[voicemail]

hello, father
It's your daughter.

This is the last voicemail
I've decided to ever leave.
I'm been having some difficulty
in thinking that I'll succeed.

It's been a while but I'm not
here to catch up and reminisce.
I simply have a story to tell and basically it's this.

I started when I was fifteen.
Single edge blades for shaving.
I had found its other use
and the feeling was amazing.

Father where've you been?
The answer doesn't matter to me.
I've grown up and all the cuts have
lead me to bleed out my empathy
and letting scars heal with a special
layer of apathy.

You want to know what it feels like?
I stay up way past my bed time.
One mark before I start the climb.
Dark thick liquid that feels like slime.
Slow. Steady. Make the
motion last a lifetime.

I wonder what life
would be like without me
and honestly my disappearance
is what really makes me happy.

I've always really want to tell you
that even though you haven't been
here I think it's still okay to say
I love-

[beep]

In a tiny church with an overlarge steeple
I opened the doors to see all the people
A little girl stood there and sang about god
and all the sheep stared, shocked and awed
As the tears rolled down her rosy red cheek,
each one symbolizing another week
A week of havoc, pain and circular gain,
we live in a world that knows no blame
I stared at her focusing on innocent eyes,
her naivety made them so big and so wise
She looked at the crowd, they were hungry for more,
she thought of her sister, shunned for being a *****
If we are his children and all loved the same
how come people live life with no name?
How come I have the world in my palms
when girls with my birthday are running from bombs?
Her answers will go unanswered forever,
she will be called a fool for being so clever
Dear god you are supposed to show us the answers,
but our youth sees only society's best cancers
How can a little girl have faith in your craze,
when she sees people hungry, day into days
So you see dear lord I don't really believe,
all these people need to rise up from their knees
Stop praying for someone to change your fate,
and do it yourself, open your own gate
Love thy neighbour and to ones own self be true
but don't do it for him, do it for you.

I hate overly yellow bananas
and cilantro in my salad
I hate fleecy sweaters
and pony tails that are too tight
I hate when I can't sleep because I drank too much coffee
and when nobody tells me goodnight

I hate when you promise the sky because you can
and when you don't care
I hate when you yell
and my eyes start to burn
I hate when you're never around
and that you never were
I hate that you try and control me
but know nothing about me
I hate that I have never been a priority
and I know that I never will...

The fast-paced escape of early spring rivers
and the reality that people come and go
The cold temptation of crying out
but my pride won't let me scream no

Outer beauty is about 33% of the total package.
Unfortunately, it is the first thing people notice.
An obvious statement by me, a man.

From my perspective; maybe not so unique.
A woman's physical "perfection" may not be as desirable as one might imagine.
Physical Perfection can be intimidating, by men & women.
Physical Perfection can be resented, even though admired.
Physical Perfection can also attract some "unwanted" attention.
Physical Perfection can bring on mental frustration,
while dealing with the perverted assortment of attention.

Having said so, I am curious to know the personality of a physically perfect girl.
As, I can not get close enough to say anything more than Hi as we pass in the mall.
But, my physical self can not keep her attention, even for a minute.

The competition for her attention would be too great.
My cautious and shy personality would be left behind.
She would be whisked away from me.
Most likely by a younger more physically perfect guy.

I would prefer, the girl next door type.
She looks cute and is quite nice.
When she does her magic. She transforms into a very pretty and even **** girl.
Even with glasses and slightly crooked teeth.

Her most endearing qualities though is not physical perfection.
Rather, her beaming smile, sparkling eyes, self-confidence
outgoing personality and...
her get it done attitude.

When my lips are dry and my eyes yearn
For the enticing illusion of sleep,
When thoughts drip from my mind like a leaky faucet
Until I am drowning in my own worries,
When the clock on my wall starts to sound more like
A bomb ticking down to zero—
These are the nights that I long for you.

have a God,
be a deist instead
then marry me,
the mediocre Catholic.

let's have children,
let's not have children
because "Parents, they ******* up."
but you'd make a great dad
I think
yes? no?
maybe?
and I'd make a great mom...
...sort of.

We'd love them (the children or child..whichever)
and we'd be weird
so they'd (or he or she..again, whichever) be weird
and their friends would say,
"Who the **** are The Beatles?"

Eh...let's not get married
yet.
let's hold hands first
or be together a year
or get through one meal without having to giggle and look away
because I caught you staring at me
or was it me who was...never mind.

Now I'm studying my hands,
the ones you have not held,
the ones with the ugly, fat, stubby, unlady-like fingers
the same fingers you said you loved.

you're such an idiot sometimes.

Remember that time you said I was beautiful?
which time?
oh right, you've said it more than once;

you idiot.

Do you notice how when you're not looking at me
I stare at your face?
your eyes?
your lips?
your perfect lashes?
No?

good.

I should stop now.
see you soon,
you

idiot.