1.) Out of the one thousand and ninety-nine days that you were mine, I only regret three of them. The day Brian ***** me on that pool table, the day your dad moved back to Italy and I didn't come over, and the day you put yourself into this hellish suicide coma.
2.) If truth or dare turned two little girls into temporary lesbians, than so be it. Honestly, nothing ever tasted sweeter than you on that night on the bathroom counter at Tim's.
3.) I will grow up to be incredibly cultured all because of you. I learned to look outside the social norm after our late night dates on the roof. Getting high in your lap as you read me poetry, and played me Damien Rice's The Professor & La Fille Danse on repeat was more than enough.
4.) I always thought you were tradition and I was your French Revolution. But now I'm seeing that I was the revolution, and you were the revelation.
5.) You could not sing a single god ****** note. But the only thing I want to hear is your squeaky voice serenading me with our song right now. I promise I won't be annoyed, just finish chorus with me one more  ******* time.
6.) I would have helped you get to your father. I would have helped you. I would have set your mother on fire to avoid this.
7.) I threw up when I got sams phone call about what you had done. And then I screamed at him for an hour.
8.) I won't ask how could you do this to me, because right now I want to do it to you.
9.) Thank you for punching Brian, and I'm sorry you got fired, and I'm sorry your dad left, and I'm sorry your mom hit you, and I'm sorry that I could not kidnap you and bring you to our own private island in the middle of no wear.
10.) You showed me what star you'd become when you died, and told me that if I wished on it you would do your best. I know absolutely nothing about astrology and constellations. But your star is the one thing I find faster than the moon in every night sky.
11.) The last sip of every bottle of ***** I will ever have, will always taste like the last kiss we shared.

Was it chemistry or nuclear physics?

I’d rather be heard and not seen.

It’s a dream
It’s a dream
It’s a dream
It’s a dream I have not seen.

My stomach is so tight
If there were any butterflies in there,
They're probably dead now.

The room is spinning
Spinning and bobbing and weaving,
Weaving webs and stories and lies.

Don't threaten me.

I'm trying
I think.

I'm not sure where I am,
Where I'm supposed to be,
Or how long I'll be here.

The GPS is still recalculating
The engine won't turn over.
I have not reached my destination.
I am not in a safe location.

There is not a story that I should be writing.
There is no writing on the walls.
There is not a forth wall to be broken.
And if it's not broken, then I can't fix it.

I am beautiful,
And I am life consuming.

I am a wild night,
With tequila
And **** strangers
And uncomfortable
Heels and Lingerie.
Loud music,
Sweat and kisses and mystery.

I am a lazy morning.
Cartoons and pancakes,
Large cup of coffee
And the front page of a newspaper.

I am ***.
I am chocolate.
I am electricity.
I am a weak pulse,
And strong urges.

I am a princess.
I am unstoppable.

Don't get comfortable.
I'll make you squirm.

I'm sitting here in a club that's very
Well it's dark,
But it's not a place for women.
And who knows,
I think it might be the thirties.

I'm surrounded by men,
All in impeccably fine suites,
I'm drinking countless martinis,
I never have to light my own cigarette,
I know this is what I do every single night.
Everyone fawns over me.

I know that I'm very powerful.
I have the power of a man.
So I act like a man.
Not *****,
Just unashamed.


Maybe I have a rich father?
That sounds right for the time.
I can tell that I am very powerful,
I already know that I am
"Breathtakingly gorgeous".

Everyone eats out of the palm of my hand,
I am fun.
I am free.
I am the untamable soul.

You know?
The one they right novels about.
The one that "got away",
Because she was a song bird,
And one that wouldn't fit in her cage.

And I am to be a married woman.
Someone will disburse my power.
I will become a miserable housewife.
I will have four children.
I will bake apple pies,
I will let my husband
Please himself using my body.
I will help with church bake sales.
I will drink.
I will drink.
I will drink.....

It was false,
And you were false hope.

You were small bursts of attention,
With the nastiest of intentions.
You were late drunken nights,
With thoughts that sounded right.
Your words slid down my throat so smooth,
I didn't even realize it was poison.

Don't dangle the antidote darling,
I'm too proud.
I'd rather die than beg.
I'm not the weaker of the two of us.

Please help me iron out the irony.
It can't all be vinyl records, tea shops, and other hipster *******.
What are you even doing.
Tick tock golden boy.

