It's all my fault that I said nothing
But it's not my fault that you said no

It's all my fault that I always no
but it's not my fault they never say nothing

but at the rate that the world is moving
and despite this state that I'm in
I still managed to stop moving
long enough to be trampled by tortoises
and I somehow managed to be missed by the stampede

Sometimes I wish the turtles would get off of my back
because they crawl so slow
and time begins to ache

Sometimes I wish the stampede would target me
and the last thing I would see is a violent crowd
but I still imagine a mirage behind the mob

I have an invitation for the turtles;
they can sleep on my back.

I always get the sense
that it's late.

Later in the day;
          Where did my morning go?
Later in my life;
           I need to get a move on
           I need to accomplish dreams and things
Later in the year;
           Is it a new year already?
           What have I been doing for the last nineteen years?
            Maybe it's been twenty-two.

Later in the moment;
            Are you leaving already?
            When will I see you again?
             Oh, that's a long time
Later in the whatever-this-is-that's-happening-to-me;
            When are you coming back?
             Oh, you're leaving for good?
             Okay.
             Well, let me know if I can change your mind.
             No?
             Okay.

Later in my lack of experience;
          Oh, hey there.
           I'm Peyton
           I want to let you know up front.

I'm a little crazy.
Oh.
Okay.
Goodbye, then.

I don't know why it makes me sick to my stomach everytime I look at you. You're beautiful and cunning and interesting and I hate you because you're so different than me and yet I'm fascinated by everything you can be that I can't, and I'm in awe of everything you can do that I can't. God you have so much talent.

Yet everytime I look at you I get sick to my stomach. You're perfect because you know that you aren't. And you're so wrong sometimes, but I can't even know this because I hardly know you and just writing about you and ranting about you makes me feel so weird because you would feel so weird if you knew that I was writing about you and ranting about you. This must mean I care about you, but I don't know why. I care so much about someone I've never even met.

Everytime I look at you I get sick to my stomach. I guess this means we should meet. "Hi, I'm Peyton." Oh, wait. You don't know this is about you or who I am for that matter.

So I guess all I can do is keep getting sick to my stomach everytime I look at you. And all I can do is be jealous of you for some reason that I still can't figure out, because there's no way that I'd ever want to be you. You're so ******* fascinating. I wish you knew how fascinated I am by you. Wait, no I don't. If you knew then you would know that I know who you are and that I'm writing and ranting about you and I would get embarrassed about how creepy I am.

So I'll just keep looking at you and getting sick to my stomach, because no matter how hard I try not to, I still can see you everywhere.

I don't know why I get sick to my stomach everytime I look at you.

Oh wait. I guess I just told you why.

I have a dark side
It's just on the inside
Which is why you probably can't see it

The other side of my skin
is the foundation for
a world with no stars

The world would be so different
if I could see it with my body turned inside out
Everybody would see my sadness
the inkiness of my veins
The tears in my blood
making it runny and
my organs aren't sunny
because my heart is the moon

But if everyone else
could see the world with my body turned inside out
maybe they would see that I'm more beautiful on the inside
than I am on the out
Because my organs:
My inky veins and My runny blood and My moon
are more attractive than everyone elses

Or maybe they're not.

Probably not.

My moon just likes to imagine they are.

I've always wondered
what it's like to have a weightless heart
Mine weighs me down to the ground
My back is always hunched
because my heart brings my chest to my knees
And the world tells me to keep my chin up
and to stand up straight
and to be a lady
But all of this is **** near impossible
with such a heavy heart
I need
a stronger back
stronger knees
better posture
and although I'm independent,
I'll admit that I could use a pair
of burly arms to help me lift my heavy heart
so I can keep my chin up
stand up straight
be a lady.

I'm pretty sure there's a ghost in my house
I hear weird noises
of things that shouldn't happen
when I'm the only one home
And I know that these noises
could be house maintenance malfunctioning
But sometimes it's nice
to believe there's a ghost in my house
Even if it haunts me
because I'd rather be haunted than lonely.

