be struggling to find any matches
My battery set of eyes will make me hit the snooze button and the dust will gather on the tip of my finger so I have to wipe it on my blankets.

Hi.
My name is Paul.
I enjoy books and stars and eggs.
I have shaky knees for a girl who likes folded blankets and boxes of things from a shelf
My hobbies include pressing the snooze button lighting matches with no intent and skipping over the terms and conditions.
I stand behind my curtains to hide from my metaphors
And my mother never told me to find an Aquarius to swim in.
I don't have any fins but I do have hands which have fingers who haven't been warmed up in a long time but I know that I can muster enough strength to hold onto your hand just to walk around the block to buy a carton of eggs.
My hands aren't really able to do anything else
except pressing the snooze button and lighting a match for a few seconds of warmth
for only a few fingers
but those are just enough to open my curtains
and fold my blankets.
Those are just enough to press play on our nights away from the sound of a distant wind.
The sound our hearts can make are louder than any whisper I cannot produce
or any crack of an eggshell
or any trinket falling off the shelf and onto our pillow.

please don't do this
please don't give up your writing

burying your feeling will only make them worse
please leave this part of your life intact

so please don't give up
*don't give up poetry

You gave me nothing
And I gave nothing back

But why do I feel
Like I'm still giving
More than what I'm getting?

I gave nothing
Yet it feels like everything

I'm a liar.
I've been pretending this whole time, and it's a shame that no one notices.
I am sad again, and terribly lost.
I hate eating. I hate being this, being me.
I want to go back to my support at the program, I want to leave this ugly real world
and go back.
I want daily meetings and supervision. I want to feel special and important
I want to be happy.
and I'm just not.
No one notices;
not my boyfriend who's been out all night partying with his friends.
not my bestfriend who just left to Cabo.
not my mom who hasn't spoken to me in days.
not my ownself who's going ******* insane.
I need someone, anybody, everybody.
I'm alone and I hate it.
I hate every ******* thing.

**is it too much to want to be loved?

i catch a whiff of sins lethal pheromone
allow it to seep into my passages, in, out
usurping my discretion, ensnaring my heart
it dances up the vacuum of my mind
and plants a delicate kiss, seducing my morals
i succumb to its power, too delicious to resist
and allow this corrupted spot fester to its death
by dawn it consumes my once virtuous soul
i kiss farewell to the pure cherub of my past

I don't want to be married in real life.
I do want a man who treats me right.
I'm trying marriage in a few weeks on a site.
I've read dad's chat logs and he says words that confuse me.
I've been reading mom's chat log with net boyfriends.
What she says to men nobody should date is totally disgusting.
Ok, ok so should I pretend to like typing about touching me?
Should I make his junk go limp and type I don't like that?
Should I fake ****** with mmm's like dad and mom type in chat logs?
People posting on gaia forums are mainly stupid.
soooo sick of all the lol's they drive me nuts.  
Came on to chat with the lady who reached out to me.
She is long gone and I wish I knew her in the real world.  
Dad's happy living in ignorant zone and mom is not home from her date.
*** should I do? Confused with nobody to talk to about life.
I really hate my life most days like now.