i. this poem is not about that thursday afternoon
you spent holding me in your arms, swaying
back and forth in the middle of your bedroom
because i mentioned that no one understood me
and you told me you liked my dark hair and
my olive skin and the fact that i wrote poems about
confused teenagers in love and that i had a heart
that was just as confused as yours was

ii. we whispered sweet nothings to each other and
kissed under your navy blue duvet for two years
and the reason i still cry over that is because
you knew how much i detested dancing and that
i hated when my peas touched my potatoes and
that i never went to bed before two in the morning,
but you never learned that i am an iceberg

iii. i asked you to describe me and you failed
to mention that i'm afraid of the dark because
it reminds me of a sky without stars and that
my favorite song is skinny love by bon iver
because it reminds me of the relationship that
i shared with you and you never understood
why i liked sad things (it's because i like the
way rainy days and sleepless nights make
me feel something worth writing about)

iv. this poem is not about love or heartbreak
but it is about you, and i must admit that it
feels awkward to write about you without
feeling any ounce of admiration or hatred
pulsing through my tired veins. this poem
is not about me missing you, or how i wish
that you still thought about me, because i
am glad that i no longer float across your
mind whenever you watch a baseball game

v. you were like the titanic and our feelings
were the ocean that carried you closer to me.
you saw the surface of my being, consisting
of all the things you liked about me and the
things that you could put up with. but your
ignorance became too much and every
quality you failed to pay attention to came
crashing into you all at once and i
absolutely destroyed you and i don't know
whether to say i'm sorry or
you deserved this

We're just a sad generation.
A generation filled with bad choices
And no regrets.
Teenagers who want to find a way
To make someone happy,
Proud.
But we've lost our way.
We swear too much;
Care too little,
And are perfectly content with it.
We do dangerous,
Careless things
Without looking back.
Crying at night and trying not to scream.
And we plaster on those little grins,
Until the walls start to melt
Like candle wax.
And as our outer layers are melted away,
We're forced to turn your way
With the permanent scowl
That our lives have cursed us with.

Be happy alone (but be happier with a man).
Be sad, (but don't show it).
Be stupid, be smart, fall for all of our plots.
Be this! Be that! Be YOU!
(Be just unique enough that you are just like our other 1,000,000 readers).

Laugh a lot with your perfectly straight teeth.
(Don't let them see the stains from the acid that creeps).
Lose it, curb it, fight it, crunch it, boost it, control it.
**** him, tease him, **** him, blow his mind
(but don't be a ****, because nobody likes a stupid ****).

You're not wearing the right jeans,
You're not wearing the right shirt,
(But they'd probably look better if you followed these steps to lose 5 pounds in 5 days)
((and dyed and cut your hair))
(((and put your makeup on just right)))

love yourself (just enough to lose yourself,)
because then,
then you are on the path to improvement.
you are one step closer to that
(hand selected, perfectly manicured, potentially, possibly, probably starving)
model,
(who is still not quite good enough to make it without photoshop).

Because Kate Moss tells me,
“Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels,”
and maybe she's right.

Because this fat doesn't sit quite right,
it lumps and bumps. It muffin tops.
It's sloppy, I'm lazy, I eat too much
Maybe I should cut my carbs
and meat
(and everything in between)

Because my size 8 self is plus size to the ones that control my mind.
Because to be a plus is really a negative,
and to be a zero really means that I'm a ten.
Because to be skinny is to succeed.
And to succeed is to win.
And winning is all part of the system, right?

So, yes Cosmo, I'll pluck and shave.
I'll flirt and curl
I'll cut and count
I'll smile and cry
I'll **** and blow
I'll smoke my eyes and cover up my zits
I'll use my mirror to photoshop out every flaw that makes me beautiful
and maybe, maybe someday I'll be just as lifeless as the girls in your magazine.

My headphones are broken.
The music comes in muffled,
from only one ear.
It's soothing.
But it carries no weight.
No substance.
The words don't make sense.
I can barely make them out.
It sounds familiar,
and I'm nostalgic for the blurry memory,
In the back of my mind.
The full song watches and listens,
And matters so much more.
But my headphones are broken,
And it doesn't sound the same.

I stumbled into darkness,
head and heels into your well.
So unprepared and shaken,
heart enchanted by your spell.

I caved within the hour
to demands so soft and sweet.
And breath to breath, skin to skin,
I wait for hearts to meet.

But like a mirror's reflection
you were images and air.
You never jumped, never fell,
Were never really there.

Should they find me, years from now
oh the stories they will tell,
of how you left me broken
at the bottom of this well.

-
                                 Even if the storm does cease, And in
                            your heart there lies in rapture, hope
                that next time with strength increase, we
             take torrential rains and winds disaster, live
                      to cast them off our hearts crusade, without
                       eyes wide open don't see the shore, the fear
in infinity infinities of unexplored ocean evade, of
                              who to trust I know no more. limitation.