I don't think it's
odd to feel unloved
and far from ****
if your boyfriend
who used to want you
all the time,
doesn't even cuddle you
when he comes to bed.
It's like sleeping over
at a friend's house.

He still says
I love you

But sometimes it's hard to tell

Lately I've been
writing poems
and then forgetting
about them as soon as
I hit the send button.
Usually the words
hang around inside my head
and I obsessive over it,
reading the poem to myself
multiple times
without actually looking at it,
as though I have to remember
or it was never there.

But my writing recently
has felt dry,
and sporadic.

I can't stop pulling
out my hair.

B
    R
E
      A
K    

  F
A
    S
T

WITH

T
  H
      E
B
      E
           A
                T
                   L
               E
            S
.
.
.
.

Hickeys get you
into trouble.
Maybe, you're not
supposed to have one.
It's a dead give away
you're sexually active.
Work won't think it's funny,
your parents don't wanna see it.
Your friends say it's ******.
And it's permanent for
a few days,
like a tattoo you didn't
choose to get,
they don't wash away.

Hickeys get you into
trouble.
But that's what makes them
so fun.

I wrote him
a mess of run on sentences
in a message on Facebook,
one day after work when
the beer gave me false courage.
I haven't read it since
I released it from my grasp.
I never want to.
It's been days,
and he's had no reaction.
He probably doesn't care.
I feel like an idiot,
but my drunk words
were true words.

I came home from work
and started watching
Louie,
and then I got a beer.
I drank and I watched.
And then I realized I
needed cigarettes
so I decided to take
a walk because I was
feeling a little tipsy.
On my way to the Village Pantry
it seemed like everyone
was looking at me.
I got my cigarettes
and walked back home.
I passed by a lake
and it was beautiful.
The world looks different
when you're walking.
Then I got home,
and took off my shirt
because the beer made me sweat.
So I took a shower.
I heard the neighbor's dog
barking and prayed that
no one was here,
for me.
The water felt good,
so I stood under the shower
head for awhile,
and debated messaging him,
and telling him how I feel.
Then of course I backed out,
so I grabbed another beer,
and sat back down on the couch,
and I was right back
where I started.

This week has been
unbelievably bad.
You probably wouldn't believe
me if I told you.
It feels like my life is crumbling
like a sand castle,
and I have no control over what
happens next.
I just want to stop.
Stop moving, stop caring, stop s t o p
                                                               s
                                                                 t
                                                                    o
                                                                      p
                                                                       .
But for now,
I'll solve my problem the only way
I know how.
Ignoring it.
When I get home I'm going
to drink that beer in the fridge,
and hope that it doesn't taste
as bitter as today.

If something ever actually
went right, and
turned out the way it should,
then I guess that's what they call
death.
Because nothing is ever good,
or right in life.
You change jobs in hopes that
it makes you happy,
and makes you money,
only to find out you never should have
come here.
You follow your brain instead
of your heart,
and you end up loving two people
at the same time.

I am beginning to think that
everything and everyone is too
good to be true.
Actually,
being alive is too good to be true.

ha.
what kind of idiot am I?
I messaged him and asked,
Can we talk sometime?
And a little part of me
really expected him to answer.

But of course he isn't going to.
He has nothing left to say.
He is the one that said we shouldn't
be friends.

But god ******,
this isn't fair.
It's not what I wanted.

Why can't I get some closure?
Why does it have to end like this?
Why does it have to end at all..

I have a memory of him
that I love.

I came over on a sunny day
and he asked me to take
a ride with him.
Of course I said yes.

He smiled when I put on
the helmet,
and I wrapped my arms
around his waist.
Everybody used to think
I was crazy for getting
on the back of his bike,
but I wasn't afraid.
I trusted him.

And I remember that during
the ride he would let his right
hand fall,
and rest on my leg.
I knew he was doing this
on purpose because I could feel
his fingers tighten around me.

Even though my *** hurt
from sitting on the back
of his dirt bike,
I didn't want it to end.

Riding was his special thing,
and I felt such joy that he
wanted me along.

I would do anything
to be on the back of that bike
again.

