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Mikitara Oct 2013
again again again
remember
that we were friends
and we aren't friends
plastic teardrops
plastic silence
plastic lies
glass pride
glass voices
glass trust
that we broke
and we break
all over
again again again
© 2012
Mikitara Oct 2013
how many times over have i realized that you think Halloween is more exciting than my birthday?
(both are on workdays, don't act like you're too busy because have you even had a job in the past few months?)
how many times over have i realized that we honestly aren't as close as we used to be, anymore?
(yeah you'll pin me to the door and hug me but what does that mean? hugs weren't ever a solid representation of anything we felt.)
(not that we ever felt anything)
Mikitara Oct 2013
i came here to write, not play iSpy with turtles in the duck-crap encrusted, man-made lake of the park i grew up going to
i came here to tell a story. the story about the way your eyes were in between green and brown and how i always told you they were very ugly because hatred and love-written-in-Times New Roman-and-printed-then-ripped-to-shreds were your only two emotions (but we were in seventh grade then and i actually didn't say any of that because i actually thought you were perfection manifested into the form of a bowl-cut haired Iranian boy)
i came here to paint the walls of your room sanguine instead of Southern sky blue (it's blood, not paint (that's why i'm laughing)) and tattoo words i don't know the definition to all over your inner thighs (i'll use my mouth if you want, even though i already told you i wasn't here to fool around)
actually, i came here to tell you that i love you
Mikitara Aug 2013
a boy once told me he could feel my energies
and i asked him how that worked
and he said it was impossible to explain

since then I've been thinking of things that are impossible or impossible to explain

like the way teenage girls obsess over trying to get boys to fall in love with them or even just short bursts of favoritism from them rather than trying to find their way around the forest of little Yggdrasils that make up their own dispairing minds

or the way that stars and angels fall from their perches in the heavens (on accident (or on purpose)) and not many are able to see them for what they are (it's nigh inhuman to see someone for what they are) and how those same people who can peer into their heart of hearts seem to still fall in love with them (those dying stars, fallen angels, risen demons, broken supernaturalities) and their obvious failure at being what they were born to be (yes, there is such thing as failing at being what you are, many fail at being human (truly or at least believe they have) everyday, and as one of the the lowest on the echelon the only place we have left to turn to is death)

a boy once told me he could feel my energies
and i wont ask him how that could be true anymore
because i know it's impossible to explain but not impossible to do

because now i think of things that are thought of as impossible by all (by the majority of the sentient beings in this realm)

and i realize that there are many girls who have already conquered their mind forests but have determined that they are not brave enough to venture any further into the darker places so they turn to building gates of lust and ultimately building a castle of love to take refuge in and also that there is only this brief period of time between childhood and adulthood that the darkness pulls many in and forces them to explore and many are lucky to escape and only some fall fate to their more eldritch thoughts and decide to explore and few truly embrace it

and i realize that some people fall into broken, brittle love with a fallen angel or any exiled supernatural despite the fact that they have failed in everything that they were born to do and forced to live in this new reality, this ugly humanity. these people who are burdened with realizing that their new love will be unrequited and that their new love is not as new as they want to believe. it's as old as spacetime itself- lowly creatures falling for higher creatures that are just as low.

just like the boy who once told me that he could feel my energies
(and his fallen angel and his giving up of his soulheart to be hers if only for the while that it takes her to regrow her wings (i realized he wasn't focused on building castles of anything, but maybe a tower for her to lift off from, even if it meant she left him, she would be free (and he would follow her to freedom, i believe)))
just like how I'm trapped in the dead middle of my own mind trying to figure out whether i want to escape inward into the beautiful crumbling dark that awaits me or back out into the world where nobody will care that i returned from my own internality (because so did many of them (none of us are as special as we want to believe we are))

impossibility is impossible.
for Quis; idk; tentative title
Mikitara Aug 2013
to be honest i never knew how to write about a boy i'd never met
and i also didn't know how to write about meetings
and i didn't know how to write about boys
but i remember seventeen years ago today, in a past i wasn't a part of and that i could never imagine, a boy I'd never met was born

but he grew up and up and up and his sandpaper heart was replaced by pints of lukewarm whiskey in the red cup left on the steps that morning and his threaded thoughts pieced together not-so-carefully were replaced by cigarette smoke lingering around his mind and out of his nose like smoke creeping through a burning building with no hope of escape for the one that broke in just to leave the gasoline by the furnace and his twisted insides were replaced by infinite spacetime and universes, bending and breaking and breathing stardust and misplaced trust and alcoholic aftertaste and burning paper

to be honest i never knew how to write about a boy who was replaced by cigarettes and whiskey and outer space and music and reasoning and tshirts and sarcasm and modernity  
but i did know how to write about someone who mattered
and i did know how to write about being entirely made of little something elses and being replaced
and he knew how to be the muse
happy birthday present to Jürgen eeeeh
Mikitara Aug 2013
on bullying (when it leads to extremes):
the choice between
suicide or homicide
(the choice to simply choose neither)

suicide.
hurting yourself at request of others
do you deserve that?
(no.)

homicide.
hurting others at your own expense
do their families deserve that?
(no.)

you are important to someone
(they are important to someone)
do not give up
(do not give in)
coexist quietly, and in peace, please
Mikitara Jul 2013
rev up a **** whacker

a power you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your arms and rattles your teeth
a sort of dentiphone that forces you to listen to the sound of gasoline fueled madness
a power you are about to abuse on the aphonic wings of a butterfly
a sort of way to seminate bits of shredded beauty

a butterfly is caught up in plastic death

a regret you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your heart and rattles your morals
a sort of accident that was waiting to happen that forces you to listen to the sound of fate
a regret you are about to suffer from until the day when your memory gives out
a sort of way to remember you are the murderer of a soul that most do not consider a soul

you didn't like butterflies anyway.
(i aM STILL ON WRiters block i'm sorry)
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