in '11, i had started
in '12, they put me in
since this years lucky '13,
who is gonna win?

they say death comes
in 3's
        5's
       and 7's

so, does that mean
that 2013
really was gonna be my year?

the sun once kissed
every corner
and now the
ocean roars
stuck on a ride
that wont stop spinning
or turning on my toes
without spotting
going from
a full run
to a dead
stop

side effects of this drug may also include:
     feelings of depression
     feelings of anxiety
     desensitization
     unconsciousness
     insentience
     the sudden want of the inevitable to become uncertain

i wish that they hadn't used such heavy duty ink
to mark my hands with x's
because then the sweat would have washed them away
and maybe i'd have a chance.

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 wish that my fingers
could write the words
and paint the pictures
of a beautiful life
played out in my mind

November is supposed to be
a happy month for family.

in 2011, I was sad, but
fall is my favorite season,
so I made it work.

in 2012, I ran from the Man
and he got me good
and put me away
for three whole days,
leaving me with the crazies,
and the blood pouring from my vein.
I don't like talking about 2012.
it makes me feel like I'm one of the crazies too.
November 2012 was sad.

but this year, i think the Man is feeling kinda cruel,
so he's turning November, into October.
but I don't want October to be like November,
because October is my happy month,
because I can hide behind a mask,
and I can smell that nice fall smell.
and summer decides it's time too leave
and I can go outside again.
the mask makes me look happy
but I have to put it away the next day.  

I had so much planned for October,
and not a lot for November.
because October is my happy month
and every high  needs a low
so that's why November comes right after.
but the Man is calling time,
so I guess there might not even be
a November for me
because the Man knows everything.
He plans everything.

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

and i bite down on my tongue
and the shaking stops.
i don't know if the shaking
comes from the cold
or the anxiety of peoples eyes,
but all i know, is that the shaking comes back
twice as fast as before
and now it's spreading
from my teeth
               to my jaw,
                     to my hands,
                          to my fingertips.
                               my knees are buckling.
                                           my ankles are tightening
                                                      my chest is heaving.
every breath that leaves my lungs
comes out quivering.
and now i think i can taste blood,
so i shove my hands deeper into my pockets
and pull my shoulders up higher.

"it's just the cold."
"i'm fine."

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

I can no longer discern
whether or not
this is the rise or fall.
I can no longer tell
if he is honey, or if he's vinegar.
I can no longer think.
I can no longer feel.
This is the reason I am alone.

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

its always this time of night
when the sky is dark
and you can barely see the stars
because its so cloudy
that i stay awake
and pretend that the blue light
of my computer
is sunshine.
i stay awake and wish
that i could turn into gold.

In second grade,
I handmade my mom a tea cup
out of clay.
It was glazed in chartreuse and robins egg blue,
Her two favorite colors.
It was a Mother's day present,
because I knew she liked tea.
At the bottom,
while the clay was still wet,
I wrote, "LOVE U MOM",
right where she'd see it
whenever she took a sip.
She never used it.
She used it to put pieces of trash in,
and left it under the counter
in the kitchen.
But now I use it
to burn incense.
She could have used it
for the same thing;
to get rid of the ashes
of the cigarettes she still
desperately tries to hide from us,
but she uses a store bought
coffee mug for that.

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 wake up sometimes
after accidentally falling asleep
and the icicle lights outside my window
and the glow-in-the-dark-stars
on my ceiling
start to look like heaven.
and then i remember

you were full of cliches,
like the light in your eyes
and the warmth of your grip.
and of all things,
i couldn't get over the scrape of stubble
when you kissed my cheek
and the feel of your fingers in my hair
when you held me closer to you.

it's an infatuation, and a blind one at that
but my fears don't lie in a tender feeling.
it's a fear that my words to you were lost
in the light of your eyes
and the grin on your lips
and the scrape of stubble
on my cheek,
on my temple,
on my forehead.

how can a tender touch
melt a cynic when they know
that the feeling will never be reciprocated?

I don't know why I bother
thinking of someone
who doesn't even think of me.

I remind myself of this at night,
when I think about how it would feel
for him to text me something dumb,
like a good night text, or some
stupid existential question when he's high.
I remind myself of this when
my phone stays silent throughout the night.

I remind myself of this in the day,
when someone says something stupid in class
and he laughs so hard that he goes red-faced,
and smiles so hard that it touches his eyes.

I remind myself of this when
he mentions his girl in casual conversation,
and how he looks happy when he says it.
I remind myself to look unphased.
I remind myself to carry on.

I remind myself that there will
be no good night texts, or existential ramblings.
I remind myself that I shouldn't
look at him when the whole class laughs.
I remind myself that he's happy with her.
I remind myself that I was never seen.

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
don't
want
to
be
alone
but
it's
the
only
thing
i'm
good
at

it's amazing
how a minute
can make the difference
between tomorrow
and today
and how one word
can make the difference
between the beginning
and the end

i
don't
want
to
be
alone
but
it's
the
only
thing
i'm
good
at

there isn't anything left here
that will keep me at the mercy
of awe.

i miss the cool summers
and fog crawling over the pines
and its beauty.

and i know that i
will never be able to put that
beauty into words that do it justice