There is this thing
called losing your mind
that everybody
seems to want to do
and there is this thing
called losing your mind
that nobody
seems to want to do.

I’m THAT girl.
I’m the girl sitting quietly in the corner,
Minding my own,  scribbling in a notebook
Or taking in the remaining chapters of my sci-fi book.
Maybe giving others a distracted look
A polite nod to keep them guessing.
I’m the girl with a slightly disheveled appearance.
His old transformers t-shirt, baggy jeans and a pair of chucks.
You may think, if you catch my eye, that luck
Is the last thing on my list of prized possessions
And you’d be right.
I’m Murphy’s law in action.
I’m THAT girl.
I’m the girl that can’t get him off my mind.
I’m the girl whose subconscious mind hates her.
He’s in my dreams and stalks my nightmares,
And all I can do is write
Write a miniature prison around his memory.
Write free verse that I hope catches his eye,
And I’m sure it doesn’t.
I’m sure he doesn’t have a positive thought of me
The way I think of him in the quiet spaces
Of my normal distracted being.
He calms me, he makes my heart race,
He makes me want to sleep, then chases me from a dream
Pitchfork in hand, slinging my bladed words like daggers.
I’m THAT girl.
The hopeless romantic and helpless cynic.
He made this poet, the cynic, the thinker.
I hope he looks in the mirror and sees
The creation he so meticulously molded
And turns away with his conscience disturbed.

This poem should be about somebody.
It should describe
the feeling of
your hand in my palm
and your lips on my cheek,

it should tell someone
that they mean
something worth holding on to,
and so I wont let go

so long as they love me,
so long as 'happy'
is something
I can give to them.


But that isn't
what this poem is about.
it's just an empty shell
and 'happy'
isn't even something
i can give myself.

I'm so lonely
tell me,
where am I?

And why aren't you here

I don't know what this is,
where we are,
or how it came to be.

All I know is I believe in it,
believe in you,
and what you give to me.

Conscience, consuming.
My stomach has turned inside
and in on itself.

My eyes have rotted
and reduced to such lifeless,
stationary orbs.

Today is the day,
I ***** my weaknesses
to teach myself strength.