I am tired of writing of you as if you were an old polaroid photo from 1975.
The kind that fades slowly and turns yellow in an old trunk.
The kind taken of a happy sad girl laughing at her youth which she has kept in a glass bottle ever since she was 13.
That is how I picture you – frozen bittersweet melancholia giggles.
You are my dark little secret, and something tells me a part of you always will be.
But, you are real.
So very real.
In fact, you are the only thing that is real to me anymore.
You are more than what I write of.
You are more than anything.
What I write of is fiction.
The dreams I have of us entangled.
Fiction. Sadly. Fiction.
I will never stop the imagination
the creation
of a “banana pancake good morning” love with you.
Never.
But, what I wrote of was fiction.
Perhaps. Perhaps we just need to change the genre.

Take me on your daisy train
Spin me fast and hard so I don't
remember who I am or why I
keep singing
Simon and Garfunkel
over and over
again,
let me remind you I am familiar
with the way moss clings
to weeping willows
I am familiar with the dusk of dawn
and yet I am still drawn to you

I can't be free of the river dread
that has consumed me whole.
But, I am trying to learn how to swim
again.
They keep throwing me life jackets
and oars,
but it's a sinking ship.
Don't worry, I tell them.
Don't worry, I love you
and I'll be back soon.
Maybe later if not sooner.

I was never aware that everything in this godforsaken world is pretend.
Everything is an illusion,
a time waster,
a sweet dream that may or may not go dark.
Everything is made up by people in lab coats
or philosophers with spectacles
or old men with top hats.
Everything is made up by dreamers and livers and do-ers.
So I can be anything I want
and that is such a beautiful thing.

maybe next time
when I
pick enough
blackberries
they'll be
ripe.

You have to have a strong exterior.
Life attacks every day.
Some can handle this constant fight.
And some can not.

Battle wounds swarm the skin.
They come from multiple places.
The world. Others. Maybe you don't know how they came.
But, the scariest are the ones you create
Yourself

Look at the scars. Look at the cuts.
Your body cries tears of blood every time.
Take a good look.
And be reminded of the life you made.
Of the pain you have.
And fear.
Fear it.

These battle wounds will never heal,
For they are not just skin deep.
They penetrate through your muscle and bones.
And attack
Your heart.
It is vulnerable and unprotected.
And all at once it feels the sting
Of the knife
Of the hand
Of the pain
Of the mind.

And all it can do is give you a tear
A salty, wet, tear.
Maybe two.
And that's all you have left.
The tears
The scars
The pain...the reminder
And that's all you'll ever have

You have to have a strong interior.
A strong exterior.
In life.
So, please be careful.
I bruise easily.

i dont have the energy
to care about wilting daisies
on rainy days
or broken cds stuffed into my
pockets.
i dont have the time to
try to fit in with your hands
anymore

I wish I could live in people's brains
like solid tumors that are far from cancerous
so that I can feel their thoughts rush past my
skin so that I can
remember how it feels to be alive

I guess there comes a time
when all that's right
goes wrong
when time runs out and
you're left
spineless without features
When you discover the truth
of the matter and blink
in its face
I love you
but I know you don't
So I guess its become the time to
erase the one thing that's
right in your life for the sake of her innocence.

and if you are crying right now
swallowed by sadness and sinking in tears
i am sending you every good thought that comes to

mind
it is hard for one to see such a beautiful person

hurt
but you
it kills me.
i would do anything to take it all away, but i

know that nothing is that easy
i am not sure what to do to make it better
i have been there and i know that words are just

letters that are just sounds that are just the

breath moving through two slabs of flesh
and i know they dont make that much a difference

in a foggy mind
all i can think of is to tell you that i love you

each time i am reminded that souls get twisted

and may crack

Cakes,
I know I just wrote to you,
but I can't get you off my mind - you live there 24/7,
but it seems today you are running in circles.
I'd like to stop you and kiss your hand and wipe the sweat from your forehead.
People tell me you're a hopeless cause.
I disagree, you are my hope entirely.
But spare me love,
is there a chance for us?
By any means could you possibly even have for me the slightest that I have for you?
Spare me the truth, should I try to shake you from my heart?
(No)                                                                                                                                         (Yes)
Thank god.                                                                                                       I'm sorry, but that's not valid.

