did you tell her about me?
of the pain i caused you?
of my problems that you no longer wanted to fix?
or of the ******* heart of yours i broke.
did you tell her how i TRANSFERED for YOU left all MY friends to please YOU
or  did you tell her about the call at 4 A.M. because I had a nightmare and needed to talk to someone, to hear my best friend's voice tell me "it's okay olivia, it was just a dream"
or how i asked you to send me sad things so that i would force myself to cry, because i hadn't cried in months and wanted to feel SOMETHING other than numb
or how we stayed up until 3 A.M. in Germany trying to solve this unsolvable mess, and you cried and i cried. everything was so ****** up
or all the red mango's i put on your doorstep as a peace offering.

you knew me, but you didnt
and that's something i still can't figure out
you knew how to manipulate me into thinking it was the best choice for US.
you loved using "us"
but you never ******* encouraged me or made me feel PROUD
I showed you my ****** poetry and you just "hmph-ed" you ******* HMPH-ED
Awhile ago I felt like I was drowing.
And I didn't want to come up and show my face to you, to my mom, to anyone who mattered
you mattered to me, c.
you mattered.
but now,
my priorities lie in
gaining back everything you put away in a box
that tiny little box you labeled
branded
with your name

a thick blanket of smoke surrounded me,
that came from inside my lungs?
the smoke enveloped my thoughts and shrouded my discernment    
it creeped around, its fingers beckoning me towards it.
it entered my lungs before i could say no, even though i had already said yes.  
why am i saying yes to so many poisonous things, and no to things that should matter
i wanted to do it, to prove myself; not  to him or her, but to myself.
if i don't act tough, that translates into vulnerability, and vulnerability is more dangerous than most risks taken
one more than her
a deeper hit
I guess I'm more competitive than I thought.
*but when do i draw the line

is there a cateogory for people who don't love men and don't love women?
... like a label for someone who doesn't feel like they could be loved, completely by either? or want to be loved by either?
i don't even know
but that's me.
so.
yup, that's it.

nostalgia is a mysterious thing;
it intoxicates you with it's smells and sights until you dip your feet  into the sea of childhood and then it pulls you deep into it's water because it knows you won't fight the current.
everyone else seems like they break the surface,
but i'm still here, under the surface refusing to gasp for air

it's that feeling when you first walk into a concert,
you know what i'm talking about.

when you see the red, green, and blue spot lights.
illuminating our eyes
once again, igniting the spark they try to put out

everywhere you look people are pulsing to the beat, as it unites the crowd in ways you didn't even know existed

standing there, you are allowed to forget
forget the bad math grade, the ****** week, the relationship that you will probably never be able to fix with your mother

I wish that one could feel like this all the time.
but then, that might ruin the specialness of it

If I could feel like this all the time, then maybe I wouldn't feel so lost all the time

That's the beauty of concerts. You let the music find you.
You may be in a crowd with a thousand other people, but that song, those lyrics, that beat is meant for you
Let it crawl into you. Starting from your toes until it climbs up to your head.
Allowing you to take down the walls, brick by brick, song by song...
Giving you the best high you've ever had.

I hope you stand next to someone you love.
But  if you dont, love them anyway because you are at a concert and nothing,
nothing
is better than that