I used to Tumble my feelings away until you found my blog. My feelings are backlogged because you've got my URL on your homepage shortcuts next to Google and Pornhub.

I relish the days I used to subtweet you from the club. How I used to let
the bass drown out my thoughts as the beat dropped faster than my faith in you. In us.

I wish I could Insta this moment without worrying you'd see me with him. You ******* stalker get a life. Why are you holding on so tight? Quit covertly favoriting my pics, tweets and reblogs. I'm over it.

Status Update: I'm done with you. You can unfollow, delete and block me now because the only thing you're holding onto is the illusion of closeness. Outside this digital world I'm not a follower, a friend or a subscriber.

I'm the last good thing you had.

He kissed me like we were in love. Like we’d already lived a thousand lifetimes together. Like he had been poisoned and my lips were the antidote. Like we were two drunk teenagers experiencing it all for the first time. We were two drunk teenagers experiencing it all for the first time. And he kissed me like he was in love with me.

Today when I was on a run, I looked down. I looked down and saw dozens of little bugs.

Each scurrying under my feet trying desperately to get out of my way.

Can bugs scream?

If they can, I didn't hear them.

Today when I was on a run, I looked down and saw dozens of little bugs and wondered how many I'd stepped on in my life without noticing.

Today when I was on a run, I looked down and saw dozens of little bugs and wondered-

Is that what you forgot to do with me?
Did you forget to look down?

I hope your wifi signal is always just ****** enough that your YouTube videos buffer forever.

May your favorite sports team make it to the championship game every year and lose. Every. ****. Time.

I hope every grade you get for every class be an 89, a 79, or a 69 so it stings you every time to know you were almost good enough.

May you always get stuck in rush hour traffic.

May your favorite Thai dish always be a little too spicy for you to eat.

I hope your favorite sunglasses go missing and you never find them again.

I wish nothing but mild inconveniences for you for the rest of your life. I want you to hurt for hurting me, but I still love you too much to wish you any real harm.

He's the reason I first put a marlboro to my lips
and now I've got nothing left of him other than this
inferno in my lungs.

His words were flames that ignited my curiosity
and his promises were as empty as the cartons that
litter my floor.

And now I'm sitting in my bathtub smoking again,
hoping I can make this nicotine taste like his whiskey stained lips.
Wishing I could make the memories we had disintegrate like the ash hitting this lukewarm tub water.

He was my addiction and now smoking is his surrogate.
And I want nothing more than to use his heart as my ashtray.
To ***** out what we had once and for all.

X-Men doesn’t make sense without you here to explain.
Wolverine’s backstory is hard to ascertain.
Geeking out without you just isn’t the same.

I don’t know what comics are worth reading.
And the covers to these graphic novels are so misleading.
I’m trying to expand my comic knowledge without you and not succeeding.

The Game Cube is just gathering dust.
Two player to single player, trying to readjust.
Playing multiplayer alone feels so unjust.

“I’ll see you soon.” You say.
But I know that only means if you don’t work every day.
I’ll just spend our time apart wishing you weren’t six hours away.

I’m sick of Facebook being the only way we communicate.
And even though hearing your voice on the phone is great,
I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the wait.

I’m sorry if I’m getting hostile.
Lately it’s been hard to smile.
Sorry baby, it’s just been awhile.

You’ve got some new ***** you think is better,
She’s a second rate version of me, doll.
She’s not your freedom, she’s your fetter
I’m the first edition, if you recall.

She’s Crystal Lite and I’m a rich liquor.
She’s Mother Theresa, I’m Mata Hari
I’m a solar flare and she’s a flicker,
She’s a walk in the woods, I’m a safari.

I’m fifty one flavors, she’s vanilla.
But that flavor is bound to sour.
If you’re not careful she’ll turn to Scylla,
her loving gaze turned to a glower.

She’s safe but I know you stud,
you can’t handle a moment of dull.
I’m in your thoughts, I’m in your blood
and you can’t get my words out of your skull.

She thinks she’s got your heart and that’s fine.
She can call you hers, but you’ll always be mine.

The others never got to Jane
quite like tequila had.
While sober one might think her plain,
Jose turned good girl, bad.

In a haze of salt and lime she
thought herself a hero.
A partying vigilante,
but powers? She had zero.

That never stopped Jane in her tracks.
She thought herself quite brave.
Jane’s friends disagreed with these facts,
and wished she would behave.

On the night before prom they drank,
Each kid grabbing a brew.
Jane grabbed her bottle with a “thanks”
and drank the whole night through.

The tequila was pumping through
her veins and Jane felt strong,
as she did a slurred rendition
of her favorite song.

Though the words were a bit muddied
and she was quite off key
the group all sang along with her,
the crowd howling with glee.

