for one moment,
for just barely a breath,
I felt whole.
happy
eased
calm
beautiful
youthful
and completely okay.
but it was just a moment,
one that shall not be repeated.

People used to call me "The Machine",
they used to tell me I was stone cold
and if I had a heart, it was a frozen shell.
They'd laugh like it was just a joke
between friends
but it wasn't.

They used to say
every ******* day
that I was empty inside
that I was absolutely nothing.
I wrote fast
and did my homework
and spoke well
and was graceful in my manners
I was the teacher's pet
who never spoke
or disrupted
I was a little robot
going about my routine,
so they called me The ******* Machine.

I was so desperate to have another name
I did my best-I tried so hard
to play their game;

I wore myself some pig leather
paraded it as human skin
I tried to smile
I tried to laugh
I tried to imitate all I could see
but still they called me
The ******* Machine.

I am the girl, I am the machine,
I am the animal licking up **** off the street.
wires are crossed,
the mind is confused,
there's an existential crisis,
an error in the system,
I want to wipe the hard drive clean
forget about being prom queen
for after all my troubles
they've only doubled
so many thoughts-
emotions-
tearing me apart
so many feelings that don't do a ******* thing,
so I think I'd like to go back,
and be just The Machine.

Please
I know I was mean
I know I was rude
Please
just remember
I'm only 19
I'm only nineteen
I've never had a home
I've always been on my own
I'm only nineteen
acting 30
pressure
so much ******* pressure
can you hear it through the sobs
the neighbors knocking at my door can
please
remember I'm still just a kid
I'm still so little
I'm still living in that day
when my own father tried to take my life away
please forgive me
I'm trying so hard
but it's all so ******* much
and I'm so overwhelmed
and i'm so ******* tired
and the worst part
is that I'm doing my best
I'm doing everything i can
why doesn't anyone care
why doesn't anyone cut me slack
I'm nineteen
I'm still just a kid
It's still 2002
I wan to watch cartoons
please i can't breath
I'm sorry I told you to go
come back
come back
leave
come back
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to do


I am so tired

You would think that when the lights go out
and the room is pitch black,
that I would lose my shape.
Revert back to the sickly lump
whose stomach bubbles and pops
with each heavy breath.
But I don't.
I keep steady,
hold my pose
out of sheer fear
that someone's eyes might adjust to the darkness
and see me for what I truly am.

She believes she is rare,
she's, one of a kind,
she believes she is special
and, she believes she's the greatest of her time.

She remembers long ago,
these fantasies raged strong.
No matter the trials she faced-
she'd, spread her wings long.

Her fiery eyes would look into theirs
and, claim her own name,
with ideas of future fame-
but,
they hunted her down.
Sharpened their swords
and readied their arrows,
someone like her simply couldn't be.

She thought she could handle anything,
that she was strong enough to stand alone,
so she spread her wings
and let the fire burn deep in her throat
knowing her scales would capture the bruises.

But they advanced,
intent on killing,
Swords raised high
and arrows raining down,
her fire wasn't as hot as she thought.
She ran,
as the arrows penetrated the scales.

Finally she had enough,
she turned and stood tall
leaving her heart exposed.
A cruel sword plunged forth,
deep inside her heart.
she fell to the ground
as they cheered.

She dragged herself away
and hid in a cave.

The Dragon inside her died that day.
She was left weak and fearful
and human.
No longer special
but terribly ordinary
and broken and alone,
too weak to pull the sword from her body.

She remained alive,
and would continue to do so,
hiding away in the lonely cave forevermore,
with a sword in her heart,
and a trail of Dragon's blood behind her.

I choose the lonely puppy cowering in the corner
I adopt the shivering stray
I carry the wolf collapsed on the road

I eat stale bread
burnt gluten free waffles
straight grapefruit juice
cinnamon on the tongue
pickle juice and
spicy foods that produce tears

I sit in the snow
in shorts and tank
I leave the curler in my hair too long
burning my stale hair always
I wash my hands until they bleed
I eat until I'm sick
I scream until my throat is raw

I wash myself
under scolding water
that leaves my back
acne ridden
itchy
and tomato red

I sleep until I'm disoriented
and sick
then I sleep some more

I cry rivers-
                 never just one tear

I dare not speak a word on my mind
I dare not speak the truth
homework pages blank
no strength to go to school
I dress too plain
or too crazy
too bulky
or too tight

playing Jenga with responsibilities
and never winning
drowning in being alive
but not really trying to swim.

