my head is being pushed into water by sets of hands. sometimes the water  finds its way into my tear ducts. sometimes into my lungs.

the hands never identify themselves. but sometimes when i wiggle my fingers, my head itches.

I think too much,
talk too much,
dream too much,
and write too much
in a desire to
illicit implicit
emotional responses
engineered in
the pursuit of
defining and expanding
the influence of
love.

I'm not dead
because I care what people will think of me,
even after I'm gone.

Wake up Monday morning
2. Wake up Tuesday morning
3. Wake up Wednesday morning
4. Wake up Thursday morning
5. Wake up Friday morning
Because my hope for the future is that I continue to have the will to get up.
Else let me sleep eternally.

Love is a mixture of
compassion and lust.
I care about him,
and I want to **** his ******* brain out.
I want to do so much for him and to him.
Because I am compassionate for him.
Because I lust for him.
Because I love him.

He gave me his pencil today.
Mr. *** probably thinks I cheated and looked off of someone's paper on my way up.
But I didn't.
I forgot to answer one.
I asked to borrow a pencil.
Mr. *** looked around but couldn't find one.
So he stopped working (I know right, believe it or not).
He never stops working.
But he let me use his pencil.
I said "thank you"
The only words I've said to him
this week.
Two words.
He let me borrow his pencil,
and it made my day.
For a moment I felt happy.
If only I could feel that way all the time.

**** my life.
I'm way too shy and antisocial for this ****.

I wish he saw me as more than just an ***.
But I can't blame him.
I don't see much else in myself either.
I see so much in him.
And I know I'm selfish,
but I'm jealous of all that he is,
and I know he could make me a better person.

He still says hi to me with pity,
like he wants to make sure I'm okay.
To see if it's okay for him to talk to me.
I understand.
I might seem upset or jealous.
Maybe it's because I am...
No it's not because of that,
he got that because he is
compassionate, empathetic, outgoing,
funny, sweet, and loved.
That's why I'm jealous.
I want his attitude, I want his outlook on life.
He's optimistic.
While I have a stick shoved so far up my *** I can't seem to hold onto friends for longer than a school year.
**** life.

and despite all the people who say i am enough
i can't help but feel like i'm not
because that B on my report card
looks like an F
and this poem is just useless words
typed up on a computer
and ****
i should not be this jealous of my best and only friends
but their talents constantly outshine mine
and im left to feel like a rock in a sea of diamonds
-lxs