“I’m strong!” They stared. “And you know it!”
The drunken hero rose.
One boy yelled, “She’ll fall and eat ****!”
They watched, all on their toes.

“She’ll try and fly again.” one said.
Tequila Jane was nuts.
“Last time she slipped, and fell and bled!”
***** made Jane a klutz.



“Get down from there!” her friend growled,
grabbing her by the hand.
“Back off man! Total party foul!”
Jane squealed, trying to stand.

But the liquor was too much, those
the shots had made her woozy.
Jane passed out, thus the story goes,
of our favorite ******.

Tell me about your new *****.
That eyes like the sun *****.
That "she might be the one" *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Tell me about your new *****.
That everything I'm not *****.
That "I like her a lot" *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Tell me about your new *****.
That got me speaking in cliches *****.
That I hope she's just a phase *****.
Tell me about your new *****.

Don’t date people who drink coffee.

But especially don’t date people who claim they love coffee
then drown it in sugar and cream.

Those are the ******* that will break your heart.
They claim they love coffee and then they manipulate it
until it’s something they can tolerate.
They don’t love coffee at all. They like sickening sweet sugar water.
They like pretending to love coffee.

The sort of person who goes to Starbucks every morning and demands a
Venti,
Non-Fat,
No Foam,
Sugar Free with extra ice and three pumps of hazelnut
is the sort of person who will slowly find every quirk that makes you who you are
and destroy it to fit their lifestyle.

This year I'll bleed for better reasons.

I'll take a tumble after a night of drinking at the bar,
knees skinned and raw because I wasn't used to my heels.
I'll brush it off and let the blood trickle down my legs
as I stumble back home at 2 am.

I'll learn to hold my liquor.

I'll bite my tongue a thousand times and taste copper.
Whether silencing myself for my mother or my professor,
the friend who thinks she's always right. Or the *******
who's screaming sexist jargon.

I'll learn to pick my battles.

I'll cook myself delicious meals and the knife will slip
while I chop shallots and potatoes for my feast built for one.
I'll let my ****** battle wounds season the food and I
won't flinch at the thought of eating another meal alone.

I'll learn to love myself.

I'll pull the knife from my heart and back and wield them
like weapons fit only for my hands. I'll lick the blade clean
and scare anyone who dares try and harm me.

I'll never bleed for you again.
I'll bleed for better reasons.

I’m the sort of girl who drinks tequila out of coffee cups
and wears really skimpy dresses
and goes out partying all night
and kisses random boys in the dark

But I’m also the kind of girl who wears her hair in a messy bun
and reads Jane Austen when it rains
and enjoys watching documentaries with my cat

But I’m also the kind of girl who likes slamming beers
and putting on team colors
and cussing at the top of my lungs at sporting events

But I'm also a *** who sleeps until noon
and eats cold pizza because I don't wanna cook
and contemplates what life would be like if I were dead

But I'm not fitting in your boxes
And you hate that
And it confuses you
And I like it

Girls aren't one thing
Or another.

We're not the sun
And the stars.
And we're not the **** of the earth.

I'm not Alpha and Omega
I'm not Fire and Ice
I'm not Beauty and Grace.

I'm me
And she's her.
And we're not the same.

I can chug a beer while reading Frost
Or contemplate the meaning of life at a hockey game

I can be
Party Girl
Sloppy Drunk
Thoughtful Bookworm
Crazy ******

All of the above.
Or none.

I'm me.

Heartache is so unoriginal.
But you make mine feel special.

You made the hurt feel unique.
Like it was nothing anybody has
ever felt before.

We're all in pain
over the same
recycled tragedies.

But somehow you made mine feel shiny.
My breaking heart felt like something new.
My aching bones felt like a rebirth.

I wanna reward you for stomping on my heart.
Your foot prints on my ribcage are proof of living.

And we're purging to be pretty,
and smoking to stay thin.
Starving until our bones feel light as air.

Wearing make-up like a mask,
using clothes to advertise the goods, to
make the boys want us

Mistaking life lessons for soul mates.
Physically putting out and
emotionally shutting down.

And we're dumbing ourselves down.
Acting stupid because it's cute.
Hiding our wit because it's unattractive.

They want lady in the streets and
freak in the sheets.
But on their schedule, not yours.

But the lady has to be a *****
And the ***** has to be domestic.
It's a trap.

And we're used up
Washed up
Fed up
****** up

We're twenty something and giving up on the world.
We're twenty something and dead inside.
And taking it all in stride.

You're the bags under my eyes
when I stay awake until 4 am trying
to see if you'll text back or if you've
fallen asleep without realizing.

You're the smile on my face
every morning when I wake up
with you as the first thought on my mind.

