I have to tell my heart that I am worth living for
I argue with my legs that I am worth supporting
I promise them that one day I'll take them to new places
I tell my hand that I’m worth holding
But sometimes, I tell myself to let it go
Because I really don’t have reasons for any of them
All I have is hope
That they don’t leave me in my own shadow
My shadow only sticks around because Peter Pan stitched it to my feet
I don’t blame it… I would leave me too
That’s why I don’t blame the people who choose to not stick around
They choose another person's life to live in
I like going to movies by myself
I would rather read a book than write my own
I know that I’m weird and I accept that as "good"
So when others tell me what I already know
I pretend that they’re not saying it with negativity
Like it’s been done typically
I know that I stick out
I wear really bright clothes and I’m obsessed with my shoes
I’ve never listen to them, but I can feel the rhythm of  blues
I feel like Chicago blues get her lyrics straight from my life
I’m still trying to convince myself
That missing myself is worth fixing myself
I don’t have an argument that I’m worth all the effort
But once I stop… There’s no one left
I’ve been on my own for a long time
And my tears don't quench my thirst anymore
My arms are sick of only having me to hold
My chest has swallowed my pride
My mind and my body have left me alone
I would leave me too

When *** is a fight
the ideal outcome is
without survivors.

Today I remembered the weekend we made cupcakes. Batter dotted our skin, and we kissed it off each others faces.

I remember falling asleep on your basement couch, curled against your beating chest. We watched movies the way a nicotine addict smoked cigarettes. Our relationship a reflection of blue-light on our faces.

I wish we'd been as innocent as the cartoons we watched in my bedroom. Instead we crumbled like corporations in Fight Club. The irony is a bitter taste in the back of my throat.

All for nothing I fell asleep in my hospital bed. Clinging to thoughts of you to send me to dreamland, until the day I found, that I'm much more prone to nightmares.

It was then I realized our love story was a tragedy. That maybe all love stories were.

He was there with
me, now he's there
with her. Or him,
them, maybe all alone.

He makes things better
by slipping endorphins and
stimulants of all different
shades down his little-boy throat.

He used to tickle my
sides and put kisses on
my shell, that held my
cerebellum in all nice and snug.

We would go no where;
Never get anything done.
We would make small
talk about growing up.

I would think about him and
think that he wasn't enough.
He was nice and gave
me all that he had got.

All of the lonesomeness, all of
the sad, all of the mad crept about.
Past my hazel irises and
began to erupt, mushing out.

Out of my ears, my pores, some right
out of my mouth. That day in March
my hypothalamus flip-flopped and
resigned from its job.

The boy who was there fell
right out of touch. An automatic
reflex kicked in quicker than
a frog catching a bug.

My legs lay criss-crossed and
bony, unshaven as I picture
him picturing his old best
friend, who he left and lost.

He day dreams of being aged and
playing Go Fish. Crackling at me
to draw, I grab his prune-textured
hand. In real life he starts to cry.

He sets down his room temperature can
of Mountain Dew. Grabs a couple of different
colored pills and goes out to party
in attempt to help him not remember.

I don't have perfect hair
I'm not 6'2 & 190 pounds
I don't have bright teeth or a six pack
my eyes don't shine through a darkened room
and I'm far from photogenic
I forget more things than I remember
I have no special skills or discernable talents
my skin is pale and full of holes scars and ink
I feel uncomfortable out of place & awkward
in almost almost all social situations
I'm slightly paranoid & always afraid someone somewhere
is judging me
I rarely get anything on the first try & I often lose faith
before I accomplish what I've set out to do
I'm my own toughest critic & believe that
I'm average at best if even that
I may not be all that I'm supposed to be
but I might be everything you may never find
in someone else
so with all of my flaws faults & shortcomings
of which there are many
my heart still beats
and I can still manage
to love you all the same

when two voices called out
my cheeks regained their rose

they wrote your biography in front of me
and page after page my decisions changed
and though they declared to be the up most unbiased of voices
their loyalty to you was unbroken

but  never did I tell of what happened that night
because the words could never be arranged so sweetly
and while those thoughts closed up the back of my neck
I uttered but a few ideas as we lay with lights on
and soon I was exhausted

And on that night
I fell victim to fear
and I cried for hours on end
with stubborn decision

but those voices soon refreshed my waters
and they began to flow again with the utmost of might

and the population has increased
and I may finally bathe peacefully in the waters
because since I read your biography
I've understood every page