I do everything too much,
or not at all
compensating
                            for
                                     a
                                              million
         ­                                                          different
                                                                ­                                 things.

You got lost in the woods
that was so long ago
they looked and they looked
but when they found you
you'd already been gone so long
what would you think
to see all the people
posting on your facebook
what would you think
to see all these people
posting how sad it is
how sorry they are
how ripped up they are
even though they only knew you by name
by occasional meeting
so many people
posting "so sad"
but not feeling it.
posting "I'm praying for your family"
but how many are really praying?
posting "gunna miss ya bro"
and giving it no other mention?
lots of sad emoticons
and sharing of that **** police report
but nobody is saying anything real
anything noteworthy.
I never heard of you until now,
but your death means it's a fad
and everyone's saying how sad they are
but they're not really feeling it.
They're so used to just typing R.I.P.
and using sad emojis
that only a select few
are really hurting,
the rest are just making it trivial.
I'm sorry for your loss Lucero,
I'm sorry you're gone,
I'm sorry people see this
as a bandwagon
jumping on
because that's what they're used to doing,
and that's what they'll keep doing.

I was brought into this world by that not of my own choosing.
I was given a face and a name I cannot come to terms with.
I was raised by beings I've had too little time to observe and thus, do not understand them.
I was garbed in itchy fabrics that play too much of an important role in this society.
I was raised up and told to go forward on these stilts I can hardly maneuver-toddling as I go.
I was built from links of mineral, calcium phosphate, and collagen which was fitted with a skin prison,
then drowned in blood and excess organs
and told to live.
I was born to buy and sell and work and love
and to force offspring into these bone brackets and tell them
to do what I have done- for the sake of what?
After many years I cannot work the stilts
or understand my name
and the pollution they injest so heartily does not agree with my lungs
nor the gravity that keeps them barely grounded
keeps me barely able to lift a finger from it.
It seems they all learn to live in their own way
and do and don't with purpose
and exist as they should
carrying on like their parents-
but I watch from the diagonal,
evermore obstructed from their ways.
too little time
yes too little time I've had to study-
I wasn't ready when I was brought here
and by all that is orphic I was brought by mistake.

I'm a stranger in human skin
an alien in a person's world
a broken cog mixed in with upside-down and backwards instructions
devastatingly incompatible with all my fuzzy eyes can see.

I wasn't meant to be here
and I didn't come by choice.
I was forced in
and I must force my way out.

I just to be happy.
I want to be surrounded by positivity
and bathe in kind words
sleep, cradled in support
laughs and hugs
kisses and dancing
breath easy
and live in a place,
where tears
are an unthinkable occurrence.

I hate you 'cause you're skinny
and I hate you 'cause you're pretty
and I hate you 'cause you're clever
and you're nothing oh but better

I hate you 'cause you're perfect
in every which way
I hate you 'cause you're magnanimous
and quite simply glamourous.
I hate you 'cause you have it all
and if you don't, you can get it.
I hate you,
cause you are
and you have
everything I've ever wanted
everything I'll never have,
I hate you for being born blessed
and great
and sultry
and fine
and somewhere down the line,
you'll be perfectly content.
I hate you for being happy
I hate you for being you.
I hate you
because I won't say
that it's me I really hate.

let's blow people's minds
make their heart tremble
hot breath spurling through cool air.
Let's be an indie movie
where we're unique and new
and inventive,
and sit in obscure places
wearing tattered clothing
styling our obscene hair
discussing our rocketed adventures
and disjumbled but inspirational and boggling
views on life, the universe, and everything.
Let's put them together in careful lines
and send them out to the world
so that those who read it
may call us poets.

ugly girls cannot stomp their feet,
ugly girls cannot hoist their nose
                  cannot spit demands
                  or scream childish fits,
ugly girls cannot take
                     only give
                     only serve
             only be complacent,
ugly girls may not be served,
may not be shown off,
may not be pampered,
and they may not request so,
for they are only beautiful in soul, not appearance,
therefore,
to the world,
are not worth the trouble.
The ugly girls
must remain
ugly.