It's not modesty
I swear it's only disbelief
If it was modesty
then honesty would always
be make-believe

It makes me a bit skeptical
that you would get critical
of me being all high and mighty
and standing on a pedestal
(that in reality sinks below the surface)
of me having a little dignity
in one aspect of myself
an aspect that I hate a majority of the time

When I stand on a pedestal
it sinks into the ground
and the only people that can see me
are the ones looking down.

I won't say "
Happy New Year!"
because I am still waiting
for a new day to come.

When I make my morning coffee
I mix it with tears
They're my secret ingredient

I let them drop
Just a pinch and a dash
and I stir them in with cream

My tears are my morning caffeine.

I lay awake at night
and think of nightmares
and these nightmares
are my lullaby

Then I fall asleep
and have real nightmares
about waking up
and being in reality

When I wake
I daydream of the evils
that sing me to sleep
and my reality is the nightmare I dreamt about last night

I make my bed
and as I lay in it
my nightmares begin
to serenade me again.

I don't understand
why my attempt
at happiness
is making me so sad.

If jealousy is ugly then so am I.

I'm prone to injury
but not on purpose
I'm just clumsy and
don't pay attention

I let people in
but not on purpose
I'm just not careful and
I don't lock my doors at night.

I try to let
my blood run clean
but you have a mean tendency
to pour salt in my wound.

But I don't learn from mistakes
I just make them again
So I won't wrap it up
I'll let my wounds out at night

I'll let my blood run down my arm
and I'll hope that it can make it
down my *******
and I'll hope it will drip down
onto my leg
and I hope that it will trickle down my knee
and I'll hope that it will crawl onto the ground
without getting salty.

Maybe someday
There will be a pool of clean blood and
Maybe someday
Somebody will splash in it
Without getting salt on their shoes.

I hear in my head
voices calling my name
Some of them are familiar
But they all say the same
I could plead that I'm insane
but all the same
I hear in my head
voices calling my name
Because I secretly want to be noticed
by nobody and everybody
all at once.

I've given up
on good mornings
and now everything
is only a
hello

All I do is try to think of a line to catch someone's breath
Then I realize all I know is the truth
So now all I do
Is hope that a breath is captured
by honesty

Things are much simpler now
and simplicity is bliss
I can shout to the world now
because I know you're not listening
and your ears were the only one's that mattered
they were the only one's I censored
I can even scream your name
so loud
that my larynx catches fire
and I start choking and hacking
but you would hear neither
your name
nor the choking and hacking
or the hoping and sapping
or the slapping of my heart on the pavement

That slap was so simple
and simplicity is bliss
but it's the confusion
and complexity that I miss
I wish my heart wouldn't just slap on the pavement
lifeless
I wish it would put up a fight
and die with some pride
but it just got smacked out of my chest
by your hand
for cars to run over
like road ****.

I try so hard
I try all the time
I try
but I don't try to do something
I try to do anything

I try so hard
to be anything
I try to be me
but I'm not myself at all

I try to be different
but not from anybody else
I try to be different from somebody
I try to be different than myself

I try to be honest
I try not to be false
I try to be true
I try to be you

I try to hate you
I try to create you
I try to be different than you
because I try not to
try to be you

I try so hard
I try all the time
I try to decide what
I try to do

I try so hard
to be something effortless

They say
(and I'm not sure who they are)
but they say this

They say
that it's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness

Well I am no candle
Because I run off of electricity
and I may not be the brightest bulb
but that only means that if you turn me on
and leave me alone
I will die faster than
flourescents
for instance
I'll flicker with the ticker
that contantly hovers over my head
while the others
will give yellow light to everyone
they know
and everyone
they love
Which is all I can dream of

And what they say is true
It's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness
So don't leave me to be the curse
and don't leave me to be what everyone curses

And I know
I am not the brightest bulb
so all I ask
is that if you turn me on,
turn me off before you leave
so there is still a little flicker left in me
so somebody else
can turn me on again
and maybe then
I can be the candle that gets lit
rather than darkness that is cursed

