Dear C,
For the last week
I've been feeling down
I didn't believe anything
And no conclusions could be found
And all I could think
is " what if life has no meaning?
what if the universe just wastes space?
what's the meaning of the human race?"

But somehow
inexplicably
listening to you rant on the bus home
about how your Harvard-trained substitute
"Can't ******* teach"
somehow
unexplainably
made my day
a little brighter
and pushed the system in my mind out
like the month-long rainstorm that just ended yesterday
I guess listening to someone vent
when you feel pent up
can make you feel a little more free

so thank you

outgoing?
I'd say outspoken
never been arbitrary
or overbearing-
just vocal

my passion runs deep
and pours out
excited
overflowing
when it finds
another soul to share it with

the energy
others direct towards me
I absorb
and like a mirror
reflect it back towards them

the energy
that rests inside me
is like water
waiting
for an outside force
to heat me up
excite
my molecules
or
to cool me down
mellow
the chaos inside me
making me stable
making me solid

if being an extrovert
makes me
popular and
domineering,
a fun-loving,
party animal
who lacks introspection,

tell me why
I always choose
to isolate myself

why
my few friends I do have
I keep at a distance
except when I force myself
to enjoy their company
once or twice
in a year

why
I am easily talked over
my words drowned out
ignored
like background noise
my input
apbrubtly halted
as others drive over it
making it no more
than the dust
their tires kick up
why I let them
talk over me
rather than raise my voice

why I would rather
read in solitude
than go to a party
or play a video game
rather than socialize
why
would I choose
to ponder existence
over
existing with others

extroverted
means I get my energy
from external events
rather than the internal

I am not a synonym
for gregariousness

And I can be that woman.
I can be the person you want me to be,
But I will have to refuse that offer.

I could be the mother of your children,
Or your daughter at that,
But today I must refuse,

And step into my little box of nothing
And create a little world of my own.

I will carve a life out of the skins of the air surrounding us,
While holding on to the loneliness I choose to be in.

Therefore, I cannot accept,
Whether this is a gift or a curse or however you see it,
For there is a day for me to roam,
And a night for me to swim through.

Today, I refuse your offer.
For I have a life that I'm meant to pilot,
And no one can fly these wings but me.

Fear, pain and rage
Go into the words on this page

Of blood spilt
The lack of guilt

You hate this
You hate that

Grab a gun
Pull the trigger

People die
People cry

The world won't change
Life is a game

Pray you don't die
Tell yourself that lie

Sad isn't it
To be ruled by hate

To destroy and smother
Others

Blood on the street
But no ones cleaning

Hiding behind the scenes
On computer screens

Opinions flow
But they will never

Fill the holes
In hearts or the dead

America please
End this disease

The crass
This **** act

Love is love
Stop this violence

No more silence
Screaming sirens

Begging
For this pain to end.

What can you do if your own head doesn't make sense
the silence maddening to sit through and the cacophony of every day leaving inside your mind an unholy stench
It feels like there's in my head next to the iPad a ******* monkey wrench
I guess I don't understand anymore what's going on why can't this make sense
Unless I write my head will snap open and the scars will be visible
But sometimes even among most of my friends I can't help but feel invisible
Ridiculed and the things I helped bring become dead and forgotten
God it's like I'm listening to myself give a review on that site with tomatoes that are rotten
I'm not scheming or plotting just looking for that lighthouse in the fog
Because I can't find inspiration in this mental planet of smog

I died daily but you resurrected me with every good morning.
I'll tell you that love plucked me like a guitar.
Love made me feel beautiful, but I only got played.

I'll tell you that love cannot do math
because if he did, he'd know that
subtracting himself from the equation would leave me a 0.
I'll tell you that love is a game of tag.
They always end up running away.
I'll tell you that love has engraved his name on my soul
and when I die I'll only see the mark that he's left on me.

Every artist has his own stroke, creates his own distinctive masterpiece. he realises, art is subjective and is incomparable. he knows every writer has his own collection of words that personify transcendence. There are uncanny strokes of paint brushes; drops of ink that transudate out on pieces of parchment;  he understands.
But then again when it comes down to him, the voice within his head that is clubbed along with introvert in him, the constant thought to remain an incognito and the feeling that throws him into a chasm of loneliness, makes him tally himself against the odds and deadpan.

I have given you everything
All my time
My thoughts
My words
My heart
And you aren't even there
I'm ready to ******* shoot up
Some ****** tennis court
Not that I ever would
Godfuckingdammit
It is unacceptable for you to do this to me
Because despite what I've
Showcased in the past
I am far different than I once was
When you first met me
You have to understand
I will not be spending
Three ******* months chasing
Your cheating loser ***
Because as much as I have
And still do
Love you
I will not be that girl again
So darling,
It's time to ******* man up
Because you're really ******* me off

she wore her scorn

as tempting as

her little black dress

venus fly trap