I'm such a ******* idiOT
I want to be nothing
I want to be bone
I'm ******* tired, but
the clock is ticking so fast

I'm not sure I believe in love anymore
but I've been getting the best oral of my life from a guy who sings me songs at night.
I feel selfish for meeting a kind soul at such an interesting time
(I'm not sure I believe in kind souls either)
I can too quickly drop love
And forget what it was to feel anything at all
(Did i feel anything at all?)
I felt too much
Every time.
And feeling too much will come again, and then I'll realize I feel nothing in the end.

I think I'm too empty to properly deal with this heartbreak
i'll take it for now because I'm sure a lack of feeling helps
(it's 4:17am, i feel nothing)
just heaviness behind my eyes, weight on my shoulders
I should lose a few pounds,
feel lighter
feel anything

i thought i'd have more to write about this
but i've got nothing
this whole summer i've been nothing

if anything makes it to autumn,
please let my plants live

twisting my ears to try to open up my brain
it's like the sound of waves against rocks
bashing fists against skulls
i miss you already but i'll always take the pain over forgetting

an apple a day
maybe one, here or there
an apple a week
a cigarette a day
(well, that's what the movies say)

pinching vertebrae,
trying to climb my spine
pick through the back of my neck and reach into my brain
fix something in there

been thinking more about cigarettes
cigars, really (false sense of health)
gotta have something to do with my hands
but its an interesting thought, pointless.
sticky-scented, rearranged, row of wicks
bags pulling my top lids
reaching out my hands to the chipped paint on the ceiling
fingers ache
bellies too
5am ready for bed but aching aching aching

been thinking more about cigarettes
cigars, really (false sense of health)
gotta have something to do with my hands
but its an interesting thought, pointless.
sticky-scented, rearranged, row of wicks
bags pulling my top lids
reaching out my hands to the chipped paint on the ceiling
fingers ache
bellies too
5am ready for bed but aching aching aching

fingernails primarily used to pick at ourselves
peel my lip off
bare my teeth
dig out each eye ball and desperately try stuffing each into an ear so i can maybe find out what my thoughts are in there.
open your legs and claw nothing
it's an entire gender of genocide, your genitals need no more claws

i don't think i know who i am anymore.
i know what i do
stuff i like
but *******
i s  t h i s  m y  b o d y ?
my fingers are just some girl's fingers
my brain just a brain
forcing me through the actions.
where'd my mind go?
am i finally boring?
does boring mean i can rest in peace,
or is this the beginning of a long cycle of discovery where I go back and forth of growing out of myself and fitting back into my skin ?

i can feel d i s t a n c e
it's an ache in my bones,
creaking doorways,
noisy joints. stinging knees and ribs every door frame and welcome mat
i don't know what i want except a certain proximity

i know there's not much to it,
we grow we age we die
20 feels like a ton at 3am.
I suppose I'll have coffee in the morning
perhaps put a needle through the eyelid
(stick it to the brow, hopefully i won't raise them much)

freezing girl wonders
"what is interesting
and is it better than happy"
and i say
"always
but dear,
be boring if you can"

tipsy in bed
ate too much and admiring old photos of last summer, last winter
i never thought i was skinny but these photos look so slim
and then i tried to eat more this year, thinking too little would make me weak (even though i was strong)
and now I binge and restrict then binge
it's all so stupid and pointless
and i'm fine
but i looked better when i was ****** up

light forms from fixtures in the empty parts kept deepest within us.
(i think we're afraid to share,
scared of growing dull if we give too much of ourselves away)
i have just a bulb in me,
the type of light that shines in a basement (kept tidy, though).
i don't prefer lamp shades or light covers
i thought it'd be beneficial to show my light off,
to project
to present how bright it is in there.
a whole life of keeping my bulb uncovered in a world kept hidden deep in their own chests
has left me little
by little
less bright.