You have beautiful eyes
     it's too bad you keep them closed
          and it's too bad you keep them clouded with tears
You have a beautiful mouth
     it's too bad you keep it closed
And I'm sure you have a beautiful voice
    but you glue your tongue to the roof of your mouth
And you probably have a beautiful body
     but you wear so many layers, nobody knows
And I know you have beautiful toes
     because you're never on them, you wave them in the air and show them off
And it's likely that your heart is heavy
    but you don't let people test its weight
And maybe your soul could be strong
     but you never let it out for exercise
And I'm sure other people could see you as I do, and feel the same way as I do
     but you never let them look at you

Because you live in the mirror
    and the only one that can see you is me.

I stare at the ceiling
I don't count sheep
I count the number
of letters in your name

I close my eyes
and continue to creep
because it's quiet and I can see
nothing but the insides
of my eyelids and my mind

So I open my eyes, but I put this blanket on my face
and I try not imagine things as I try to sink deep
into my meditative process
but I still can see the letters in your name

1
2
3
4
5

I lay awake and have nightmares
They sing me to sleep.

If there's one thing I've learned in life
It's that
Although high pitches have purity
The low grumble has got the soul
And all through the years
of itches and puberty
(two words I hate; I cringe)
the ******* can still have humility
and modesty is over-rated
because I wish I wasn't so modest
and I wish I wasn't so honest
and I wish I wasn't so jealous
because everything that's looked up upon
I tend to grab a hold of on accident
and I can't let it go
it's branded on the surface
and virginity is over-rated
because maybe the sexies
just know how to show love
and to be loved
Or maybe I'm just too modest
and too honest
and too jealous
And although I scream
a really high pitch
it never seems to be pure
But purity is over-rated
So when I'm feeling anything
I'll grumble
because the grumblers have the soul
and soldiers know how to fight

I pull my shoulder blades together
and stick out my chest
as I lengthen my arms to spread my wings
and I look up to the sky
as I wear a bullseye
on my back
and I can't see you from behind
but I sense that you're there
and as I inhale the sky
I see my fellows fly
forming a "V"
and I want to take off
and fly behind, on the side
that's shorter than the other
and yes, I know that you're still behind
I haven't forgotten
You with your crossbow
aiming an arrow
squinting with one eye
at the bullseye on my back
and me, I'll squint with both eyes
My left squinting at the sun in the sky
My right squinting in fear of what's behind
and as I anticipate your arrow skewering
the soft spot between my wings
My right eye is surprised
at the hail that gets dumped on my face.

Sometimes I think
about somebody
that I've never met
and wonder

if they have ever thought about me

I normally wouldn't do this
but I'm different than before
and you told me this
as if I didn't know, but It's true
because I didn't know
that I'm different in ways
I never wanted to be.

I'm obsessive and possesive
but let me tell you
I disagree
But it doesn't matter what I think
because you will always think
that I'm obsessive and possesive
and maybe I am.

Although this makes me sad
because obsessive and possesive
are things I never wanted to be
But let me tell you
it's not the saddest thing about this thing

What makes my heart sink
is not what you think
but what you like best
and what you like best
takes a needle to the balloon in my chest
because what you like best
is the old me.

You like me best when I hate me
So I guess I can give you a call
Whether that is when I hate me
or when I ain't me
I don't know
But I'll let you know.
Either way,
I'll give you a call
when I fall.

My brain is a train that gets off track
I continue speeding on this rocky terrain
but this train has no end
I forgot to build a caboose
and the gears holding my cars together
are loose
And I see all of this and realize
my train is coming undone

At night my dignity leaves with the sun
as hoodlums come vandalize
my train's frail body
But I realize also
the beauty that now covers up
what's rotting apart
The destruction that molds
my train into a body of art.

