i was wearing a black and white
striped dress
one said i looked like beetlejuice
some said I looked like a mime
some said I reminded them of a prisoner
others said I looked like a barcode

i was all of those things
and none of those things
all
at
once

"Want to hang out tonight?"
"No, sorry. I have plans. How about tomorrow during the day? I'll make you your favourite meal and give you the rest of your birthday presents!"
"No thanks."
"Why not?"
"I have plans."
"Sounds like a mind game. I'm not in."
"Maybe if you were there for me when I needed you it wouldn't have to be a game."
"I invited you over tomorrow. Maybe if you didn't give me your guilt trips I would be.
I still love you."

you are
a complete contradiction &
you make me want to die.

i've been out of love for so long i no longer remember
what romance feels like
i used to yearn for it, and sometimes i still do
but right now, it makes me feel sick.

the cute kitchen boy asked me out for drinks tonight.
he has bright eyes and an innocent face and blonde hair
and probably a pure heart.
at first i said "sure!" but then as soon as i walked away
i went into full fledged panic mode
because he probably wants to go out with the girl
he thinks i am, the girl i portray myself to be:
cute, sweet, giggly, innocent, exciting.
i mastered the art of hiding the ugly parts a long long time ago
and i fool everyone i meet.
it's entertaining, and perhaps a little sad, but
it's the truth and i've begun to find comfort in it.

because the walls that surround my heart
have grown very very high, and i am simply not willing
to give someone the power of tearing them down again.
loneliness is more of a friend than anything, and besides,
everyone leaves.
trust has ran out of my repertoire, let alone vocabulary.

i'm just not in the mood
for the falling and the giggling and the touching and
the rush of endorphins and the disappointment and seeing
their sad reactions when i show the person my ugly insides
i'm just not up for
the leaving and the breaking and the wish-you-were-staying
and the mess and the withdrawal.
i do not want to add onto the list of the things i miss.
i'm getting good at going without
and i don't want to mess that up anytime
soon.

i'm ******* fragile and terrified and probably a coward
i'd rather sit at home and stare at a wall
or read a million books
or cry myself to sleep
than let someone in again.

i keep trying to come up
with new ways
to feel your presence
in my life
it's a weak existence though
full of boredom, fear and
a whole lot of
emptiness
there's nothing else that reminds me
you're still here,
i guess.

you tried at 15 by overdosing on a combination of
prescription pills your mother hoarded in her cabinet
when your mother found you on the floor,
the only thing she could do
was call you pathetic and get mad at you
for taking her pills without asking.

you tried again at 21, pills again
your brothers threw you in the backseat of their car, dragged you to
emergency, and gave you a mouthful of charcoal
before you had the chance to tell them
whether you were sorry
or not.

that was then, and this is now
and one of us are bound to die
before the other one has a chance to say
sorry
or not.
I hope you let it be
me.

you keep buying more paint
to add on to your collection of bruises
black and blue and purple and yellow
hues
you insist on emphasizing
the different phases of your history of having been
beaten and battered and broken and used
you ask me to touch them
just so you can feel
the hurt that you say they bring
you ask me to add to them
just you can admire the spectrum of stories
you feel so compelled to sing
but

i don't have the heart to tell you
that the bruises i hide
are real
and that paint, my darling,
washes off

i wish i could invite you
to my friends show tonight
i wish i could introduce you to everyone who has ever made me feel
worthwhile
and have you say,
"I'm so happy you have found people who love you the way I never could,
sweetheart."
and then watch the smile dissolve
from your face.