who's to blame, really.
and who's smarter for it

there's a lot to the body of a poem,
i don't know.
sometimes i think a whole book of short sentences and 'enter,'
a whole book that reminds me of my early high school stream-of-thought poems,
shouldn't be acclaimed as great poetry on a shelf in barnes and noble.
but at the same time, I think you could leave a pile of feces to bake in the sun on the sidewalk,
3 people step in it by accident in a day,
and that is still life's finest example of poetry.
I've never really claimed to write poetry
but
there's a lot to the body of a poem,
each curve, each cellulite clump,
each real and exposed part of a poem
close up in a mirror type of exposed,
naked in front of your love for the first time type of exposed,
those are deserving...
but so are life's poems,
which is a lot like **** on the sidewalk.

I think I write both, and I suppose I like both and I know I am both.

should one even bother trying to be cute or nice when the pay off of such things are purely selfish ego fulfilling agendas?
If I am dainty and adorable will I feel better or will I feel just as stone cold and as unsure as always, just with a softer edge, cookie dough with kids not caring about the uncooked eggs, the warnings their mothers give them because there is absolutely no need to be cautious with cookie dough, and adorable seems the same way.
Are appearances anything but that, and if we didn't have mirrors would we actually feel better for ourselves, or wear make-up for ourselves,
not for any man, just for our own confidence and desire.
Truly, it is selfish.
I like to be pleased when looking in the mirror, and I'm not sure that I ever 100% am, but posting a cute photo of myself is hardly ever done because sometimes self indulgence on social media just feels like an inconvenience to my own true being
meaning
that
i am a fence.
and my own grass is greener where I water it

perched above water
thinking maybe the stillness in sound will ease my buzzing mind
if only my ears were filled with the deep blue
classic, cliche,
blue like your eyes or your blankets or home bedroom floor.
blue as in summer sky, hopping into the reservoir
i want to be there again
naked, with you on my 18th birthday at the top of that rock
gearing to jump.
i am so full when i am with you

all this babbling on about purpose
yeah right,
like any of us have a reason to be here/
we just exist and take up space
and do what we do
but not always well
and i just want to be good

fingernails are pretty evident on black t-shirts,
clippings from my teeth that prove they might be right when they say I always look nervous
I forgot people might see how anxious I feel.
I thought I looked intimidating

don't you ever get dizzy
letting the earth spin you in circles
I bet you're tired of the highs and lows of the tide
If only you could pull the moon a little closer,
whisper in its ear, ask it to take it a little easy on you
I'm on the beach, I come and go as I please.
Lately I've been sticking my feet in the water
and I'll try to whisper to the moon for you
but it doesn't listen to me, either.

i think i could be a cloud tonight
or climbing up the walls
fingers pulling back my eyelids.
can't wait to make love in the back of a car again,
maybe this time on our way to somewhere else

my lips are dry and i forgot chapstick and i still think of kissing you so all your ******* saliva can help moisten up these bad boys
but i'm four hours away and thats okay some weeks i just wish i had the right arms to lay in every single day
and yet i still need to shut the door when i brush me teeth in this hotel,
not because i don't like my company
but because **** for a second (at least) i need to be by myself
and i'm tired with work
but i'm kind of just sitting around all day, watching dances i don't get to dance in
wishing i got to dance, but happy to view
and i'm not sure who i am or how i represent myself
and it feels lonely
though at moments everything seems in place
but regardless, right now i'm here and still mainly thinking "**** kids, straighten your legs and point your feet and put your shoulders down and breathe"

i had a theme but lost it,
wish i was lyrically inclined
wish i had more and more time
even though these days i mostly waste it.