You're the wind in my hair when
our song comes on the radio and
I crank it loud and belt it out as
I drive down a lonely highway.

You're a restless night and I can't sleep.
You're the sheets upon my skin as I
nuzzle up and try and forget a hard day.

So I'll write a poem for the boy that was never mine,
For the heart that was never put in my trust,
For the sweet nothings you never said,
For the heated moments we never shared.
In hopes that these fantasies in my head are banished,
In hopes I find closure for a thing that was never real,
In hopes that my mind finally rests.

I'll pack my things in the dead of night,
hop a flight,
Tell no one and disappear.

Ghost.
Hazy memory.
A girl you used to know.
Who knows where I'll go?

I might write. Pretend I miss home.
Delight in the fact that I finally got out.
Maybe I'll visit for Christmas and see what home is all about
now that I'm gone.

And I might just change my name.
Runaway
The one who got away.
The one who wasn't stuck.

But first, my grand escape to somewhere else.

Somewhere that isn't here.
And I'll find someone who isn't you.
And live a life that isn't this.

I'm not an alcoholic,
I just like to drink alone.
Thanks for the concern though.

Why can't a girl get drunk alone
at her place with that ugly
word getting tossed around?

I'm too broke to sustain an alcohol addiction anyway.
Too prissy to pump myself full of cheap liquor.
I'm a high society mess and only indulge myself on top shelf drinks and failed dreams.
Thanks for the concern though.

I'm twenty one.
I'm young.
I'm fun.
And an introvert to the core of my being.

Why can't I drink alone and watch ****** reality television
without the threat of an intervention?

People exhaust me.
Wine delights me.
People are evil.
***** is tasty.
Society is corrupt.
And tequila tastes like vacation.

Good for you man,
you've got it together.
I don't. And I hate going out
and socializing despite what my
cheerful disposition might lead you to think.

So let me drink
And mind your own **** business.

It's a "thing" Not a relationship.
   That'd be too easy, right?

Too easy to just let me know how you feel.
To just double down, grab my hand and say "I like you."
That'd be way too easy.
So it's just a "thing"

A "thing" where we hang out every day.
And you grab lunch with me.
And we text when we're bored.
And you tell me I'm pretty.

A "thing" where I listen to your problems.
And you listen to mine.
And sometimes we kiss when we're drunk.
It's a "thing"

A "thing" you won't put a label on. Despite the fact that this "thing" suddenly has BOTH our friends asking what we're doing. Are we dating? Just friends? Why don't you take this one lover?

What is this "thing" we've got going on?

Do I tell them how my heart swells when you call me babe?
Do I tell them how you love the way I tease you?
Do I tell them how I wish you were mine?
Or do I tell them it's just a "thing?"

I'm not a liar baby.
But I'll cry wolf it means you'll come to my rescue.

         Never been the damsal but you better be sure I'd play princess if it meant I could call you Charming.

I don't faint at the sight of blood
but I might fake it if it meant you'd catch me.

            I'm not scared of monsters in my closet but I'd say I was
if it meant you'd come cuddle between my sheets.

I'm not saint but I'd be your Angel if you asked me to.

                                          Never had a stable relationship but I'd try if you wanted to see it through.

Keep your feelings far from me.
I hear that ****'s contagious.
I'm not trying to catch your affection.
And I've got some serious objections
to this whole love sick diagnosis.

Doctor, Doctor. What's the deal?
How's my heart of steel?
Is it melting? Warping? Disintegrating?
Write me a script for a void of emotion,
give me a brew or a potion to cure this notion
that love exists and people aren't evil.

Pills for headaches, **** ups and ******.
Why not wannabe loners?

For the people who just wanna be dead inside again.

The ones who hate the feeling of feeling.
Emotions send them reeling.
I don't want to deal with healing.
I wanna die inside again and skip resurrection.

If emptiness is an infection I wanna sick forever.
I don't need a doctor, I need an emotional dissection.
Pick it apart and sew it up without fixing ****.
I wanna be dead again.

I wanna find a boy and break his heart,
the way you broke mine.

I wanna tell him lies and make him swoon,
the way you did with me.

I wanna be an emotionless shell of a person,
the way you are.

I wonder how it feels to destroy somebody,
the way you destroyed me.

Is it fun? It must be. I wanna try.
I wanna make a boy cry.

I wanna make him think I care.
I wanna caress and kiss his hair and
then **** his best friend.

I want to make him need me.
Crave me.
Love me.

Think he'll die without me.
Then I wanna rip it all out from under him.

Baby, I wanna be like you.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
To take us from strangers, to
lovers, to strangers again? I knew
you for eleven weeks yet it felt
like a life time of memories.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
For me to break every rule of
love for you? To let down my guard
and make you the exception?