I'm not sure how to explain this.
When I was younger,
I thought that when you died,
You were reincarnated
Into things that were part of nature.
But not organisms.
Wind, bodies of water, and rocks.

And the special souls were saved for storms.
The powerful and the passionate.
Hurricanes and snowstorms.
Sometimes colliding.
And I could always tell if they were fighting
Because of hatred and anger,
Or reconnecting with love and longing.
Or if it was a little of both.

I know that I am magnificent, powerful,and special
But I would love to just be waves
Constantly returning to the coast of Maine.
You and I crashing over each other
Constantly become one.
Stretching out to touch civilization,
And pulling back to our own world.
Filled with fish and boats,
And maybe someone will give us a message in a bottle to deliver.

It's definitely easier to be creative than constructive.
I can plant the seeds and draw the plans,
But nothing will ever come to fruition.
I'm not a woman of action,
I'm a woman of movement and superstition.

I would press fast forward right about now.
No need to see how this one plays out,
Just to see if it does actually play out.


Funny enough, I've pressed play too many times before I realized I cannot slow this back down.

I can't see my self in this head space.
I need the constant rhythm, I need to keep time
But this clock doesn't have a second hand.

My "living in the now" is everyone else's nostalgia.
I always feel like I'm living two years in the past.
I guess that's how long it takes to absorb the impact
When the collision is head on.

When I was younger I was always told I was mature for my age.
Thank you, it's the abuse.
Thank you, it's the ****.
Thank you thank you, it's the trauma.

I'm not being honest,
I'm being truthful.

Sometimes I wonder
If I take pride in being a tragedy.
And then I catch myself
Staring at the ceiling,
Too drained to even sit up.
And that's when I see
That I might have built this room,
And filled it to the brim with hell,
And entered it with my own free will,
But I wasn't the one who locked the door.

I feel like every time I talk about him,
I use the wrong word.
When I say "******",
I feel like I'm giving him a paper bag,
Under which he can hide,
And distance himself from what he's done.
It feels like a type of absolution.

His name is Bryan.
He is a six foot and two inches tall monster,
That I wish lived only in my dreams.
He rides a motorcycle,
Has a dog named Gilbert,
And smokes unfiltered camels.

And I was wrong.
He is not a monster,
He is a person.
And he is not just a stupid boy,
He is a man.
And he is not just the generic term "******".

He is a human being who is seriously ****** up and I'm not going to give him the privilege of having his name withheld from my story.

I am stuck in that moment right before a fall
Right before the glass shatters
Right before an impact hits
Right before jagged edges sink their teeth
Right before.

I am stuck.

It dawned on me that it's no where near dawn.

I'll repeat your name over and over again,
After conquering at least a third
Of any large quantity of alcohol.

But you name is not a chaser,
And it burns worse than whatever I'm drinking.

I guess my intoxicated self and I,
Are just two different people.
And she just isn't over,
What you have done.

She gave you the exhilaration,
Of knowing you had complete control.
And you never paid her back.

We're all walking cliche's,
So what's the big deal?
I can  wear a beanie and a gay pride tee shirt and moccasins,
And listen to Neutral Milk Hotel,
And talk about feminism and politics.
Do not kiss me with your mustang convertible and your ****** piercings.
I am a taken woman.
But I will take your free drugs.
Thank you very much.
Stop mourning me,
My arrogance should never have been a turn on.
Pretzel crisps, tattoos, and student loans.
It's hard walking down the boulevard of broken dreams,
And bumping into all the other lonely souls.

I bleed and I purge,
Because when I do
More leeves my body and my soul
Than just blood and *****.
The white blood cells cannot
Fight off my self hatred
Your hatred
The lies
The insecurities
The words anyone ever said
Everything I've ever heard
Ever over heard.
The bruises I get from you all might vanish
But they poison my blood.
And every meal I eat with anyone,
And with myself
It is poison.
I bleed out thousands of pounds.
I regurgitate the words I heard
As you held me down on that pool table at the party
And as you showed up drunk to my basketball game when I was 13
And as all of you stood outside my door bashing me.

But it's all a virus.
I can't get rid of all of it,
And everything multiplies.
It grows.
It fills me up
And it's why I'm so big.

