you could say the problem was
race; half white half japanese
you could say the problem was
passion; which never aligned
you could say the problem was
distance; a desert too vast to cross
but i say the problem was
love; because i loved you more
than i loved myself.

but i think i was born
saying goodbye.

dear michael,

i ******* hate you for wanting to be unhappy. do you and riley realize how ******* miserable it is? it sounds ******* to explain it that way, but you don't seem to get it. being unhappy is not poetic. it is not beautiful. sometimes, it produces beautiful things, but the sadness itself is ugly.

have you ever thought about walking in front of a car? have you ever thought about walking in front of a car and it passing right through you? like you aren't even there? because that's what sad feels like. not being hit by a car, but being so insignificant and utterly gone that it could hit you without shedding blood.

where do the parts go? where do the pieces go when a car hits a person? i'm not talking about their body parts, i'm talking about their soul -- god, i hate that word, but sometimes the words we hate (***, ******, ****) are the only ones that fit. words always have a place. do souls?

i'm starting to think the answer is no. not everyone will be a stockbroker. just like not everyone will rise above their hood. some of us just float. i'm part of an eternal migration south, michael. the mentality, not the place. are you coming with me?

are you sure you want to?

are you quite alright?
                                          he asks
yeah, my knees are just acting up*
                                          i insist
but the way my e n t i r e  b o d y
aches in protest
gives me away.
i can't remember the
last time i felt
rested.

sleeping next to a boy
without sleeping with him
is just
awkward.

i'm barely sorry that i hurt you
i didn't even love you
and now you're giving me
passive aggressive silence
hoping i'll give a ****
darling, i know that trick
darling, don't waste your time
darling, be careful
just because it's working
doesn't mean i care
it just means i miss you
r attention

i know it isn't fair
you did everything right
you were good to me
but everyone's heart
belongs to someone
and mine was already
taken

so when i call at two am
don't pick up
you're just another
*******.

if you deleted my number
it would hurt more
than every ****** thing
put together
and here's why

when i broke down on you
in february
i said i was just another girl
and you told me no,
you were you and i was me
and right then
we mattered
not as a unit, but as people
separate entities

here's the catch
you said ten, fifteen years from now
sure -- i might be just another girl

it's only been two
two years
if you started blurring me together now
with the other people who are just
taking up space
in your memory

i
think
i'd
die.

snakes get a new skin
every one
two
three months

we get one every
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven years

in five year's time
i'll have a skin
you never
touched

and i'll still probably
be conflicted
on how i feel
about that.

I won’t lie.
(The truth is,)
(I) have never felt
More annoyed
than by the
(Like)s of (you.)

remember how you used swim?
endless summer days ahead of you
with not a care in the world and
the feeling that you could be anything you wanted underneath that surface
never wanting to come up 
never wanting to leave your perfect fantasy
remember how you swim now?
endless days of constant hell
with nothing ahead but 
unreachable dreams
searching for a way out
running low on air in this messed up 
sea of people....
and never reaching the surface