My head hangs
like a bridled horse,
I am worked to the bone,
I long for a loosened mane,
for open wilds,
for photographers to seek
my natural prancing
with praise
Oh I desire
to rear my giant legs
neighing unfaltered
and still
be glorified

I sound a war cry for peace
but waves of negativity drown me.
I struggle
and fight against the cruel pressure
with arms made of hope and love.
My calm and quiet feet
break against the steep water
but without result
for the ocean is far too big
to be battled by a single person.
My years of fighting are over.
my heart sinks with my body
to the ocean floor
where hatred and vindictive lies
slowly cover my carcass
and I become just another reef
forever tied to the pessimistic battlefield.

short skirt
tight shirt
tall heels
big hair
pouty lips
walking through the streets at night
destination: anywhere that's free
just to challenge
anyone who walks by
to see
if they want
if they want
if they want
if they want
to give me a release

**** me slowly
**** me softly
**** me till dirt is all I need
bury me in the company of no one
bury me in the dead of night
bury me, for my greatest sin is greed

I hate looking at you,
I'm always looking off-
down-
side-to-side-
always dodging your eyes-
they are so... Blue.
The bluest of blues,
a royal effervescent
clarical blue
and as my name implies
if I look
I'll want to go swimming in them.
Curse your golden-spun hair
fine skin
sly smile
shapely nose
and above all
curse those tempting blues.

I can't cope with reality.
and it's getting bad.
really bad.
I don't do my homework
I don't do my chores
or play with the dog
or hardly even stay online anymore.
I go to school and I zone out
in a dead depression.
my whole body weighing a thousand pounds
at having to be alive.
I come home and I sit in an almost-asleep-like state,
and if it's not that then it's a full sleep and I sleep till five am
and take a slow
scorching hot shower
and go to school and press repeat.

It's worse than before,
with the ever looming tragedy of adulthood closing in
and my low grades
and my illnses
and existing for my 17th year.
17 years... too long.

I can't cope with reality,
if my odd aloof ways
and ugly blank face were not enough of a hint.

I can't get a job because I'm too inept
and it's all too hard for me
and scary
and I've written that it's scary and hard
a million times
but I can't help but repeat that
like I repeat my schedule
and jokes
and lies and truths
and clothes
and bland routine
i just repeat that because it's so true
and nobody seems to understand
that when I say that being alive is hard,
I really mean it.
I mean it from the core to the stars
from my bones to ashes
from every comparison you can think of
being alive is hard,
it's always been hard
and it's getting harder and harder
and I can't cope
and all this sleeping
trying to hide in my dreams
it's not enough
there's not enough hours in the day to sleep
and dream
and run
that's all I want to do is run
run far away from thsi world.
and I'm panicking
every moment of every day
it never ends
I'm getting overwhelmed
and I'm going to burst
and if a knife is in my hand when it happens
so be it.
because death is just another word for a long sleep,
and when I think about sleeping for an eternity,
it brings tears to my eyes with how good it sounds.
really good.
the best.

you took out the dustpan and broom
and swept while I mopped the dining room
     we had every DIY cleaning solution
in the palm of our hand,
    we went through the house
with a fine tooth comb
          knowing neither of us
                  ever really called this place home

the loneliness converged
the pain was so great
I thought
dear god
how can I let this out
and there was a silent flash
of electric blue
I look out
and in the light of the single street lamp
the sky
was crying for me

I have to steady myself
when I think about your rough skin
worn with battle scars
and tattoos.

I bite my lip
at the thought of your thick eyeliner
around those eyes that are forever blue with youth.

My ears ring
with the longing to hear
that deceivingly young voice
with that funny crackle

I can't tear my eyes from you
as you roll
then light
a cigarette faster than I blink

My back arches
when I think of you
so often
in that way.

You are my life.
my universe.
my fantasy
my reality
my all and everything.

To you I'm an ant,
a petty pup to pet.

But I don't mind.

I don't mind how you smell of smoke
or that when you breath it out
my lungs disagree and cough.

I don't mind that you probably know how you effect me
and that your wish is my command
my heartache
and that if you look at me and say you want a change
I won't hesitate to cut it off
or starve
or drown
and blacken my lungs
I don't mind that you are a demon
I so happily let corrupt me.

I sigh so often at the thought of you.
Beautiful and deadly
grotesque and graceful
ashy like you crawled up from the depths below.

I admire how sick you are,
I lovingly dote on your whims
I worship you no matter what they say
no matter how dark you seem
no matter how I know it kills away what I once was.
but it doesn't matter
and I don't mind,
because you make me happy.

This is not a poem.
This is a fact.
I am alone.
I feel alone.
I do not understand the complexity of touch,
of love,
or having someone care for you.
I have a million things to say,
            a million ways to describe,
fast and jumbled together
so I'll put it simply.
           I'm alone.
           I'm alone and it hurts.
It hurts worse than happy
It hurts worse than sad
It hurts worse than anything I've ever known...
but then again,
this hurt is the only thing I've ever known.

