I will never be that girl.
I will never have blonde hair, pink nails, red lips.
I don't have a cosmo in my oversized coach bag.
I bite my nails, I get bug bites, I pick at them.
My face is splotchy and I don't cover it up with make up.
I sneeze and throw up and get infections.
I fall down.
I will never have a bikini body.
I wear a bikini anyway.
I have freckles, scars, scabs, and I'm so pale that you can see every blue vein in my body.
My handwriting looks like that of a 5 year old boy.
I will never be the girl in the pink summer dress with the high heeled sandals.
My room is a mess.
My car is a mess.
My brain is a mess.
I say things like "I wonder what human tastes like."
I freak out over a home made Ouija board that I didn't even use.
Then I go watch the scariest movie I can find.
I used to sleep with a Freddy Kruger doll.
I root for the bad guy.
I'm stubborn.
I'm angry.
I'm aggressive.
I'm passive aggressive.
I'm damaged goods.
I will never be that perfect embodiment of woman.
Blonde hair, dresses, heels, white teeth, positive outlook.
I'd rather be friends with my books than actual people.

And you love me anyway.

I sit and wait for you.
I remember the talks, the food fights, the break downs in which I never took you seriously. The accidental alcohol and the survival that we did.

You, so confident, so you.

I felt underserving of your coolness, of your friendship. But I loved every moment.
You may have mocked, but I never felt like you truly cared about my red beret and just said to take it off for forms sake,

after all, we were only 12 or so.

Shows, and 4 hour laughter fits. Wal mart on roller skates.

Through our entire lives, I felt blessed to be your friend. And I never wanted to put you into a box to be close to you. No labels, just true, honest, just being who we were


I have never thought any girl was good enough for you.



We had to grow up sometime, but I'm no good at growing any way but wider.
And I'm not going to force you or pressure you to take my calls, or talk to me. I haven't done anything wrong that I know of so our non-communication is more of a i'm-busy-youre-busy type of thing.

Late at night I miss your voice.

This is just a note, dropping a line, wrote late at night with burning cigarette, to let you know that I'm waiting always to hear your voice. Some people claim that boys and girls can't be friends because there is that base ****** attraction.

I think they are wrong but then again, you're not a boy and I'm not a girl.

These things I pray for you,
happiness
joy
a passion that leaves your breathless
a purpose
resolution
and love

I am seeking in life another body to help validate me;
To move my spirit from thinking that all I am is
This insignificant spec of dust floating in a vastly empty universe.
All I am asking for is someone with whom to exchange
Conversation, hopes, dreams, fears, woes, and comforts;
To exchange glances, gestures, touches, and ****** fluids;
So that my brain receives the chemicals it needs
To feel a sense of happiness, of purpose;
To give meaning to my existence through collaborating,
Overcoming the deathly gripping reality, the notion
Of feeling so small and insignificant;
So that I don’t have to dwell on the fact that all we are is
A spec of dust floating in a vastly empty universe,
Hoping our presence can be validated by the mutual exchange
Of conversation, hopes, dreams, fears, woes, and comforts;
Of glances, gestures, touches, and ****** fluids,
So that our brains receive the chemicals we need
To feel a sense of happiness, of purpose.

Is this what love is? Or simply the kindness of small persons
Helping to distract one another from our shared worthlessness?
What then is love? If not the gift of blindness to our cruel fate, lending
Some sense of meaning that we give ourselves in such hopes,
Then what instead? What greater gift could be received from another
Doomed human spirit than the ignorance to turn us from the coldest truth:
The acceptance of an existence void of purpose, justice, and answers?