Je t'aime,
Bug

And by this flickering candle.
I imagine you.
Your soft lips resting against the black satin sheets.
An angel.
I see you.
Even in the darkest of the dark bitter corners of my soul
You emerge.
It takes every fiber in my being to stop myself
to stop the longing for me to draw you closer to my heart
But, you are so peaceful.
And how could I disturb such a gentle rest?
So,
For now I guess I'll just have to ignite these old candles
that continue to flicker more and more as the days go on
But, I will light them
Every day
Until, instead, I have you.

And when the end draws near
I am lost
We never prepare for this sort of thing
because we don't have the time
for time
when it comes to quickly.

Life is brief.
Souls are forever.
They don't get along well.

I see the moments I love flash before me in vintage photographs
Polaroids of past pains past pleasures
And I long to get a grip of myself
But the teared memories won't stop
and the time is slipping through
again

I told her I loved her
She didn't understand completely how much, then again,
neither did I.
Love is such a cliche thing
overused and abused by false accusations and taudry
romantic comedies.
I'm not sure what
real
love is
but I do know what I feel for her is stronger than Nicholas Sparks and all the red roses in the universe
combined
Yet, all I could say to her glitter face,
All I was allowed,
In the most innocent way,
(For innocent, and as friends, is the only way)
I told her I loved her
And she said
"I love you more"
And I laughed
Because lord knows that is not humanely possible

It is not worth the troubled heart to take a bite out of happiness
Pleasure is best left to interpretation.
Don't get me wrong
it all was real
it is all real
I will always throb for your figured smile,
but life is a tease
and I don't know who I am yet

It's on days like these when life is rushing in at light speed
and I am breathing in Carbon Dioxide instead of air.
When the world is unbearable and
I'm stressed from the giant rock of fate.
That I think about you laying next to me
with open heart listening to my soul beat.
Your hand holding mine - pulsing it,
reminding me of the patterns of living and
looking into your eyes and feeling that pain could never exist
when we are looking at starts together
You are the heal, and I love you more than the sun
And I kiss your nose.
But, I miss and hit my empty pillow.

and i think about how giving
the world seems to be
when i'm next to your shadow

and i am reminded that
you need light too

and i think
my god
she's the sun
and i'm the moon
and it was never meant to be

If I could I would tell you all my secrets
about how I long to kiss the stars
Space is almost as infinite as love
eternity is a brave thing to breathe
There is no such thing as secrets
unless you can keep them from yourself
and oh how I long to kiss you

Bring me to justice and whip my smile away
Morbid may be better than believing lies.
I believe in many things, many faces,
sadly
when you look to too many things you don't look to yourself.
Sometimes it's hard to leave love behind,
but sometimes it's even harder to let it take over you
while it does nothing but drink calm earl grey tea with your lover.

I have once been told that I am a deep person
that my roots extend into the earth
that I am vast
like oceans
of blood
that I know.
I do not wish to be the sea
because
then
I
will
drown

My therapist drinks his coffee lite and sweet
I drink mine black with ice
I feel that says a lot about our personalities

i promise to never drag you on roller coasters you don't consent to
and if you do take a chance on the rackety rails
i promise to never let go of your hand

i promise to never pull you through this life
if you don't wish to be by my side
but, if you do decide to accompany me on this journey
i promise to never let go of your hand

Why they ask. why.
out of all things. why.
does it really help you.
do you realize what you're doing.
who you're hurting.
what you're holding.
why.
why.
why.
do you think if i knew.
if i knew the answer to
why.
i would be doing what im doing.
i would hurt like im hurting.
i would hold what im holding.
this isnt a choice.
why
cant
people
understand
that
why
why
why

fate is an uneven sword,
but time is the real enemy here
because i am no longer
among love
because i am no longer
among you

If I could, I would describe to you
the hopes I have for life
Not just my own life,
that stretches and shortens like a
worn out rubber band,
but also yours,
where I put every ounce of my positive energy
my hope, my light, is you.
But, neither of our lives are worthy
of any rhymes or words in a poem
I'm not writing about me and I'm not writing about you,
I'm writing about us,
because together we are a song to sing.

