I really have no time for this. It's not real. I don't want to flirt. I don't want to have to dress nice for you to notice me, to give me a second glance. I don't want you to be my prince charming or mi knight in shining armor. I don't want to be naked for you to see me. I don't want to have to pretend that I like that *******. I want us to be real. I don't want to put up with society's crap. I want to actually be happy and enjoy my life. I don't want us to work according to the plan. Rules that aren't written down, yet somehow they make their way into our lives. They ***** it up from the beginning. I don't want you to be perfect. I don't want us to be perfect. Not by society standards, at least. I know that as long as I love you you'll be perfect in my eyes. So, why do we bother with the other useless things? When I look at you, I don't want to be looking at a soulless, ripped, mindless guy whose biggest concern is being socially accepted and hitting on girls and drinking shots and crashing parties. I haven't and won't date that kind of guy. EVER. I just can't bring myself to like that kind of person (not that I want to).
I want someone that I can be comfortable with. Someone who looks after me but not because he disbelieves in my strength, but because he can't stand the mere idea of loosing me. I want him to understand me, I want us to have long talks. I want us to cry, laugh and play like idiots. I want us to have little play-fights, that kind of arguments that are based in pointless ideas and always end up in a kiss. I want to be able to share everything with him. I want us to be best friends. I want us to know each other so that we can fully trust one another. I need the guy to be there for me. I need it to be real. I need it to be love. True love. Not those fake little relationships destined to failure. Those filled with jealousy, replacing trust, self-confidence and respect. I know I sound like an old conventional lady, rambling like this about such hideous teeny tiny details. But life's all about details. If not, everyone's lives would be incredibly monotone and that would be disgusting. Different is beautiful. That's why nobody is better than you. You deserve someone who gets that and treats you right. You deserve to be happy, just as everyone else does.

I'm tired of hypocrisy. Every female that I know complains for not having found a decent guy. The truth is that that guy may be under their ******* noses and they'll never realize so because they are after some hot, six-packed idiot. They never think twice about their loyal, sweet, non-hot friend. Maybe if they did, they would notice that he does lots of little things for her. He would dump anyone or anything he's doing to go and rescue you from a bad haircut or ****** break-up. He seems a bit off when you talk to him, like he's somewhere else, but still listening carefully to every word you say. He is secretly wondering what it would feel like to taste your lips or kiss away your tears. He is fantasizing about your eyes and the way they light up with laughter whenever you find something funny. The way your tiny button-nose twitches upward when you are grossed out. He is daydreaming about your hands traveling through his body, and going down his navel... He wonders what it would be like to watch TV while you caress his hair.
And he sighs and you ask him what's wrong. He smiles lazily and with a sad look in his eyes he answers:
"Nothing."
He'll never tell you how he feels because he knows that you'd turn him off. And he loves you, has loved you for a while now. He treasures your friendship more than anything and he is afraid that if he tells you the truth, that will scare you off. He can keep you with him by not telling you his true feelings. You would reject him. He's not risking that much. He'll just settle with friendship, patiently waiting for you to wake up one day and realize that you're in love with him.

And this is why, my dear female friends, you don't find the right guy. You are looking for perfection and we all figure that that doesn't exist, after a while. You seek for the ideal guy. **There's no such thing.

Anguish a and dread come into my system.  I can't breathe, my lungs are deprived of oxygen. I feel his hand slightly stretching and feeling my tight, and I resist the urge to scream and slap him hard across his face. I stay still, pretending I don't notice his finger tips touching well-known places once again. I cringe and his eyes find mine. He smiles wickedly and the lump in my throat tightens . His hand slips away from my upper leg and he takes it to his face in a smooth movement. He winks at me and I almost loose it, but I stay calm, trying not to let my disgust show. Poker faced, I stare at him, a loop-sided grin still playing in his lips. His fore finger touches that revolting mouth of his.

"Shhhhhhh."

