the first time was more my fault
than anything else, but
it was his fault too.
i wouldn't have had to act like that
if he wasn't a liar.
but it ruined things for me
because now i don't trust people
and i don't think i will
the second time was split 50/50
i fell for a person who was what i thought was good
but she really wasn't. and she led me on
and possibly to get me off her case,
she hung out with people who cosplay better than me
and then she said:
"i could be there for you like an older sister might be to a younger sister"
so i cut her out and she cut me out
and i tried to get over her and the butterflies left and were replaced
but an empty feeling, but they came back
when she ran up to me and hugged me after we mutually hadn't talked
for maybe 2 months or so
and now i really don't trust people
the third time was entirely my fault
because he was friendly
and warm and a welcome face in a crowd of those
who were entirely too unforgiving.
but it was just that: being friendly
and i am a stupid little girl who thought that
his attempts at recruiting me for the drama club
and the fact that off the bat,
even when he knew people in the class,
he asked me to be his partner
were signs of interest
but i guess not because who would want me?
especially when there were people his age.
i let myself get my hopes up
sky high
and theyre crumbling to the ground.
and to think that i was starting to get better
at having faith in myself;
feeling better about myself;
*trusting people

robert frost says that poetry starts
with a lump in your throat.

so, i guess that my ballet class
last night, when i couldn't turn
like the other girls could
and i couldn't keep up
with the fast tempo of the song,
was poetry.

and by that definition,
the feeling that i had in class one day
when the kid that i used to like
just talked down to me
the entire time and made me
run out of class like a bat out of hell
and almost start crying on the bus,
was poetry as well.

but the truth is that i don't want my pain
to be poetic and everyone else
seems to think that every poem has to be sad
just so that people will like it.
and they exaggerate this sadness
to the point where it isn't sadness anymore,
it's just fake.

i want my poetry to come from the heart
and maybe come from the truth.
i want it to come from the lumps
that you get in your throat
when you are indescribably happy.

i used to cut
because i was angry at myself
and i was angry at my parents
and my friends who honestly weren't good at their "job" of being said friends
and everything else in the world that didn't benefit me.

i hated myself
and i still do
but maybe less than i did then
because i'm not as angry at myself
as i used to be
and the last time i cut
was in may
and those "friends" don't talk to me anymore
but my parents still make me absolutely livid sometimes

but what can you expect?
the world makes everyone mad sometimes
and i really wanted to treat it better than it treats me
      "**** 'em with kindness!" like dad always says
but it's kind of hard to do.
it's like the one kid who picked on you
and called you fat when you were in kindergarten
but when you told the teacher
they cry and say that you were mean to them first
except the world can't cry
and the world can't talk
and i guess the teacher is the sun,
and if you think of it that way,
the sun is going to blow up in a few billion years
and then the earth will be dead
and you will be dead before that,
so i guess
that it's better to be optimistic
even when you're angry
because when you're angry
and upset at yourself
or your friends
or parents
then you get hurt
and your parents get hurt
and your friends get hurt as well

i dont seem to know
why people believe in God
and why they believe He is great
and why He gets to decide what our lives are like

if there is a God
then He must not like me very much
because when my skies are clear and blue
they turn into rolling hurricanes

He must have a reason
for every ounce of sorrow
every bit of pain
and every cut

He won't show himself
and won't answer my prayers
he doesnt care
he lets things get out of hand

if he can't make up for
the sorrow and for the pain
and cuts,

then he can't make me bow
he can't have all of my love
he can't have me

so if there is a god
i have one last request;
one last statement;

the people who spout loads
and loads
and loads or your "words"
must have a reason
for thinking that you're so great.

why can't i see what they see?
no matter how hard i try
no matter how much i pray
no matter what i do,

you come out as the bad guy
because an almighty god
would help his children
when they are in need

he would heal them
stop them from hurting
protect them
like a good parent would

so until you can show me
that you care
that you can stop the hurt
i will always be confused

i am a liar
compulsively so
and i only lie to the people i love
the switch turns
only when i want them to pay attention
                                            like the kind of attention that you get when people find you interesting
and it does make me interesting
it makes me stand out
like a streak of gold in mine
like the outer ring of a rainbow on a nicer day
it gives me what i need to move on
and get stronger

but i'm not strong,
i'm weak and i can't move on
and they stopped giving me attention
maybe they stopped loving me
or maybe the inner ring is more vibrant
or maybe i'm just fool's gold
pyrite
a let down

and maybe,
now that i know this about myself,
i can stop lying
and then i'll stop believing them

it was never my fault
     that you and your boyfriend broke up
     that she was mad at you
     that he acted liked like a teenager when he's in his thirties

it was never my fault
     that mom and dad sent you away
     that you have bipolar disorder
     that you're never home anymore

it was never my fault
    that your boss is angry with you
    that your son is mad at you
    that you gave birth to me

it was never my fault
     that i did something to you, even if it was anything, because i can't seem to remember
     that you haven't talked to me since september
     that i didn't know

it was never my fault
     that i never did anything to you
     that i have the weight that i do
     that you torture me to no end

it was never my fault
     that i took it out on myself
     that i said things i didn't think about
     that i am still here

if you really think it is,
     then i guess
     i'll have to do something about it
     but only if you take it out on me again