but idk whats wasting time, exactly

my eyes hurt because i'm tired
and i know this is a bad idea,
staring at a screen before much needed sleep,
leaving the required reading for the morning
but can the morning blame me?
I think of mountains and him at the same time
part of me says because it's all been progression, it's a feat to fall in love, and it makes me want to climb to the ******* top
and then the other part of me says i think of mountains and him because I'd climb onto his **** with the same motivating force it would take to climb a mountain.
Regardless
picturing mountains
makes me think of this boy with the ******* sky in his eyes.
(but honestly what's up with me and ****** love poems?)
looking out my window gives me different reactions as well -
climbing down the stairs for fresh air
or jumping out
but in the end
just feeling like climbing into bed

i love you i love you i love you
in ways i don't quite understand sometimes
how loving can feel like it hurts
that it can be so distracting i can't think of anything else
that it can lift me up in seconds
cliche, etc, cliche, etc.
i love you in new ways and in the same ways
i love you because you challenge me to evolve
and i have and i am and i will

last night i felt like i was reaching into your body for the end of the string that attached my body to yours
and it just wasn't there
but you said it was there
and i believed it was there
but why couldn't i find it with my fingers
why couldn't my palm grasp it
feeling around inside, peeking in and i'm looking around and I still don't see it but I tell myself I know it's there
and I know it has to be there because it's a string from my body that runs into you, where else could it be
and that's good enough so we go to bed without ever finding it
and in the morning I still feel detached but ignore the feeling until I can't anymore
and when you walked away
it felt like you snipped the string attaching us
and we couldn't find it because you had hardly wanted it there anyway
and when you ignored me
it felt like you knew all along that the end of my string attaching my body to yours
was already gone

thinking maybe this will be okay, i just have to let it.
smelling your cologne
your hand grabbing mine,
it means something different
(feels more important)
(and everything minuscule I ever got upset about is so dull now)

am i boring or boringly cliche in the things i find exciting

sometimes at the ends of small things,
it feels like everything is ending
there are no more leaves to fall
and what is coming still
will become a list of things that have ended

putting perfume on before bed,
dancing in my daydreams without my muscles being sore
because there, I actually have the motivation to stay stretched.
>sometimes it feels like i'm ******* with my destiny,
as if i knew what i was supposed to do,
and it wasn't exactly this.

In the bottom bunk,
Thinking of all the ****** things I've said to people while they were sad.
I was trying to make them feel less lonely, but "everyone feels like that sometimes" is hardly helpful and it just puts down the fact that they're feeling at all.
I wish I wouldn't talk sometimes, or
I wish I didn't grow up believing that everyone feels everything because I am constantly feeling so much
but not everyone does.
And believing that everyone feels doesn't help the feeling.

Next time anyone or myself is sad,
I will not minuscule it by involving it with everyone.

i'd like to rock climb your spine,
bungee jump off the bridge of your nose,
tackle the pillow beneath your head,
kiss you softly on the cheek, and then
i'd like to crawl into my own ear and whisper
"it's okay to go to sleep thinking of yourself"

my favorite hellopoetry user no longer writes on here
i don't know if she writes at all anymore
i don't know if she's even alive

why do i still write on here
why do i write at all
why am i even alive

usually mad at myself for eating, pinching the skin of my stomach and thighs, but i've got an eye on that oatmeal and i feel exhausted and what if it's just me being hungry and i want to be strong
but more importantly, i want to be thin
i'm not quite sure why that is
but don't worry, i'm not doing anything about how fat my arms and legs feel, the skin i get to pull around under my chin
i just contour my cheek bones hoping they won't look so full
and feel best on days i pride myself on being small.
what a mixed up world we live in
what a consumer field
what a first-world disease
why do i still order medium t-shirts when i look better in a small
because i'm disillusioned of it all
and i talk about it a lot
for not wanting to talk about it
but i think about it even more

Under ur covers
Tastes like flesh
Or lips or tongue
Tastes a lot like what I love
& then hands are under waistbands
& this comforter is undiscovered land
I'll explore it with you
If you explore me

i don't know my own name some nights
when i'm sober and by myself and slightly chilled, exhausted
it's mine but i don't feel it's mine
i don't feel like anything at all
but tonight I'm not sure
feeling nothing used to be bad
but being nothing feels like it might be relief

sometimes i look at skinny pictures and think to myself,
i wish i starved myself or threw it up
tomorrow i'll drink more water and eat less food
because i don't want to impress anyone,
but i want to feel that small under big shirts
and i want to wrap up into a ball
and i want to look fragile but
i don't want to be fragile...
and so i remind myself
to be strong is hard when i'm making myself small

i was going to write a poem
but i had my headphones in for an hour without even listening to anything
and my teeth feel weird,
as well as a tendon in my ankle that i'm afraid won't get better
and i really should get sleep tonight
so maybe another time

