For now all I have is a barren room
and these feelings with no deposit.
silence is a seamstress of disaster
as she gives shape for hate to manifest.
I must be insane
to find comfort in the presence of sorrow.
I'll bind myself to her embrace
and sleep just a bit longer.

I really love her… but there are time’s when I don’t. Somewhere along the line something in me became hallow. I remember these memories, instances in my life that help this emptiness settle in, but I won’t tell a soul because maybe if I never say it out loud I’ll forget.
It never goes away though and every so often she reminds me that in this world there’s only me. I was born alone and I’ll die the very same way.  I have no kin regardless of blood ties and there’s no telling if the people I cherish seem to feel the same.
I credit her for so much suffering and some joy but I want to erase it all. Whether it’s a delusion or not I just want to forget this aching feeling in my chest
-And for a time I did... till all hell broke loose and the seams of my delusion unraveled.
I screamed for her to believe in me with every fiber I had with truth seeping in every tear soaked plea but she just walked away. She turned her back on me and chose to believe in something that wasn’t me. She created sides with me on the opposite of her own when all this time I’ve been chasing to be the one closes to her.
Time has passed and some semblance of peace has blanketed over the war stirring in my heart.  I won’t burden her with these feelings. She already made her mind and I can see clearly her certainty. I'll carry on  in this deluded happiness because I love her much more than I love myself.
Why couldn’t she chose me.

I don't really like that simile as beautiful as a butterfly. We're so mesmerized by the facade of the insect that we don't realize beyond the wings butterflies are quite ugly. I wonder if butterflies think and if they do would they want to be beautiful all around. A butterfly would be so pretty if it could shed away the unsightly parts of its body like a snake rejuvenating itself. I wouldn't want a beauty that can be taken away by the swift pluck by a hand as my redeeming feature. I wish I could shed the disfigurement of my body. Then maybe the butterflies and I would be lovely. Our redeeming feature wouldn't have to mask the other features because we would be all around perfect. I’m afraid that if someone looks up close at me they'll see the things I’m hiding away with sweaters and jeans. My clothing are my wings but sometimes I wish I could take them off and still know that all around, inside and out I’m perfect.

Life itself is cruelty.
Selfishly being birthed into a world where all that awaits is a  slow crumble;
Life is a curse.
Living is never enough and then it becomes our nature to feel living another day as a burden.
The past is as frighting as the future.
Civilizations have ended and countless lives forgotten once their time has expired.
Where was I when their time began?
There's no recollection or feeling just black emptiness.
I cling to the consciousness I have now.
For if it's gone I would no longer be me.
Without it not even I can recognize myself.
Pictures from 20 years ago haunt me with eyes I don't identify.
Eyes filled with the consciousness of another.
That child's not me but I am she.
As if one day I inhabited the body of someone else and stole her place in this world.
Where has she gone?
In 20 years from now would the same fate await me?
Some strange being realizing consciousness in this body I called my own.
Will it think of me in the photos I take or will my existence be wiped away like the soul of the child who's body I've taken.

Could it have been love?
My on and off intimacy with a boy who had the flesh of a man.
I think of him
And the chill of daybreak that seeped into the den where we lay
Wrapped in each other, buried beneath covers from the sun
I remember how cold that den had been
To the point we searched for warmth in each other.
He completed me... only momentarily.
Then gauged deeper into my emptiness.
He sought me in winter and dumped me in summer.
Spring bared no fruit for our affection.
If love is a blossoming flower then ours was plucked early.
I know that his hands caress another
And I want to ****** him away.
Yet I don’t…. Cause if this was love
Why does it feel so unrequited?
And I won’t be fooled into seeking someone who isn’t mine alone.
But I still think of him and the weight he continuous to put on my heart ...though we no longer are connected.

There was a girl, an ugly duckling you could say, that wished upon the rays of the moon, shooting stars, the tips of dandelions and lady bugs to be more than what she was. She was an empty little girl confused by her own feelings and misjudged. When no one could grant her wish she closed herself from the world since all it seemed to do was scorn her. What a foolish child crying herself to sleep till her heart shriveled to nothing.
Then that little girl, an ugly duckling you would agree, that heart shriveled to nothing hated the world for scorning her. Her face became a permanent  scowl and her heart ever more pitiful. She wouldn't dare wish anymore for it only fell to deaf ears and only reminded her how worthless she was. Death was the key not the door. She rid herself of the girl she once was and became something new.
That little girl, a swan most would content to, change the person she used to be. She smiled even if deep down she's still crying, laughed and tried to forget the horrors of her past; till they soon followed.