born in southern california,
i grew up in a small neighborhood
with various sorts of people.

the woman with the red door
owned dalmatians, and her home
was filled with glass decorations.

riding my barbie car around the cul-de-sac,
eating vanilla crisps with the other little girls,
pretending to cut their hair in the attic.

although, after those memories,
it starts to get confusing
and i can't remember much anymore.

after i moved from there,
we moved more often and i can't
seem to remember which house has which memories.

i do remember, beautiful roses
growing in front of the house
left by previous owners.

is it possible to miss someone that
you barely spent any time with
and the only memories you have
are ones that others have explained to you,
cute little anecdotes, of how i used to call
him a nickname because i couldn't pronounce
his name, and how i used to always want to be
by his side, despite the fact he didn't want me
near him.
i remember playing hide and go seek,
dressing up in my minnie mouse tutu
while he was darth vader,
with all the lights off and flash lights in hand
we would hide beneath the couch,
inside the storage room,
under his bed.
sometimes we would even have light sabers.
he taught me how to play video games,
showed me how to play well at Tekken
and he let me play the beta for WoW.
he would tell me all the stories there were
about video games, and computers,
this does this and you can do that if you have this,
it's all a foreign language to me but
i enjoy listening.

i only knew him until 2006
when he left to go to where he thought
was home, and it hurt to
know he wasn't in the house anymore.
i couldn't go downstairs, and hear him playing
Blink 182 or Green Day, and there would be
no more flash light tag
and while i never knew him well,
we were never best friends,
i still miss him.

i'm never sure who i am,
just a person going through
a routine until i die?
or trying to seek a great perhaps,
trying my hardest to find reason
in coincidences and signs?
i've never been a fan of swallowing pills,
they were all too big for me
and i got sick too often,
it's just one of the talents i have.
i hate how i think of certain people
when i see things that remind me of them,
innocent objects;
cds, certain words, types of cars, every day sounds,
but i know i'd be lost without all the memories.
yesterday i saw a comic, and i thought about
two at the same time and i tried
my hardest to think about neither
i don't want to know which one
will warm my heart and chill my bones.
i was once too sick,
my throat was stuck closed
except to let me breathe
and no one could force any pills
so i had to get a shot,
and i remember the way the cold liquid felt,
how it spread underneath my skin,
it was painful, horrible,
but at the same time it gave me relief
and i realized i enjoyed the feeling.

sometimes i end up leaving and
wishing i had done a few things differently,
like what if i had ran back over to you and
spilled my guts onto the asphalt,
what would you have said?

if i had followed my gut in the beginning,
i could have saved myself a lot of misery.
although, isn't it important to experience misery?
to mold yourself into something better,
a thing that knows now what is what
and what isn't nice.

bitter, better, greater, lesser
a being made of elastic flesh and split ends
soft to the touch but hard inside
feeling delicate, sharp like a knife,
willing to cut deep.
i would love to cut deep into you.

"everything you say is so formal"

what's in between being content and being ill at ease
for i haven't discovered it yet,
and yet i am in a mood of ecstasy
the thought of speaking causing my stomach to tighten
twist, turn, sick of the moths stuck in my body.
ecstatic, elevated, on another level.
at peace with self yet still trying to
dig out of the dark,
i can't seem to get the dirt out from underneath my nails.

there is a constant sadness
that i don't like to talk about with other people
because they don't seem to understand
unless they have it too.

it makes me feel like i'm trying to make myself a victim
or make it seem like i'm a survivor of some horrible disease
but i'm neither, just a girl with tar in her brain
trying to keep from drowning.

the good things feel amazing and the
awful moments feel like i'm dying, two extremes
with no happy medium, the only in between
is a feeling of hopelessness for a brighter day.

overcast, cold weather warms my worried heart
and when the snow starts to fall i feel at home,
wrapped in a blanket of chills i fall soundly asleep
hoping to wake up from the dark dream.

i write lies to make myself feel better
false words that make me hope i know what i'm doing
because i'm lost and don't know where i'm going.

a constant battle of wanting to starve and to gorge myself,
seeking a happy in between is difficult
and most of the times unpleasant.

differences are created and personalities split,
never knowing who i am or how i actually feel
i could try to read words of old but it doesn't help.

too often i change, and i obsess over all the figs
sylvia plath wrote about and it scares the **** out of me,
what if i choose the wrong fig, the wrong path?

closing my eyes i know all of them are dying,
my parents know of this feeling quite well,
who else did i inherit it from?