Jesus.
A holy card propped on my nightstand.
I thought,
"I need to be by Myself."
He looked a little wounded.
But Father could  not understand the physics of this situation.

Took you to my room
Locked the door; swallowed the key
Then I swallowed you.

Rolled up my sleeves... high
Pumped you through my veins... again
Turned off all the lights.

Hi again, old friend
I am high again, old friend
I am high on you.

I want someone to analyze me.
Learn my binary oppositions,
my repetitions,
my anomalies.
Find the strands that connect,
Paraphrase me. X3.
Dissect every phrase.
Learn me.
Feel me between your fingers.
Fold me.
Backwardsandforwards,
Insideandout upsidedown.
Memorize me.
Don't forget me.

Favorite excuse: I'm tired.
Works like a charm.  
Everytime.
Ninetypercentofthetime.

I am tired from lack of sleep
I am tired of being soft-spoken, shy, unsure, standoffish, rude, ******,
I am tired of people talking behind my back
I'm tired of talking behind their backs
I'm tired of being speechless; not knowing what to say,
                                                                                how to say it...
                                                                                       when to say it.
I'm tired of talking to myself
[I like to think I'd love some company]
I'm tired of beating my brains out.
Tired of trying to spend time with people who don't want to spend time with me.
Tired of trying to find new friends [how many people live in the world? why am I alone?]
Tired of fake and fumbled attempts at fostering flailing and failing friendships.
I'm tired of being in a room full of people who see me but don't really see me;
who know me, but only a little.  Hardly.
Who either hate or love what I am now
Who wish I'd go back to the precious, less-scary, much-more-approachable girl that I used to be.

The baby that they ooh'ed and ahh'ed and cuddled into this mush.
A mush that they could mold into anything
they wanted.
They pulled
my arms and stretched my legs.
They smoothed
and straightened "Ooh, yeah, that looks good," they'd murmur under hot, concentrated breath.
But after all, I was only a mush.
Not a tangible and workable [fixable] medium.
Not sugar, not spice, not everything nice; certainly NOT what little girls are made of.

It is all so unbelievably cliche.
It's all that I was afraid of...
...all that I am afraid of.
I remember all of the love songs, the compliments, the stolen looks, the giggles, the gushing, that sounded like nails on a chalk board.  
Nightmarish.
The sort of things that sent chills up and down my spine [and not the good kind].
I remember the days that I wouldn't say "I love you",
the days I wouldn't touch or cuddle or play or laugh,
the days that your dejected mien made me wonder why you stayed.
What a waste.
What a waste it was to try to keep my heart away from yours for as long as I did.
What a waste the days were when I tried to pull our thoughts away from each other.
From where they were
and where they wanted to be: intertwined...supine...aligned.

To say something is beautiful and eloquence is grossly overrated.