Sometimes you're like my soft rain
when I'm trying to bud after winter and nothing is coming and it's hard to break through soil
You are occasionally that first fall of soft rain
Making it easier to grow

just decided a problem of mine is wanting to create in every form
I want to draw and paint
and take pictures and videos
and create dances and do ******* pottery and embroider into shirts and build a garden and screen-print designs and and and
I don't have time for it all
and I'm afraid life forces people to choose one
or to narrow it down
and I will strive to create excellent things
without cutting any of it out

i've always wanted long matches.
i used to be afraid of fire, afraid of the oven, afraid of heat
and then my 8th grade science teacher forced everyone to individually go in front of the class, strike a match, and light a burner
and though my hands were shaking
i got over it
so now i see the extra long matches in the store and i want them
to strike over and over
maybe light candles
and my hands won't shake, i don't think

in a weird spot today
2am staring at walls
shaky fingers
and since every poem turns into a love poem,
i want you to want to impress me still
i want to rest my hand on your cheek and close my eyes and be in my most comfortable place

My critical writing professor said that artists write or paint or do whatever art
on what they're obsessed with and made us talk about this poet who wrote about caves
and yeah, we agreed, caves are cool, but in the end it's still just rock.
I can't stop writing about you
and this isn't supposed to be romantic
or prove that I'm obsessed
I just think it's nice to hear poems about rock
and it's nice to love anything at all

today i dreamed that you were ******* me
and then i fell back asleep and dreamed i was ******* myself
and this girl down the hall was saying "it was just middle school"
as everyone looked at her scars and I was thinking
wow I'm glad I thought it through and only cut myself on my legs and hips because who would want the attention of ******* wrists
and it really was just in the past,
then this girl named maria tried to relate saying oh her boyfriend accidentally cut himself when he was drunk trying to cut pizza
so the blonde one said, "that's not really the same thing"
and I continued sitting on the floor, thinking
who the **** are these people
thinking her scars seemed awfully small, does she ever feel embarrassed that they're not bigger,
thinking wow why did I think that, that's not appropriate at all
but if they were on her wrist anyway-
and self-harm isn't cutting pizza
or comparable with scar size
self-harm is just the embarrassing middle-school *******
we're stuck living with
and when you can't see the scars,
it's still in the back of your head when the girl with the big glasses says, "wow that's so sad"
and the girl says,
"no it's okay, it was all in the past."

Every time I think of making decisions,
I try very hard to think
What would I choose if there was no you?
Where would I go if I was alone?
But
sometimes I truly believe you could push me to go so much farther than I ever thought I'd reach
And working together doesn't scare me

Truth is,
I'll say I want to lose weight so I'll eat less tomorrow
But I spent all day today feeling especially more bloated than usual after eating half of lunch, and the rest of the day I felt full.
So now I'm laying in bed at 1:43am and my stomach hurts and it's grumbling? Maybe digesting? Maybe I'm hungry and I can never decide if going to bed hungry is a success or a failure in my mind currently
But I know what it should be

Since I only write love poems,
This ones about the way he said he could see me for the rest of his life and wouldn't consider it a bad one.
I don't remember what I ever say back, exactly
All I know is that it's 1:30am, I've got an 8am tomorrow and I can't sleep because I'm too busy enjoying my daydreams thinking of all the things I could enjoy with you

There are a few things that I don't care about in life and some of them are:
-why you're a vegetarian or vegan
-who my boyfriend is following on social media
-if people hold the door for me

I do care whether or not people respect your dietary preferences
If people think their girlfriends can't know who they're following on social media
And if people slam the door in my face