half of my life I spent not knowing what I wanted,
and the other half I spent looking for what I thought I wanted.
neither ended where I wanted,
and I hardly knew where that was.

half my life I spent running from my problems,
and the other half I spent chasing after them.
I hated having all these issues in my life,
but I hated their absence too.

I have lost all content.

Stable was an understatement. It was as though my hands were attempting to caress my thoughts, and they were seeping through the cracks between my fingers. With each scrutinizing introception my mind seemed to be melting further into despair. To say I was mentally capable to succeed was preposterous, and that was all because of your absence. You left and I was forced into a state of isolation.
I know staying had the potential to drive you mad, and I know you dreamt of a life filled with more than just some frighteningly average girl. I know adolescence never looked good on us. You wanted more then to be trapped in these four walls, with small unwashed windows. I know you craved abnormality. You wanted to be out in the world; not chained to this town. I know you wanted anything and everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you.
I know we got busy and too caught up in our lives to remember to care, but if you’ll look at the stars tonight I will lay down  and gaze up as well.  You took all I had and lost grip somewhere in between. Part of me wished you could still hold me in your arms, I always like the view looking up into your eyes.

I want to cut my hair.
Chop it all off and make it into something beautiful.
I need to cut my hair.  They say things like
"Wear your hair down more." "You'd be so pretty if you let your long hair down."
I DO NOT LIKE LONG HAIR.
I have never liked long hair.
I seek liberation, from this metaphorical suffocation.

Please, just let me cut my hair.

I want to be the cool girl, who gets all the other girls. The skinny one. The pretty one. The handsome one. The stylish one. The gay one. The tattooed one. The one with short hair.

I want to have short hair.

I thought maybe I was falling for you, but I couldn't of been more wrong.
I was falling, that much was true, but never once was it for someone like you.
I was falling every time no one's arms were there to catch me.
I was falling for lies whispered through chapped and weary lips.
I was falling for an image merely projected, not existent.
I thought maybe I was falling for you, but I was falling for everything you weren't.

remember the time you saw the sunlight scatter the darkness,
or the time the night swallowed the day.
I thought one time I caught a star,
but the light seeped through my fingers.
it never made sense to me that the sun gave into the moon,
but the moon did the same to the sun.
did they love each other?
or merely tolerate the inevitable truth that they shared the sky?

I know when you read this you'll want a poem about the view in Montana, or some poor broken home-life.
Maybe you'll want a poetic tale about love at first sight.
I've noticed if you stand on the threshold of a door and over emphasize the details before you that seems to appease as well.
I know we'd all like if I threw some metaphors into this melting *** of a poem, or maybe some imagery onto the yellowing pages of this old and fragile notebook.
I know everyone would enjoy to see a poem about the true beauty found in life and through love, but I'm tired of poetry.