The cat is laying at
my feet,
and there are people
in my living room
doing dabs,
choking and coughing.
My neighbors and my room mates.
I am lying here,
high as the moon myself,
thinking about how I needed
to capture this moment
for some reason.
A train goes by again,
and my fan is whirring in
the window.
The cat moves her head.

It's been a good night

I miss being alone,
and taking time for myself.
I miss sitting on the couch,
sharing a bowl with my lips
and catching up on a show that I love.
I miss watching the sun set,
and not saying a word.
Taking walks, or going on a cruise.
True peace and quiet.
I miss smoking in my car at
the fort at nine in the morning.
Taking my time after a shower,
because I have nowhere to go.
Greed and gluttony used to be my lovers,
spending all of my money on things that I want,
whenever I want it.

I miss all of the time that I once
thought was being wasted.

I think I am coming to
terms,
on my own,
that it is okay that I still
feel love for him, that I still care,
even if I never find out if he does too.
We were more than just a few months.
We were best friends,
we were all each other had at that time.
I loved him for exactly who he was,
and he loved me, for me.
My heart will always want him
to be happy, to have peace.
And that's okay.
It is okay to care about someone.
I need to remember this, so I can stop
wondering why why why.

I want to tell him
that it wasn't fair to
finally ask me to be his,
when he knew I was someone else's.
Especially since we both considered
ourselves in the friend zone
with each other,
because I was taken.

I haven't heard from him since
that evening when he asked me if
I wanted to give us a try.

And I said, not right now.

He couldn't be my friend,
because he wanted to be my everything.

Sometimes when I think
about him it makes me sick
to my stomach.
Like I'm going throw up every
nice word he ever whispered
in my ear.
Sometimes when I think
about him, it makes tears fall
to my hands.
Like every time he touched me
is all being felt in this one moment.
Sometimes when I think
about him it lifts my soul.
Like every time he made me smile
just happened.

Sometimes I think about him.

Sometimes I wonder if he thinks about

me.

This is all too much,
how can one week out of
an entire year feel so **** long.
My hands have hardly left
my hair alone,
and my smile has only made a
brief appearance.
Well what's wrong?
whatswrongwhatswrongwhatswrongwhatswrong
Nothing.
Everything.
me.
My whole entire life. Its not going as planned,
its not what I want.
I always need money, but I don't want it.
My job is everything I hate.
And I am stuck here.
I'm stuck. I'm stuck. I'm stuck.

I just really need a break from life
for awhile.

This is the most depressing
time of my young life.

Every day I wake up,
it's a struggle to survive,
to get high,
to smile honestly.

But it's perfect writing material.

The misery of working a full time job,
trying to succeed in College,
while maintaining friendships, and relationships.

Impossible, by the way.

They don't tell you this when you're young,
in fear that you'll actually go ahead
and take that final solution,
but it doesn't always get better..

in fact, sometimes it gets worse.

But this time
there's no finish line and a flag
that says, "You're done!"

Because this is the real world,
and in the real world you don't get
a ribbon just for showing up.

I saw you and your little family today.
It was only for a second,
as I drove by from my busy life.
I hope you know how lucky
you are.
I hope that it's all enough,
to keep you happy.
This may not have been the life
you chose,
but its obviously the one you were meant
to live.
So I guess what I'm saying is,
don't have any regrets, or wonder what
could have been, with me.
Because none of that matters now,
a year later,
and look where we are.
Strangers again.

I changed my major today.
The one I quickly picked
a year ago,
English.
After experiencing my
first year of college,
I discovered that what I
really want to do,
is help people.
So now I am a social work major.
I am never as hopeful
and excited for my future
as I am when I know I'm
going in the right direction.
It will take some time,
and loads of hard work,
but one day I will achieve
all of my dreams.

If I told him how much
I actually truly miss him he
wouldn't believe me.
I could message him and pour my
heart out all over his arms,
and he wouldn't believe me.
If I told him I miss the smell of
his room,
watching his meticulous, yet ***** hands work.
All of the answers and the knowledge
that he contained in that absolutely
beautiful misunderstood brain.
He wouldn't believe me,
because he believes that I discarded him
like a cigarette **** out of my window.
Hell, he may not believe me,
even if I mailed every poem I've ever
written about him to his address.
It would be a book by now.
He doesn't know how much I miss
the friend that cared for me when nobody else did.