When I'm by myself I'm often
Happy and sad at the same time, and it's nice and
Yet, I never know how to feel good about it

Darling, Dear, Honey, Sweetie
I hate all of these names, even in my
Dreams

I don't know how to feel good about

What I've done, should I have remained
Anonymous to you, not for your own good
I'm far too selfish for
That, but for my own good because I'm

Selfish enough for that, but I don't know if that's a bad thing
Or if I would want to care about you more than myself

Late at night when I can't dream
Or whe there's too much dream about, I have
Nightmares while I lay awake. So I'll stay awake until it's time to say
Good Morning

Sometimes I see things
It's a rare occurance
because I don't mean to see them
I mean to look away from something
else.

Sometimes I notice
But only for a split second
but I don't usually remember
until hours later

Today I noticed something
It was a rare occurance
I didn't mean to see them
I meant to look away from something else

Today I noticed
But only for a split second
I didn't remember
until now

Today I shied away
From what was in front of my face
and I noticed from across the room
a pair of eyes
and what a sight they were to see
I wonder if they had seen
the pair of green
looking at their sky.

There are two
still floating around
in the world somewhere.

I only know where one of them is.

It's 12:14 AM
and I'm being unsensible
because why would I be practical
When I only get scolded when I'm somebody else

So I'll live awake
and I'll write
and I'll think about the world
With folk as my soundtrack
Lyrical banjos overlapping with my thoughts
and mixing them together

And I'll have conversations in my head
because lonliness isn't as bad
as the lovers make it sound
And I'll pretend that there's someone next to me
But I don't even want to admit to myself who it is
Let alone to you

And I'll pretend that I can do things I shouldn't
and can't
and I'll do them in my head
alongside that person
and we'll go places that don't exist
because they might as well exist
and I know you can't resist
Because I decide that you can't
and I make the decisions when it's
12:16 AM in Alonedom

And this is the most personal I've ever been
And it's only because
It's 12:17 AM
and I'm being unsensible
and writing
and thinking about the world
In a way that I wouldn't be able to in the sunlight
And I'm admitting that there's somebody next to me
That nobody else can see
But they're not imaginary
They're real for me.

One of us had to change
I took the high road
You did too
Which I find strange

But
Now I guess we'll wait
for a compromise
or one of us
to change back

Hopefully this time
it's only one.

I'm just a piece of straw
Not in the center of a haystack
But off to the right a little
You're the needle
Everyone tries to find the needle in the haystack
But instead of finding you
I just got poked in the back by your pointy tip
But you didn't notice
Because there's a million more of me
But I see you
Because you stand out
and let me tell you
You're quite sharp

I write metaphors
and speak in analogies
because I like them more
than my realities
Because metaphors don't tell the truth
they just sum it up in a way that makes sense
sometimes they make more sense
than anything I could write in past or present tense

Metaphors aren't as personal
I don't have to give names or dates
I don't have to tell any anecdotes
or write down any footnotes
with definitions of what I mean
I just give symbols and motifs
and hope you understand the motives
I have for doing what I do
and writing what I write
and not letting you into
my personal life

I like metaphors
because they give me an excuse
to lie and get away with it.

I scrub this paper
with all of my might
Pink eraser clenched in my hand
I wear it down
Until my fist starts scrubbing
Then I realize
That what I wrote
I wrote with a permanent marker
It will never go away
The memory will always stay
shown dark and thick
I might as well have etched it in stone
Because what I wrote
is forever shown.

I might not be in the middle of a hurricane
But that doesn't mean it isn't windy
and it doesn't mean the constant rain
isn't making me cold
and it doesn't mean that the clouds
aren't making everything darker
than it should be
and it doesn't mean that I can't
see hail and sleet and snow
in the distance
and it doesn't mean
that I'm not dreading its presence
in my life.

I might not be in a hurricane
but that doesn't mean
the weather is nice
it doesn't mean a sight of the sun now and then
wouldn't suffice

However
If the sun says hello
I won't know how to greet it
I won't know how to look at it
probably not directly in the eye
because that would make me blind
more blind than I am now, anyway
and I don't know how I would spend my day
with the sun screening my back
I would probably just start running
so I could feel wind on face
because that's all I'm used to
and the wind is what puts me in my place.