We are at work, and anybody could hear me if I shouted for help. But his oh-so-charming personality would make me look like a lunatic. Everyone loved him, and he loved everyone. He loved women in general a bit more than he should. Specially the pretty ones. He cherished them a bit too much. His enchanting face and easy talk made him get away from every awkward situation. And I wasn't going to be an exception.
He seemed to know where my thoughts were heading, because a look of superiority took over his fake, innocent expression.
He stood up and unzipped his low-hanging jeans, pulling his ******* free. I shuddered and instinctively took a step back, hitting the concrete wall behind me. I was trapped between him and the office's structure. I swallowed and looked straight into his eyes. He was definitely enjoying this. He stepped forward, getting me up against the wall. I desperately tried to find a way out of what was going to happen, but I couldn't find one. I closed my eyes as I felt his entire length easing through mi insides. He was smirking now. Minutes seemed to be hours. They were large and tortuous. I was numb. Every stroke was deeper and faster. His muffled moans were all I heard. I kept my eyelids shut tightly the hole time. He finally stiffened and let out a fairly loud sound of pleasure.   I cried softly as he stepped away from me and put his pants back on. He smiled one more time and left me there, feeling weak, shattered and covered in dirt that wouldn't come out of me, no matter how hard I scrubbed myself.

I am shallow.
I know I am.
I hate it about me
And I'm never good enough.

It's hard to fulfill
Ideals that belong to the past.
It's time to move on
It's time to do whatever you like.

But the chains won't loosen up.
And there's still a long road before us.
Will you be brave and go forward?
I don't think I can do it.

Neither do you.
Nobody believes in me.
Nor do they know what fuels me.
I keep getting up from the rough road.

Why do I do that?
Why don't I just let go?
I'm not strong enough to **** myself.
I'm not strong enough at all.

I'm a coward.
I can't take it.
My body shakes
My hands are trembling.

There's no way out.
Depression is darkness
That swallows me whole.
It drags me to its depths.

*It corrupts my soul

I'm hot. Sweaty. Your hands are in my hair. Your hands are everywhere. I can't control my self. I can't seem to get enough of you. I feel like I'm falling and I am. I'm falling hard for you. Thrilling emotions flow through me. Your fingers get tangled in my hair. I don't seem to care, I push farther. I get lost in you. I want us to be even closer. I want to feel every piece of your hard body against my soft one. I don't really know where I end and you start. What I do know is that you make my body ache for your touch. I'm addicted to you and I try to stop all of this that's overwhelming me, but I can't. The mere sight of him makes me all nervous and needy. It wasn't love at first sight. Not at all. But just now I realize that **what I'd looking for had been here the whole time.

I eat. I love eating. I have no problem with it, and I really enjoy the explosion of different flavors in my mouth. It's an interesting experience and I truly like all kinds of dishes.
The problem starts when the very last mouthful is gone. That's when the guilt comes into scene. I suddenly feel horribly for eating so much and start to get dizzy. And that's only the tip of the iceberg.
This whole matter goes back to primary school. I was a lot fatter than I am nowadays but I still cringe every time someone calls anybody else fat. I was bullied. I was that one fat, nerdy girl with glasses, braces and two-size-bigger clothes. I was full of joy till fourth grade. I was a little girl becoming a pre-teen, and I wanted boys to think I was pretty. I started to notice those stares and glances that the boys in my class shot me. They were not checking-you-out looks. They were laughing at me. So I started feeling bad about myself. I had to get nice clothes. If that's what it took to be accepted, I was gonna spend every cent of my savings in clothes shops. Of course, I had never cared about fashion before, and when I went shopping for the first time I was really disappointed. I would find a really nice shirt and immediately fall in love with it. I would see it on a mannequin and it would look stunning. And then, excited, I would go and try it on. Imagine the look on my face when I saw how the shirt fit me. It didn't look the same on me than it did on the other girls. I was horrified. I then realized that it was gonna take a lot more than a shopping therapy to be liked. I started obsessing over calories. I didn't eat half as much as I had been eating before. I practically  starved myself to death every day, and I kept track of all of it in a tiny notebook I took everywhere. I couldn't bring myself to enjoy eating because it was too painful. Everyday I watched as my friends took pizza for lunch as I chewed my lettuce. All the cruel things the boys told me hurt me even more than anything. My mom worried about me and she said I was perfect. Of course I was, in her eyes. But I wasn't happy with my body. I did a long diet that lasted for three long years. In seventh grade I started to eat a bit more and that's when I hit puberty. I grew taller and slimmer, and my body curved-up.
I was still uncomfortable with myself. Boys started noticing me, and I was happy about it, bit I wanted more. I started to work out and until now, three years later and in high school, I'm still not able to like my physical form. I've lost a lot of weigh, but my mental image is similar to that ten-year-old  girl that discovered that nobody liked her because she was fat.
I look in the mirror and see nothing but imperfections. I put on make-up and fancy clothing only to find that the real problem is **inside my head.

