The other night I had a dream about us.
I snuck into your chemistry class
And we talked and laughed, ignored the rest of the world
It was a happy dream
Only one of the few that have ever made sense.
But when I woke up, it was snowing
A punishment for the month of April,
And possibly, for dreaming.
It's depressing, really
That even my subconscious has jumped the bandwagon with the rest of me
Except for that small, small part that keeps telling myself
You hate him
You hate him
But how can I hate you?
I almost hate myself for feeling.
I keep telling myself,
"Your emotions are encased in a steel box
Locked- no, welded shut
Nothing can get in
And nothing can get out."
Many, times, I feel as if I have succeeded in keeping them stuffed in a drawer
Deep inside
But the second you pass by
I feel you there
The steel box disintegrates into red-brown dust
And my heart lurches in response to
That stupid emotion.
I hate to call it what it is
That
Paralyzing feeling of
L
O
V
E
Love.
Is it really love at this point in life
When I'm still figuring out
Who I am?
I don't want it
But I do
And I must have it
Like asparagus, even,
But this kind tastes like chocolate.
Laughing about it
Makes my abs hurt
Right in front of my gut
The part that churns
When I think about you
Or rather, how you don't think
Or care
About me.
Do you?
If so, then just tell me,
Because I am sick of this dilemma
Plaguing me
Keeping me wondering if you do care
If you want me to fall into your arms
Like in fairytales.
I wish I could tell you myself,
But even if I tried,
I would be rendered speechless
By love and fright
Because I am both enamored
And terrified,
Enamored by you
But terrified
By what you could do
To my heart.

I think
That I might
Date a boy
Who will let me
Throw rocks at him

It bothers me so much
When I become an i
Or your face becomes you're face
You are face
No, I am Sam.
It bothers me even more
When definitely becomes definately
Or defnatly
Or definitliy
Oh, it hurts to write that.
I understand the need for speed
To get the point across as quickly as possible
But we are writers, whether we call ourselves so or not
And paying attention in English class
Won't do any harm.
Oh, also, while I'm thinking about it,
When you insult someone online?
"Your a idiot"?
"Go dye i a hole?"
"U don now nothin"?
That's the worst thing of all.

The first thing I see is blue eyes
Well,
Blue
Green
Gray
Bright eyes
And long black eyelashes that didn't need mascara
Then the straight brown hair
That goes to my waist
Went to my waist
I never had to straighten it
The uniform bangs
My mum cut them for me
Just a fraction too high
Just a little too thin.
Then the light eyebrows
Slightly thick before I started waxing and plucking them
The pale, unmarked skin
Like a china doll
Still in her box
No blackheads on my nose.
My nose
Before I developed the Gallizzi nose
Or the Dunlap nose
(I can never tell between the two)
Not like a button
But I didn't want a button for a nose.
Those days back when beauty was a princess
That fell in love with a beast
Hey, just like me
Because with my now short hair
With bangs cut to the side
I see auburn, copper, and gold strands
When I step in the light
And my proud nose, I think it suits me
And those blackheads will go
And my eyebrows are fine
(But I'll still wax and pluck them)
And I don't often straighten my hair
Even though I feel like I should
And my eyes are still beautiful
And beauty is still a princess
And the princess is me
Who has fallen in love with with the beautiful beast
That is, was, and forever will be me

I suppose I ought to let you know
Just how appreciative I am
Of your service to me
And my feet

You took me places
On clouds
I don't remember
Ever getting sore heels

We've seen all kinds of weather
Fierce rain on the morning walk to school
And mother nature's many mood swings
Have taken a toll on you

Your smooth black laces
Are frayed and caked
With crusty salt
From the sidewalk that once was icy

Your once black leather
Is dull and gray
And has splotches
Of mud and dust

Once you were fit for any occasion
Now all I put you on for
Is to go get the mail;
A job better suited for slippers

Someday I promise
To shine you up
Give you new laces
And go for a walk with you.

Photoshopped fantasy fictions
Misogynistic oppressive depictions
Unobtainable beauty
Fake imagery
This LIE is but violence and bigotry

Blessed are the eyes of the poets
who see a deeper truth.