I'm begging to scream it out loud,




but no one would care.

They looked upon it with disdain
convinced that it was wrong.
again and again
they fell on hands and knees
upon sighting it,
and ripped it from the ground
and left it to rot in the garbage.

But I was always there
to pick it up
and re plant it.
again and again
on hands and knees
re planting it.

They try and they try
again and again
pulling the **** from the earth
desperate to throw it away.

But I was always there
again and again
to re-plant
what I could only see,
as a flower

I can't breath
too close to me
beauty it hurts
it hurls the oxygen
I can't breath
too close to me
everything I'll never be
ice cold babe
devour the weak
you are made of stars
I am made of dust
irrelevancy
suffocating
lock the door
in the morning I'll freeze
CryoBabes don't talk
to Povys like me

Last time our lips touched-
our bodies entwined-
you felt,
to me,
a stranger.

I sit,
you sleep
hours passed,
I have not the heart
to sleep next to you.

was it me
or you
that woke one morning
and changed the game?
I'm beginning to think
it was both
that said
that felt
'there is no passion here'

I
feel no burden
no guilt
for stolen kisses
and dinner dates
you
simply ignoring
barely notice
I still live
inches away
we
are not speaking
or laughing
or jibing
just existing
where the other
also happens to be existing
time
is ticking on
the alarm will ring
and neither of us
will have anything
to say.

"I'm sorry"
said in six varieties
a thousand times a day,
he asks why,
why it's all I ever say-
but how can I tell him
that it's all I ever feel.

Sorry burns from deep within,
Sorry runs boldly through my veins,
Sorry is screaming from my soul,
whispering from my eyes
and falling from my lips.
Sorry was beaten and spoonfed to me as a child,
Sorry was branded on my skin
Sorry was woven in my clothing
and pricked into my heart.

Sorry is all I ever was,
Sorry is all I'll ever be.

I live on an island
all by myself.
I rest easy while I work in the shade of day
and battle imaginary monsters in the dark.

I put together sticks and wood
and use my hair to hold it together,
making a shield.
but it's only wooden
and as the imaginary monsters beat down-
the shield breaks-
but just in time for morning to come.

During the day I sit in the shade
and pull out my hair
and make a new wooden shield
readied to be broken that very night.

I've thought about perhaps using a rock as my shield,
but I'm all alone
and not strong enough to lift its weight.
so I continue to pull out my hair
and tie together wood
to help protect me
against the imaginary monsters
that plague my every night.

the music was saying what I couldn't
                   and all I want
    is for you
                     to be good to me

There's a space
next to me on the dance floor

I picture you in it

I raise my hands to the air
           praise you
run down my neck
           your hands pressing in
down my body
            squeeze me
my crotch
           feel me
to the floor
            exhaust me
throw them back to the air
a room filled with sweat
             *smells like you

The song
playing in this cafe
is an indie movie cliche
and it makes nothing else matter
besides the empty seat in front of me
and how I wish
there a was a man in it
I could smile at
and maybe
play a little footsie

the ailment is strong,
we must **** the disease
at it's origin.

but wait,
I'm the origin.

I'm not paying attention,
I glance around the room, distracted.
My eyes glaze over to him-
**** ****
he looks right at me
oh god- he probably thinks I was staring at him-
he's probably creeped out
oh god no
please don't hate me-
oh crap I looked at him again.
ugh.
great. now he thinks I'm creepy.

I’m not paranoid,
it’s just that every word spoken to me
every compliment given
with that pitched tone
that implies an untruthful pity,
sounds like a lie.

Skin pale as white roses
laid upon a sleeping corpse.

Eyes of the sky
and an unknown part of the universe,
forcing one to get lost in thought-
lost in their depth and memories.

Lips, oh snow white
a thousand expressions in every twitch

So frail,
the wind teases the thought of pulling you away
-which it could-
but it lets you stay so we can see your beauty.

In the mirror
what do you see
a goddess unlike me
or anyone, really.

Light steps through the halls
small tight frame striking and bold
a smile so sweet and so genuine
and raven hair that floats like silk.

You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
Better than any magazine.
You haunt my dreams
and tantalize my days-
truly,
there is no one more beautiful than you.

I'm layin awake in bed
I want you out of my head
I wish I got out of bed
I wish I got out of bed.

