I think too much,


                                              and sometimes
                                                       ­                         

                                      ­                                               I forget to breathe.

the world is too bright.
i am blinded by false smiles and laughs strained to reach that falsetto note.
that preconceived notion that paradise of the land brings paradise of the mind.
sand is still sand, and water is still water,
less we quantify their quality by purity and color.
sand is still sand and water is still water,
and i am still me.

the world is too bright,
so i filter it into sepia tones gentler to the mind's eye and swim to where the water meets the clouds.
i am drowning,
but not from the ocean's relentless caresses,
but from the world's relentless stresses:
beauty that is measured and calculated,
saturated with standards that burn like the sun and are as intangible as its rays,
a paradise built on sand as quick as it is to judge.    

so i swim to where the water meets the clouds.
where the water is still water,
and i am still me.

devour me.
eat me until there's nothing left
but a hollow shell and heavy
breathing.
cast me to the side,
tears stained black,
thoughts fuzzy and a bad taste to
the tongue.
skin tearing, lungs collapsing,
just breathe.

the world spins,
falling, falling,
crashing.
heads on fire,
eyes diverted.
quick, silent footsteps across rotting ground,
dark rooms and dank air.
words that tumble and jumble,
roll out of the mouth before they can
be put back into their iron cages.

**** on my insides until theres
nothing left,
but a wondering as to what comes
next.

just breathe.

the sun comes up.
my demons are put to rest.

a red velvet cupcake wrapper casts shadows on the desk while
abandoned crumbs still cling to a dainty mouth.

a rose dress worn by rosy cheeks and some pink thighs,
pink thighs that stay petite to match that flawless, porcelain stomach.
a stomach he wants to grab, and pull, and hold.
fleshy lips and rough tongues.
pleasure on the lips, on the hips, on the tips
of the fingers
that intermingle, and intertwine
that trace the perfect buds of a budding girl.

stark white snow ******* the life out of the frozen ground.
stark white sheets ******* the life out of men.
gloves that come in neat little packages signifying
love?
lust.
trust?
a gift given that can never be returned.
she can never return.
yet the bumping and thrusting and heaving continue.
sweet smelling sweat and sultry sighs.
roses are not innocent.
they conceal thorns, they draw blood.

blood the color of the last remains of a cupcake,
frosted with secrets and assumptions.
a pleasure on the lips, but
never on the hips.

when all i want is to be free
im trapped
behind a suffocating layer of myself
when all i want is to taste
i dont
i will myself to turn away from temptation
when all i want is to succeed
i fail
too little or none, i shed nothing
i am still all that i was before

Stop talking to the people who are not worth your time, who cause you unnecessary drama, and make you feel worse about yourself.

Be honest with yourself.

You have fewer friends than you thought. Your cafeteria table slowly decreases in size, as do your social commitments, but you do not have any drama, no shallow or fake nonsense. Slowly, everyone starts to seem annoying, and irritating, and you do not want to converse with any of them, ever again.

Do not have many friends, and sway between feeling sorry for yourself and feeling like you are superior.

When the one friend you do have does not come to school because she has to take a driving test, eat your lunch alone, and listen to music on your iPod so you do not appear as alone as you feel. Realize your condition has gotten much worse.

People talk to you. You feel ecstatic, even though you won’t admit that to yourself.
You get a shot of adrenaline when you feel as if you’ve breached their walls.
You try to say something—an opinion, an agreement, anything.
They ignore you.
You walk away, and think: you are above them anyways.

Do not get invited to parties. Think it is because no one likes you. Be sad; be resentful. Think about all the things you are missing at a dumb party thrown by a sophomore—which is bound to fail, and bound to get broken up by the cops. Realize that the reason you are not invited is more likely because you have never show any interest in parties. Force yourself to feel grateful for the lack of an invitation; no cops will come knocking on your door, asking questions.

Plus, you have to go to work tomorrow, and that is much more important.

When the party does get broken up, pretend that you knew it was a bad idea and that you had never wanted to go. Listen to the stories of running from the police, through thorn bushes, with a twinge of jealousy.

Not only do you not go to parties; you do not have any plans for the weekends at all.

Never have sleepovers. Instead, wake up at 12:00 in the afternoon, stay in your pajamas, and have a Netflix marathon of Supernatural. Eat a lot of junk food and think, “**** it!” and then immediately regret it, you are trying to lose weight.

If you lose weight, you won’t be a loser anymore.

If you lose weight, people will still remain the same.

You cry, because you think it’s what you should do.
You feel pathetic.
The tears running down your cheeks do not do justice for the raw, uncomfortable feeling making your stomach clench.
You are stronger than all of that.

You sit on your bed and think about a better time, a better place, when you felt accepted, loved, and even popular.

Think about the time you weighed a good fifty pounds less. You were on top of the world.

Talk about your future, because at least you have them beat there. You will go all the way.

Think about your straight A’s. Get on the scale. 145, 160, 194 pounds; why do those numbers matter? The 98’s are the ones that are going to get you into a good college.

College…
High school.
Present.

Walk through the double doors with staggering confidence.

Talk about how you are a loser—it makes people believe that you do not actually see yourself that way. Losers would never admit that they are a loser. Plus, the people you are talking to are obligated to deny the fact that you a loser, no matter their opinion. It’s common courtesy. Sometimes you want them to deny it, and sometimes you want to prove to them, and to yourself, that it is okay to be a loser.

You define yourself as one because sometimes you are proud of it.
Why?

You think: I do not want to be friends with these people; they are annoying, petty, and shallow. I am much more independent and mature. I’m off to better, bigger things.

Later
You think: it would be nice to have a few more friends, people to talk to, people who care.


Get assigned a creative essay titled, “How to Become a…”

Choose: “How to Become a Loser”

Plan on the piece being light, funny, and paradoxical, ending it with a sarcastic, but optimistic line.
Realize that you are not the loser; everyone else is.

Doubt yourself.
Realize this is no longer a humorous essay.

Guilt, it consumes you
Not enough money,
Not enough respect,
Cannot please them enough.

The expectations, they strangle you.
Unreachable, unforgettable.
Must try, must fail.
But the disappointment is too much.

What is the point?
Lives lost, money gained.
It’s all one big game!
No one is a good person,
Only some worse than others.

In a world full of evil,
Of selfishness, of greed
What you do cannot be condemned
But it can be frowned upon

And when all you want is to impress,
Be accepted, be loved,
When all you are is denied and rejected,
There is nowhere for you to turn.

Money cannot soothe,
Cannot buy you innocence
The guilt will consume,
The dream turns to nightmare