I have never missed anybody for this amount of time.
But he was never just anybody to me,
he became everything.

It's sad but it's true.
People are more likely
to pick a side,
than to lend a hand
when some one is falling
apart.

If you asked me,
"How are you?"
I wouldn't know how to answer.

                                I am everything.

Every human emotion runs through
my body all the time,
and they fluctuate even faster.
One second I can be the happiest I've
been in awhile,
and the next,
terribly angry,
or depressingly sad.

I do not blame these crazy feelings
on anyone,
other than myself.

My boyfriend is exceptional at always
keeping a smile on my face,
but even in his presence I can still not be okay.

Each day is a struggle,
to keep trying,
fighting,
sleeping,
working,
not pulling,
smiling.

     Sometimes I wonder if I will ever wake up
       and feel like everything is okay.

There are some things that
I would like to change.
About myself.
To become a happier, healthier me.

Eat healthier. Cut fast food from
my diet.
Stop biting my nails,
stop feeling guilty, and
stop trying to make things okay with people from my past who don't deserve my effort.
I want to start dressing the way I want to without worrying about being judged by someone.
Do something good for someone at least once a day.
Work harder,
study harder,
sleep more.
Spend more time with my family, and my mom.
Find a way to start saving money.
Get Health insurance.
Write something every day on here.

And finally,
get my trichotillomania under control. I want to start keeping a diary, and keeping track of when and what causes me to pull. Learn ways to stop, or substitute the pulling with something else.. like reading, drawing, writing, painting, SOMETHING!

Oh, and to smile, every

  day.

:)

I just started reading
some poetry of some
author I'd never heard of,
as I puffed on the hookah.
He recalled a time he was
naked with a woman.
Then I looked at his
picture on the back cover
and scrunched my nose.
He wasn't the type that
looked like he could get you good.
But I'm sure he could
rock my socks with science.
Anyways,
I know that's shallow,
but see, I'm used to Charles Bukowski.
A person and poet that
I would genuinely ****,
if he wasn't dead.
So of course Im more likely
to want to hear about his
past experiences.
I don't know where I
was going with this..

The Dixie chicks
just started singing in
the background,
and it distracted me.

I remember the first
time I was made aware
of what I am doing.
I was a senior in high school,
having a sleep over at my
friend's house.
She had just got done
doing my twin sister's hair.
It was really pretty.
Long, blonde, and curled.
Cam said,
I could do the same for you.
And she smiled.
So I sat in front of her,
and she started messing
with my much shorter hair.
Suddenly, she stops,
and breathes out.
Then slowly she said,
What happened to your hair?
Of course I asked her what she meant.
Then she showed me.
It was missing, gone.
I was bald.
I just sat there,
frozen by my own reflection.
What was happening?!
I tried laughing it off,
but as I laughed,
tears started colliding
onto my legs.
Was I crazy?
When did I do that?!

As soon as I got home
I googled,
why am I pulling out my hair?

What I found.

Trichotillomania.

I feel so anxious.
My heart is racing,
my mind is overflowing.
I don't know why
because everything is
fine.
I should have drank
a beer.
I am smoking
to prevent myself
from pulling out my hair.
Literally.

I wish I could call
my boyfriend,
but it's 2:27 a.m.

I just felt like I needed
to write.
I know that this
isn't anything profound.

Did we miss the moon?
I'd lie in your arms if I could
Such a common pain
Repeats itself again and again

Flowers grow in the springtime and leaves fall from the trees
I've been GONE for so long, you just threw away the keys
I understand it, but I don't want it

I know it so well, you tripped me and I laughed when you fell
This isn't how it should be
I've let you drift so far, from me

But please hold onto the memories
Before we really crash and burn
We've got ourselves so wrapped up that we've forgotten how to learn
I understand it, but I don't want it

I came to work
really ******.
There was no way
to hide it.
Ya know,
when your eyes
are impossible
to open wide,
and totally bloodshot.

But now my high has
gone away,
and I'm starving,
or maybe its the munchies.
A nap sounds like a dream
come true.