Most of the time I don’t feel actual
But it has occurred to me that this is real
I am real
For all I know the moon could be a figment of my imagination
It’s too far for me to touch
It’s too big for me to hold
The moon
sneaks slowly out of the dark every now and then
Its smile can illuminate the world
But, its absence is noticed
The night swallows it whole and only every so often
it is spit out
I imagine the moon gets tired
I know I do

Better. Better is a term. A word. A concept.
It could mean something more, I suppose,
but in reality,
                                                                                 everything is what it is
                                                                                 we just want to make it out to be more
Everything is nothing - and we don't wrap our heads around this idea
We can't believe this because:
                                                   If we tell ourselves that everything (even the things that mean the world)
                                                                                                         are nothing

Then we are nothing also
And we cannot bare to be nothing.

If I am nothing than I have no purpose, no reason, no substance.
                                                                                                      If I am everything there will be nothing else
                                                                             Which is worse?
To be a grain of sand
or to be the ocean that smothers every other grain?

Lose lose situations are my specialty...........................................Ah! But, what if you are something.
Just something. That is the thing to be. Smack in the middle
between a ghost and a giant,
life and death

That is where I want to be.
Where I want to spend my days,
and that,
that is improvement.

I am high off the possibility
that maybe
just maybe
you can be alongside
because now i fit criteria
and that excites me

i can feel her. nails digging into my skin
.and her lips. pressed against my heart
like soft rose daggers
but. i am holding her. hand.
clutching on
when i know that she needs to be free.

Maybe I'm a cat
With 9 lives
Cutting off number 8
I could have gone so much sooner
But luck has spared me
Although I'm not exactly sure if that is good or bad

The best thing about life is not living.
Nor loving.
It’s forgetting.
Forgetting the sadness and the pain and everything in the world that has ever left a scar on your soul.
And for awhile.
Life is bearable.
And you can sing and dance and laugh and smile and mean it.
It’s real. The happiness is real.
And when you glanced at the scars there was no haunting memory.
You could pull your sleeve down and enjoy the breeze in your hair.
And I remember those days when I forgot the suffering.
But, somewhere along the line I could no longer forget.
A trigger of some sort.
I slipped into the realization that I was living alone in an eclipse.
I slowly realized that my songs and my smiles were fake.
And as I glanced at the scars there was a throbbing memory that tempted me.
So, I pulled my sleeve up and watched my world unravel yet again.

Most of the time I feel I was not meant to be human.
Human's are definite; there's a word for them.
I don't think there's a word for me.
I don't think I'm describable or said.
Although, age is just a number,
And no one has written me yet.

come close to me and feel my breath
against the ice of your heart
i will melt you
i will make you feel again

I’m sick of this chapter.
I’m sick of science fiction and horror and fables.
I should be able to choose my own genre.
Fantasy.
It doesn’t really work that way.

When someone writes a poem. The poem exists. It doesn’t have a choice.
It has to be read. It has to be printed. It has to be spoken.
Forever.
Until the day the author removes it from the shelf and the binding goes stale.

I was the kid in 3rd grade who would skip to the end of the book to see if the rest was worth reading.
I am that kid.
And I am sick of reading.

the girl that lives inside my eyelids
is tapping on my brain
pacing around my thoughts
spilling hot tea over and over
again

Splurging on ****** tales is a specialty of mine.
I heard that we are all our own Gods and we all are our own Heroes.
This is a privilege we sometimes overlook,
but I still dream of bigger words.
I know it well, but I am more of a stranger than I was yesterday.
I have made an agreement with my head to never get lost again,
because I think many of us are detached.
And in a world where we are all connected at the hip-
this discomforts me.
I have nothing to lose except everything.
My soul is old and has much to teach me
and I think that is the meaning of life.

she was silent
on the other line.
and i thought,
if i cant hear her
anymore,
then i must not
be listening
hard enough.
and if i'm not
listening
than it must be
.

come close to me and feel my breath
against the ice of your heart
i will melt you
i will make you feel again

I very much would like to sip on your soul for the rest of my existence
Get high off your laugh
Hover on all the words you whisper
I very much would like to spend the rest of my life with you
I think that just may be great.