Only Eleven Weeks. For you to
become the most important person
in the world to me. For me to become
so co-dependent on you that the
thought of you not being near made me ill.

Eleven Weeks to go from a strong, independent woman to a love sick fool.
Eleven Weeks to sell my soul and give you everything you wanted from me.
Eleven Weeks to lose who I was because I thought you were so great.
Eleven Weeks to rethink my previous notions about love and affection.
Eleven Weeks to become the loneliest I've ever been.

It's not a lot of time and the simple fact that
Eleven
Measly
Weeks
Can change who I am at the core of my being is not okay with me.

Twenty one years being who I was.
Eleven Weeks to tear it all apart.

Electric Wonder.
Exciting Beauty.
The girl with the smile.
The perfect storm.
Wonderful. Just. Wonderful.
Skinny Love.

Aren't we a shy pair? The names
you use to describe me to others are cute indeed
but I'd like them better if you used them with me.

I'm more than Lauren, your friend from school.
I'm the electric wonder who you deemed "too cool"
to pursue back in eighth grade. So you sat back like a
fool and let me get my heart broken by a boy who didn't care.
I forgive you though,
my friend,
because you were there when he let me down.
And it was your hug that I'd wished had been his all along.

And back in tenth grade when another stood me up,
it was you, skinny love, who picked me up. From a
lonely cold night outside the movies. It was you,
my friend,
who took me out for ice cream and it was you,
my friend,
who told me he wasn't worth the trouble.
In tenth grade you deemed me an exciting beauty who
could never fall for a man like you. But all along it was
your hand I wished had been holding mine.

And my senior year when we parted ways,
and we reminisced about the days we had
you had a look on your face. Like there was something
you just had to say. But instead,
my friend,
you told me you'd miss me when I was at college
and nothing more. You made me the girl with the smile
that ignited the light in your heart but you did not tell me.
You let me go. And I never let you know that I wish it had
been you in school who I called my own.

Summer after I came home from my first year away,
you said I had changed. I had purple in my hair
and the care I once had of the opinions of others was
gone. We spent weeks together, like nothing had changed.
And when I cried because I had to leave you again you
were the one,
my friend,
who calmed my fears and promised to visit
once you'd moved in.
I was your perfect storm of grace and tragedy.
And it was you,
my friend,
who I wanted to share every moment with
during those warm summer nights.

Sophomore year you brought me to a party. I
didn't know anyone and your friends were rude.
And when I wanted to leave and never come back it was you,
my friend,
who stood up for me and told them I was perfect.
You said I was Wonderful. Just. Wonderful. And after all
the times I let the truth stay bottled up inside I finally
let it out. That kiss on the porch was not the wine, nor the
****. It was me. It was you. It was us. It was all the times
you were there for me and all the times I'd secretly wished
you were those boys who'd let me down.

So why? Skinny Love? Why continue on this way?
No need for another heart break. Let's admit the
way we feel, my friend,
the way we've always felt.

For tenth grade me.
For senior year you.
For the times we cried together.
And hid our feelings for each other.

Come now, skinny love, tell me how you feel.

What we had didn't matter to me.
Didn't mean anything to me.
Without you I feel free.

Your touch of my skin didn't make me feel.
Because I knew it wasn't real.
You're nothing to me.

The words you said didn't captivate me.
Enamor me.
It was just an act,
I'm sure you'll agree.

You were just a game to play.
A heart to betray.
You're worthless to me.

You're a ghost to me.
At most you'd be,
nothing more than
a mind to ****.
A stupid schmuck.

Sorry.
Sorry.
I just needed to lie for a second.

Because my lies are your realties.
I'm done with the formalities.

It hurts. Because I cared and shared
all that was the mess of me with
somebody as unworthy as you
because I thought I knew
who you were and your intent with my heart.

I should've seen from the get that I was
just another
twit you could mold and fool.

I'm sorry.
I just need to lie again.
For a moment.

I'm fine now.
I'm strong now.
It doesn't hurt.
I'm moving on.
I'm better off.
I feel alive.
I'll be okay.

Sorry.
Sorry.
I just need to lie for a second.

I'm glad we had it.
I don't regret it.
I'm glad I opened up.
I'm glad I shared my trust.

Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry for the lies.

Ten
"I don't want you to be angry with me, alright?"
Alright

Nine
"This just isn't what I want right now, okay?"
Okay.

Eight
"I feel really bad for leading you on."
It's fine

Seven
"I'm just not in a good place."
I understand

Six
"I don't wanna ruin our friendship."
Me neither

Five
"And you're a sweet girl."
Thanks

Four
"It's just really hard."
No, I get it.

Three
"Are you alright?"
Yeah

Two
"Cool then?"
Yeah

One*
"Cool."
Cool