Maybe I should stop
smoking *** before I go
to work until 1 a.m,
with 7$ to my name.

Nahhh.. **** that :)

If I had known then,
what I know now,
then I would have done things
a lot differently.
If I knew that those days
really wouldn't last forever,
then I never would have left,
I would have always participated.
I would have gotten **** drunk on a Thursday,
even though we had school the next day,
just because,
I would have gone on every
smoke cruise,
every walk to the gas station,
I would have tripped sooner,
been myself sooner,
I would have stopped worrying
about him so much,
and started worrying about them
more.
If I knew then,
what I know now,
then maybe I would still
have friends,
I wouldn't feel like an outcast
in my own home town.
Its stupid,
but I can now accept that
I ****** up the relationships
I had with so many people.
Its my fault.
Its my fault.

If I knew then what I know now,
I wouldn't hate myself so much
today.

I still have the need
to text you at 2:53
in the morning
just to see if you'll answer.
I still miss the way you
always had the smell
of alcohol on your breath.
That incredibly sweet,
real, sad smile that you
only let me see a few times.
I still miss the way it
felt when you're arms
were around me,
and your breath was on
my neck.
The sound of a motorcycle
makes my heart stop,
and the taste of beer
and cigars make me
miss your lips.

All 5 of my senses
miss him..

He said he wants
to marry me.

As a girl,
that is something
you never forget.

I've only thought
about spending the
rest of my life with
one other person,
it didn't happen,
but I haven't forgotten.

I'm in love though,
and it's wonderful.
Love l o v e love love
L O V E

There really is no feeling
like the one I get,
whenever I hear or see
him.
Somehow I relive
every memory I have
in the time
it takes to say his name.
I miss everything that
he is, that he was.
The first time we hung out
we were drinking on
his couch,
until he took my beer,
set it down,
and started kissing me.
He was the typical bad boy,
funky black hair,
that he didn't take care of
but still looked great.
Tattoos all over his body,
his choice of vehicle was
a dirt bike,
didn't get along with
authority,
and he was wild in bed.

We probably could have
been a great couple.

But I never gave him a chance,
and that is a choice I
may regret forever.

The fan is luring
me to sleep.
My sister and her
boyfriend are in
the bathroom getting
ready for bed.
I'm already in bed,
in my new room,
that's still looks
like no one lives in it.
I still haven't finished
unpacking.
I'm distracted,
thinking about my mom,
a cigarette, Sleep.

Sometimes I feel
ten thousand different
feelings all at once..

The big dream is to
one day publish a book
of my poetry.
Not for money, or fame,
but for me.
It may not be on the horizon
today,
but I have no doubt
that one day you may
be reading this,
written in ink
on a crisp white page,
with my name on the cover.
But until the day that
my little book is sitting among
the greats,
I will keep writing, practicing,
suffering, smiling,
and trying.

I would do anything
to catch a glimpse.

I hope that I get
to keep trying for
the rest of my life,

to make you smile.

It doesn't bother me
anymore that there
have been people who
left my life
without saying good-bye.
The beauty of age, time and space,
is that it can erase all
the pain and worry you
once carried.
I am comfortable with
who I am,
and I'm done apologizing
for being just that.
It's just not worth it
to try and make others happy,
while forgetting about yourself,
to be criticized or drug down
by people who don't
understand what you want
out of life.
So I can count my friends
on one hand,
but at least I'm happy.

I'm not afraid of what
you think anymore.

I will never feel bad for you if you think life ***** because you're SO pretty. You have no idea how much harder it is not to be.
I don't even want to hear the struggle of an 18 yr old who is just getting their first job. Welcome to the real world.
I can't stand people who don't have a job and are still better off than me.
I am not going to care if you're complaining about the significant other that you've been on and off with for EVER!
People with no money who smoke more *** than I do, because it's other people's ****, and call themselves a "stoner."
People who call themselves hippies because they smoke ***, wear sunflower headbands from Claire's and have only done acid once in their lives.
Oh and that John Green is a ******* sell out who shouldn't let anyone make Looking for Alaska into a movie because they're just going to RUIN it.