I'm thinking about everything I know
watching you sleep next to me
wishing that I had said no
so all this weight and worry and fear didn't have to be
so I could stop being scared of how I look
put on my glasses and finally see

I want you out of my head
I want to stop checking my phone
I wish I never got in your bed
if anything now I feel more alone

I'm sick of looking in the mirror
                                             terror
counting calories
jealous of all your memories
wishing I could be your masterpiece
framed on a white wall in your favorite gallery

mannequin pale
face just as blank
trying to be what you want
I don't want to lose you
knowing I need to lose you
fixated
paranoid
finicky
and unsure
now I'm laying awake in bed

I want you out of my head

I wish I got out of bed

I wish I got out of bed.

I want to light a thousand torches
to guide his way.
I want to lasso the moon
so no matter the darkness
he has a light.
but he is my moon,
he is my light,
so I can't be his.
I can't be his last match
I can't be the wind
that pushes the clouds from the sun
I can't be his cup of tea
on a rainy day
or shade on a sunny day,
I can't be the one that makes him happy.
when my only happiness comes from him
I can't be the girl
to make him smile
or wake up every morning thankful.
I want to be the hand,
forever stretched out
ready to pull him up
if he falls,
but I can't.
I can't.

Boys talk of the best legs
hair
lips
and body
specific to each
that palpitates their ferocious hearts
and it makes me weep
for I confess
facing mirror
I have none of these,
not an inch of me
there is none to speak of
or dote on.
The girls shame boys
for objectifying them
but oh
what I would give
to be objectified
just once
treat me like meat
treat me like I could yet be desired
for that is all I want,
love
and desire
and objectification.

little baker is it true,
your payment is due
and there's no escape,
nothing to conceal your shape

little baker is it true,
your body is cold and blue,
did you lose your head
restless in bed
you thought you could beat this
each hit gives you bliss

little baker what have you done
now you've gone and lost your son
your health sadly dwindles
because of your swindels-
they'll come quite soon
you're already doomed.

Little Baker why couldn't you keep
no money to pay, your soul they shall reap

Little Baker you've lost it all
seemingly in a never ending fall

Little Baker you thought your addiction would heal
but  you knew deep down, your life it would steal.

Little Baker you gave up on life
for the same addiction that took your wife
and you were much too scared of the knife
and couldn't handle the strife
so you did as she did and dug a hole,
Little Baker it's time to pay the toll.

Mr. Money's never satisfied
and all those tears you've cried?
honey they better be diamonds because
every penny counts
when you're down
every penny counts
when stomach grumbles sound
Every nickel hurts
every nickel burns
every dime
is worth more than your time
You give it all
to Mr. Money
and Mr. Money
gives all
to none.

She slapped me across the face
and told me I was a ***** *****
it's all my fault
Everything is-
the divorce
the abuse
my fat ugly face
I'll get nothing out of this world
I repulse her
She wishes I was one of her miscarriages
I've ruined her life
I'm disrespectful and *****
a sinner and ****
I make her cry and I don't care
and it's all because
I'm not just like her.
My hearts going to explode
under this weight
but who am I kidding
she's right
this is all my fault.


if it wasn't my fault,
why else wouldn't she love me?

"Quit while you're ahead"
words I should've listened to,
I didn't know they applied to me
I didn't know they were about
my love
my life
my constant.

I didn't crash and burn
I had a slow,
ungraceful decent-
clambering for stranger's likes and comments-
for their approval of what should be
my deepest, most personal thoughts
mattering only to me
but instead plagued with the single thought
"I hope this trends I hope this trends"

If I had quit long ago
they would have asked
"whatever happened to the girl
who wrote good poetry?"
but they won't ask now.
they won't notice.

I poured black oil
over my previous work
and in a shocked attempt to clean it up
I only smear it further.

"quit while you're ahead"
I've lost my chance,
now I can only leave in shame.
and I'm sorry for that.

I hate going to sleep.
It's the worst.
My bed creaks and moans
its springs bursting up into my sore back
and it sinks down in the middle
like the pit in my stomach.
It's old and awful
but it knows my shape.
Knows how I sleep most nights,
curled in a ball.
And some nights,
some nights it's too much.
I revert to the shape I and the bed
are so familiar with
but it overwhelms me.
It's a lonely shape.
It's a scared shape.
It's... an awful empty sad shape.
So I toss and I turn
as the shape calls my name
and I throw the sheets off
and decide not to sleep at all
because the shape imprinted on the bed
has never been touched
been hugged too few a time
and is still sadly clinging to the memories
of those few hugs.
I've spent too many nights
in that stupid shape,
hugging myself
trying to recall the exact feeling of being hugged by another
and I'm sick of it.
I'm sick of tossing and turning
because I can't feel comfortable in any position
not even the one imprinted on the mattress
because they're all so frustrated
and alone.

