See.                    I'm.                                
No- ­                     fi-                                   I  
   thi                   ne.                             was
     ng                  I'm.                        up
        is    ­            Go-                   rea-
          wro-          od,                 lly
               ng.      Okay            late.
           I had a snack before I came.
             The.                              I'm
       make.               I'm                Just
up.                          Not         ­         Tired.
Makes.                  Broken                      I    
      ­ Me                                           Don't
           Look.                                 Feel
                   pale.                Well.
                   Yesterday was great
              I just.          I'm            I just
          Had.                Ha-            Like
      A bad.                ppy.               The
Sleep.                                               Style.

These are the threads
Of my web of lies
That I build above your heads
Strenghth ending everyday

My common day lies
Spun like spiders silk
Drifting unbroken in the skies
So plain it stands hidden

Entwined strings of excuses
To form a mask from the world
With a million uses
To fake that I am whole

Because I am the spider
Creeping through the day
Dangling off silk as my web grows wider
Trapping all the flies

"Wrong number" said a familiar voice.

If he calls you pretty
Cut him off
You are far too exquisite for degrading words such as those
If he says he is different
Do not return his call
Those words light a flame of false hope that burns down every wall you've built up
If he does not try to understand
Slam the door in his face
You have no need for a coward

Fickle are the weary hearts
Of these eight children, once pure and true
One was sweet and kind, a lover through and through
The second was hard and cruel, and thought everyone a fool
The third shed many tears, of things that mattered not
The forth played many pranks, harmless so they thought
The fifth child, they were wise, and clever in the day
The sixth child was loud, and felt they never got their way
The seventh child of the bunch, they were not made of much,
but hollow bones and silence, invisible they strut
The eighth child was made of chaos, but kept the peace instead
And all these children live with me, trapped inside my head.

All my best friends
And most
Of my friends
Have faded away
They no longer
Entwine their
Life with mine
And suddenly
In this crowded room
I feel all alone.

There are days
When I look at the week before me
And only see the list of things
To be completed and checked of
No joy, simply a methodical process
I call life
But I had an exam this week
For dance not school
A change in the schedule
Stressful, yes
But also an accomplishment greater than my average week
And as I came out of the exam
I remembered why I put myself through hours of rehearsal each week
Because when I perform
I am alive
I am full of an energy
High on the sense of pride and self-esteem I don't feel any other time
Feeling like, for a moment, I can do anything
It doesn't last all that long
But that's is okay
Because now I've remembered
And I won't forget again