Breathing this air
Is like breathing in water.
It's so thick,
Yet I feel so light headed.
That last part was your fault.

You received a punch to the face,
And chalked it up
To your stubborn stupidity.
Now every dried up
Piece of advice
That you try to administer to me,
Through a ***** used needle
That you found on the street,
Tastes like copper.

I'm just hoping for the next gust of wind
To wash that taste right out
Of my mouth.

Fill my head with something more substantial.
You're not Superman,
You can't barely pull off Clark Kent.

Remember when you called
That old man's heart attack at the mall?
Back when we were just learning,
About our special skills?
I've got a lot better at sensing the physical pain,
But your still not as good with the emotional.

Someone write a poem for me
Or about me.
Just stroke my ego or something.
I'm very tired and I need
Something more than coffee
And stale cigarettes
To get me through the rest of this week.

I'm currenty somewhere between
Emotionally void
And too emotional.
It's not just OCD, or depression, or anxiety.
Or what everyone else thinks I have.
Just, you know,
ASPD.
Ha.
It makes me laugh.
**** yourself.
I need therapy again,
And I'm so jealous of those who can afford it.
I need meds,
And I'm so angry at those who can get it.
I know I need help.
But when you act out or ask for help
And all you get is silenced
Because it means your parenting is week
Because you care how it affects someone else instead
Because it is too much for you too handle
Because you'd rather I fix you,
Then I'm not going to get better.
Do you know how I solve it alone?
Razors and safety pins to make it dull,
Nyquil and Tylenol PM to get some rest.
***** and **** to medicate the main problems,
And binging and vomitting to get the physique back.
Maybe I don't need help.
This seems to be working pretty.
Well, only if pretty well means not at all.

I cannot begin to describe
The thoughts that go through my mind
When  I think of you.
You make me think of things
I haven't thought about since I was six,
And it's like you know what
Thoughts I will think tomorrow.

Or else I'll ****** the clouds.
And I'll do it at night, so the suns not there to witness.
The moon is too tired, so she'll just look away.
Not that she'd care.

Did you know she's evil?
The moon I mean.

She's calm, and dark, and seductive,
But it's all just a trap.

You know, she leads the sun to suicide every night.
And she watches.
Can't you see her over there, lying faint in the evening sky as he slowly fades off?

But he comes back every morning.
Unable to escape his torturous immortal fate.
So she just hides and plots her next attempt to lead the sun to his destruction yet again,

And maybe you to yours for the first time.

I have decided I am mad at you.
And it does not even matter.
I do not even care.
Your words have repulsed me like raw onions.
No take backs.
Druken fools.
Druken tools.
Which ones are we?

I think you're great.
And your eyes seem
Like deep dark
Pools of wisdom and happiness.
And I feel so safe around you.
Your kisses feel right.

I think you're the only one.
You eyes seem
Like deep dark
Woods, that I will get lost in.
And I feel so protected by you.
Your hugs are so tight.

I think I'm yours
Your eyes seem
Like deep dark
Ocean floors, so mysterious.
I feel so sheltered by you.
Your grip is so tight.

I think you have me.
Your eyes seem
Like deep dark
Hallways, of an abandoned house
I feel so trapped by you.
Let me go.

It's not my worst nightmare,
But it is high up on the list.
Maybe the fifth?

And it's running in circles,
And you're running around,
Shouting about how
We're both dying alone,
But together.
And how that's not the same
As dying alone,
Or dying together with someone.

I go inside,
But we're out of the good liquor,
And I'm not drinking the ******* Fireball.
Some Steve Carell movie is playing in the backround.
Tim and Sam are ******* on the couch,
As usual.

And I'm just alone.
You're all moving around me,
And you live your own miserable lives.
And I've outgrown you.

My inner monologue says
Don't let them see you show
Defeat
Remorse
Regret
Sadness
Uncertainty.
You are a queen.

I trust you see it the same way.

Loud repetitive noises drive me crazy.
Also the feeling of dry sand between my toes.
That and the last sip of any bottle of alcohol
Are what remind me of you.
It's not my mind that catches on first.
It's my skin and my ears and the very back of my tongue.

You're somehow still hiding there.

I'm sorry I treated you like a project.
And I'm even more sorry,
That I didn't finish what I started.

I'm working on it.
Or I will at least.
I don't know.

That's what you want,
Right?