I was laying down on the grass. My head was in her lap, and she caressed it adoringly.                  
She read:
                                                           ­   
"She was absolutely gorgeous. Around her shone the nameless charms, unmarked by her alone.
The light of love, the purity of grace, the mind, the music breathing from her face!
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole, and, Oh! Those eyes in themselves were a soul."

She paused, and I eased myself from the ground. Sitting up, I looked her in the eyes. She eyed me with such tenderness that mine watered a little.
She said, then:

- "What I just read; it is you. I see you that way. I love you, honey."

Her voice was hoarse, dripping emotion.

A sole, lonely tear fell, wetting my cheek, and I smiled shyly.

I really do love my mom. **Tons.

The pitch black midnight sky
stares back at me.
Beyond the bright stars
There are things we cannot see
Secrets that the universe hid.

When it all turns into dust
I'll remember the way the sky made me feel.
Fearless and strong
Infinite and free.

Dark deep eyes are all I see.
I want them to absorbe me
I want them to bring me in.
Peace and quiet, stillness and fallen strings.

I will no longer be in this nightmare
Liberation is all I seek.
And when the night falls on me
There will be silence, there will be sleep.

I'll fly and bring you with me.
Stardust outlining our slim figures.
Cause all I want is your light to be brighter
The moon will drown in jealousy.

*Who needs to live forever if you don't belong to me.

It's raining. Drizzling softly. Tiny droplets are washing through me, washing wrong and pain away.
Quiet soul. Peaceful. Restlessness no more.
It's time to start over.
"Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow it's light"
Pursue your wildest dreams and never look back but to smile at an old memory.
Stop worrying over the past or the future. One is way behind you, and the other one is yet to come.
Live like there's no tomorrow.
Laugh. Cry.
Fill your lungs with pure air. Oxygen.
Power.
Let the pouring rain run hurriedly past you and sink into the earthy ground.
You are soaked and happy and free.
You scream at the top of your voice.
You sing and dance and fall to the mud.
Worriless. Blissful.
*Thrilled to be alive.

I bet that as soon as you read the title you thought this was going to be a non-stop ramble about a boyfriend or whatever. Well, it's not.

This poem (lets just say it is one), is about the one girl who helped me get on my feet every time I fell to the ground. Hard.

It's about a person so amazing that it pains me to watch her hurting over some unworthy *******.
It's about a beautifully damaged soul. Her moods swing from one to another pretty fast, he loves to sing 80' songs and cuddle with her cat Connie.
She loves poetry and respects artistic expressions.
She is my role model as she tries to always do the right thing.
She treats everyone fairly and sympathizes with every living creature.
She makes me feel better about myself and puts everyone else's needs before hers.
She may be struggling with some serious ****, but she'll always have time for her friends.
She is loyal and loving.
She is all I'd ever wanted in a friend.

She is perfect to me.

We are still working on that part, though.
She doesn't believe me when I tell her she's flawless.
I really think she is.
Inside out.

Someday she'll realize that I'd been telling the truth this whole time.
Someday she'll appreciate her long eyelashes, harmonious voice and cute curly hair.
Someday she'll wake-up and say:
HEY, I'M A HELL OF AN INDIVIDUAL!

She's my teacher.
My mother.
My sister.
My best friend.
My everything.

Thank you for everything, really. Every secret you kept for me, every inside-joke, every muffled laugh at class, every singing voice note, every poem, every midnight talk, every smile, every shed tear, every movie we watched together. Thank you for just being you, for letting me see your true self. Thank you.