Hollow inside;
someday, a secret bride.

fists clutched, arms wrapped tight,
a hug or a fight?

vocal chords distilled
unable to rebuild.

bones so cold
and heart so old,
happy thoughts covered in mold
to match the soul too much like wold

My tongue
my fingers
I paint the grass green
but I'm suffocating in the fumes

"She's dying"
please stop saying that.
Stop the tearful calls
and sad looks
just stop saying it.
"she's dying"
******* I heard it the first time,
and once is far too much,
stop saying it.
I don't want to believe it.
This doesn't happen.
This shouldn't happen.
She's so young,
she has a family,
she has a brand new
beautiful baby boy,
with the bluest of eyes
and the most innocent of smiles
please God,
don't do this.
She has to see him grow up.
She has to see him happy.
We're going to eat pizza at the same place
we always have whenever one of us graduates highschool.
She's going to see my first book published,
my first short film.
I'm going to see her books published,
I'm going to see her happy, quaint life.

She's not dying.
She's not.
stop saying that.
I'd give anything to be nothing but a child
too young and ignorant to understand what's happening.

Please God,
don't do this.
I'm crippled on the ground,
can't sleep
can't eat.
I've felt my body go completely comatose.

Please, God,
give me a miracle.

The morning is far away
but it will be bitter sweet.
It's a week away
but the emptiness is overflowing.

Elite memories
I wish were vague
pound into my heart.

Six years.
Six.

For each of those years
this date was special,
it was eagerly awaited
and planned
and performed-
a date in which
I would spend all extra money
and countless hours
plotting,
awaiting the chance to please
and dazzle.

For six years this date was special.
Now... so quickly... it's nothing.

I know what she'll be doing
I know what she'll be eating
I know what kind of cake she'll get...
what she'll think about
talk about
laugh about
joke about
be confused about
everything...
I...
I know it all...


For six years April 16th
was the most important day of the year,
the day my best friend would age
just 19 days earlier than I.

For six years April 16th
was my devotion to her.

but now...
now it's nothing.

It's a week away but still
my body goes weak with the memories.

I look at her new best friend;
just a prettier me,
it's not like we fought
or we did anything wrong-
our world just stopped.
and split in two.

I know what she'll be doing on April 16th.
I'll be alone in my house,
facts of her penetrating my brain-
for I know all there ever is to know-
all the stories she's ever had to tell-
all her wants
hopes
dreams
fears-

Will she think of me?

For the first time in six years,
she will have a birthday
without me.
Six years without being separated..
six years.
It's like those years never existed.

I fear next week
like no other.
I'll sit in my room-
unable to even wish her a facebook happy birthday,
I can only sit and wish her happiness.
So here it goes,
to the only girl who knew everything about me,
and I her,
to the girl I'd give the world for,
to the girl who is but a ghost of my memories
and I of hers,

Happy Birthday, Tiffany Amber.

I don't like you,
I swear I don't,
I hate your stupid face
and your funny hair
and ridiculous clothes.
I don't care how funny you are,
your stupid laugh is heinous.
I hate your swagger,
I hate the slight crack in your voice,
Truly Truly
I hate most everything about you.

You're not a good person,
in fact you're quite mean,
you treat people like objects
and your drug use is obscene.
Truly Truly
I hate most everything about you.

I hate it when you walk by
and look at her like that,
look at all of them like that.
Tall, beautiful, perfect,
your favorite kind of object.
It shouldn't effect me, but it does,
leaves me standing in front of the mirror crying
wishing I was pretty
wishing I was tall
wishing for a cute laugh
wishing to be perfect
               to be your kind of perfect

You've said it yourself,
you're broken inside,
you're the shell of a funny boy
with monsters swarming inside.
Maybe I'm crazy,
but I see something more,
I'm already taken,
but I fear that I do not love him like I should...
I fear I love you.

I don't like you,
I swear I don't,
you're not a good person,
in fact you're quite mean,
you treat people like objects
and your drug use is obscene.
Truly Truly
I love most everything about you.