**I love you so ******* much.

Why do you think that you have to keep pretending that you know what you are doing?
What do you want to accomplish?
Why do you live by expectations that are so high that they seem unreachable?
Why do you keep bothering yourself with silly things like living according to stupid social "rules"?
Please.
Deep down everyone is the same. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean that we are all silvery robots with monotone voice tones and reboot buttons.
I just want you to know that nobody is what they appear to be. We, modern people, have an image for everyone to see that has absolutely nothing to do with us. So if you thing you are the only person in the world that gets what you are going through (whatever it is) you are wrong. Everyone struggles with their lives. They keep that barrier up for no one to see their true selves so they can't be hurt, judged or laughed at. They (why do I keep writing like I'm not one of them, of you?) hide from the world cause once one sees their true colors they are vulnerable. You open up and you let people cause you pain (and  happiness, lets not forget. But I'm I no mood for optimism right now. Sorry positive people!)
So, would you rather tear your chest open for people to toss your heart around as if it were a football, or are you going to keep it in a tightly locked up box, so you can be miserable by yourself? The truth is, guys, life gives you no options. I decided to give the nice-to-meet-you game a try and well... I ended up writing this so you can just assume that it didn't end up well, and I'm only fifteen. ******* FIFTEEN. So, yeah, it hit me now. The truth. You can't live without pain. What you can actually choose is who causes that pain.
I don't deal with this very well and I'm torn, yeah, but I'll get over it eventually. Life *****, sometimes. But other times it's so wonderful that it lifts your feet of the ground, and you feel like you are flying high above it all in the deep blue sky. (No, I don't do drugs or anything).
Here's what I think: Stuck your tongue out if you feel like it, have fun at times and others be sad (everyone has to be sad every once in a while to rest from all that happiness, ya know?) and be yourself except you are some kind of maniac ninja assassin.

I think I'm in love. ****.

At first I was sad.
My world had been utterly torn apart.
By myself.
I had accidentally turned my life into a nightmare.

There was endless sorrow in each feeling
Each hope.
Each thought.
I felt like a *******.

I was a *******.

But I got over my misery.
And sadness was replaced by anger.
I was furious with everyone.
Especially with myself.

I was ******* about the fact that
I was so full of pity for myself.
I was mad
Because I was so weak.

I still am.

But I've gotten over myself now.
Truly abandoned the rancor that used to make my blood boil.
All that is left in me now is melancholia.

The what ifs.
The predictions of what could have been if I had done things differently.
And it pains me to say this.

But I miss her.

I miss that girl that was so loyal
So full of joy
So sympathetic
And so understanding.

I miss those midnight talks we used to have.
That sudden bursts of laughter.
The crap we got from adults
Because we were in our own private world.

We had lots of things in common.
She made me laugh my *** of.
She trusted me.
I trusted her.

And I murdered our friendship.

I regret it.
I really do.
All I got in exchange was a wet kiss
From a boy who didn't even love me.

I did love him.
But that's another story to tell.
I told her to believe in my word.
And I consciously broke my promise.

I so regret it.
But there's no going back.
The wound will never heal.
And our bond is long lost in time.

But I do have my memories.
And I keep them lovingly in my heart.
For I didn't mean to hurt you.
I really meant no harm.

Destiny is mute.
Soundless.
We create our own fate
Or we get carried away by it's currents.

Uncertain paths await for us.
Waiting to be transited.
While undying hands run against the past
And minutes turn into hours.

The clock is impatient.
It won't stop for anyone.
Keep walking, you passer-by
Or you'll get stuck in a memory.

There's not an end for everything.
There are things that are eternal.
Your hand in mine is timeless
Our joined hips are feral.

Anger flows through me. It's rapid and unstoppable. Savage waves of strong emotion perform furious tosses and turns inside me. They are maddening, and yet still majestic. I can't take them out. They will take over me and I wont be able to do anything about it. They can't transform into tears; I'm too angry. Ragging flames can't turn into water. Oh my, what shall I do? My fingers twitch nervously trying to find a solution. My hands know it before my brain can process it and I grab a nearby pen.
I grab the aching pencil and a poor notebook that was there at the wrong time. My victims are waiting to be messengers of my dilemmas. Writing tool in hand, I fiercely attack the innocent paper. Rage pours from my soul to my hand and through the pen, to end up in the form of not-so-neatly-written letters. Words start to take form, and later on, sentences. Those sentences are screaming so loud but they are silenced, trapped in the sheet of paper. My words are are charged with everything that once was in inside me, poisoning me and my objective view of life. Words flow from my fingers in fast, impatient movements. I'm anxious, but it will be over soon.
I stop. It's all out. Now that all of that, all my frustration, is all in the ink-marked paper. It looks at me in disgust, as the inky traces try to make their way out of the paper. They liked it better here. They had a more audible voice, they think? Not so true.
Every ounce of negativity has now left me and I'm exhausted but happy.
I relax and fall into the mattress of my comfy bed in the soundless night, and smile to myself.
My angry thoughts (turned into words) are shouting at me from the floor, where I left them, I can't help to laugh at the sight.
I sigh contentedly and drift off to a dreamless, unperturbed sleep.
Detached form my pessimism.
*Happy.

I love you. I love you more than I love myself and that's bad. That's very bad. That's horrid. I am dependable and weak and I need you to walk along the merciless path that is my uncertain destiny. I want to be independent but your love is holding me back. And I want it to. I want it to? I don't know, not any more. My feelings are drawing me to you, while common sense and experience are driving off and I don't know which one to follow, because both options are going to tear me apart. I am you now. I breath your air and talk your words and plan your future. I am so profusely fused to you that it terrifies me to even think of breaking this unhealthy bond.
My heart runs one way and my mind the opposite one. Which one should I leave behind? What is worse, a broken heart or never-ending hidden misery in a golden cage? Because your love is a prison. A lovely one. But a prison, indeed.

What possessed me to love you so fiercely?
I don't know.
I'm sorry.
Won't happen again.

Why have I made myself hate me so much? Why are society's standards so incredibly high? Why won't people acknowledge ones true beauty? It's not about the flat stomach, ladies. Not the make-up, either. Nor the hair. Do you need extensions, fake nails or fake eyelashes to feel pretty? The whole messed-up idea is wrong. Why would you put funny-looking, plastic, artificial things on your body? Because we want to look nice. Feel nice. And for us, low-self-esteem girls, well... Lets say we want to accomplish our happiness by being eye-candy. And for that to happen, we have to change our whole selves, of course. Not any part of ourselves will do. We have to become a different person in order to be likeable. We have to be fake, giggly idiots who wear way too much make-up, fancy designers clothes, and expensive jewelry. We have to eat miniature salads to stay fit, and go to the gym everyday. On top of that, if you go to the beach you have to be lady-like and sunbathe all day long (the most boring thing ever). And there you are, amazing tanned body, incredible hair and impeccably dressed. But you know what, little Miss Perfect? You are empty inside. You are shallow. You have nothing left, apart from you looks and your expensive clothing. No real friends. No memories. No life. You were so worried working out and shopping that you didn't notice your life passing by right past you. And you are not growing younger as the minutes go by, sweetheart. One day you'll wake up and realize that you have nothing. Your life is meaningless. It lacks of passion. Love. Adventure. And you start to get wrinkles in the corners of your eyes and mouth. Your hair turns white and you skin is frail.
You can't sleep, for one thought haunts you:
*You haven't really lived.

Fire burns through me.
Can't keep it in any longer.
Parted lips find exposed skin.
All too eager, so much younger.

Anxious and willing
I consume myself in his arms.
Passion is a powerful emotion.
Claws leaving scars behind.

Not once a rational thought
Popped into my mind.
Cause I was too busy
Too inspired.
*Too high.

Your touch sets my body im fire.
My skin tingles
And I push you nearer.
I want us to be closer.

You keep me up at night.
I dream of you.
Feel your breath on my neck.
I'm so in love with you it hurts.

I can't do justice to you
With my awkward words.
We kiss
And I smile against your mouth.

Because I'm happy.
You make me happy.
It took me so long to figure it out.
And I can't stop thinking about how you taste

And how your skin feels against mine.
Those stolen moments
Full of lust and something else.
Something *infinitely more.