I don't need a man
I need a friend
I don't need a leader
I need a friend
I don't need a role model
I need a friend
I don't need a bad example
I need a friend
I don't need a cat
I need a friend
I don't need a teacher
I need a friend
I don't need a hero
I need a friend
I don't need a guardian
I need a friend
I don't need a guardian angel
I need a friend
I don't need a an angel
I need a friend
I don't need a ghost
I need a friend
I don't need a lover
I need a friend
I don't need a companion
I need a friend
I don't need a mother
I need a friend
I don't need another
I need a friend
I don't need you
I need a friend
I don't need you either
I need a friend
and I definitely don't need you
I need a friend
I don't me
I need a friend

I go outside and I scream at the clouds
"Oh Dear God, please help me this once."
Then I go inside because I've been denied
and say under my breath
"God ******* **** it."

I wonder why this is,
Maybe I just don't care
and that should be enough.
Life is tough
buy a sheild
Don't ask for favors
from anyone.

I really hate love poems
I promise to never write one
When I see one I don't read it
because I hate the word "love."
and I hate its non-definition
and I hate how it makes people feel
when it fools them
and I hate how I don't know what it is at all
and I hate how it's never fooled me
and it never occured to me
that I possibly want to feel fooled
on a day that isn't the first of April
and I hate that I think that I might want to be fooled
by something as shallow as love
but how can I be fooled by something that doesn't exist?
because I know that "love" doesn't have a definition
and if it isn't defined then how is it real?
it must be a phantom in the air
and it really isn't fair
that you have to be superstitious
to be fooled
it's too bad that I
believe in ghosts.

I've been driving for three hours now
I've been driving for three minutes
I would say I've been driving for three seconds
But I won't, only because I'm past the driveway
But I might as well have been driving for three seconds
and I should probably drive for three more days
Because it won't make a difference
It won't change the pace
of my day-to-day life.

She always told me not to drink and drive
He always told me too
I'm pretty sure they always say the same thing
But that was bad advice when it comes to this thing
This thing I'm going through

They should have told me not to think and drive
because they never told me not to
Now I'm thinking all the time
And drinking and driving is a crime
and the men with disco cars hunt for the criminals
who drink and drive
but I still manage to do the time
for what is not a crime.
the fact that I think and drive.

I only do this unhealthy thing
because you force me to
You crawl into my ears and make a bed on brain
and cover up my focus with your hands
It's like a game of peek-a-boo in frames
I sometimes take a peek long enough
to see a traffic sign
But I would be lying if I said
I remember staying in the lines.

I'll let you continue sleeping there
tuck yourself into my mind
I'll wish you goodnight and sing you a lullaby
But only if you let me drive
Only if you stop intoxicating me
with thoughts of you
and you
and you
and you
and you and I

Thank you for listening
You are my sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are grey
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

I am the master of arts and crafts
I am a creater of everything around me
I'll design the architecture and paint the roads
and I'll erase the clouds with my finger
and I'll mold people of clay and I'll make them linger
and I'll draw thought bubbles above their heads.
I'll write up some thoughts of appreciation
of all things unnoticed and noticed by me
Then I will sit in corners and look and see
this simple world that was created by me
and I'll see beauty in the small things
and my people will too
because I painted their eyes green
and brown
and purple
and blue
I think I'll paint some yellow eyes too.

The way you do stuff always gets to me
It brings out that spot, if you know what I mean
The way you show your stuff
know your stuff, always makes me
bite my lip and squint my right eye into almost a wink
if you know what I mean.
It makes me think about what you  think
about my stuff and if it brings out your spot
or if you think my stuff isn't worthy
of all the biting and winking that happens on the spot
it makes me think maybe you don't have a spot
So what am I supposed to hit if it's not your spot?
I'll just have to beat up myself instead.
So find your spot and tell me what you think
tell me if I bring it out
tell me if you wink.

"Do your poems mean anything or are they just words thrown on paper?"
"I don't understand the question."
"I mean, did you actually think about it? Or are they just meaningless words you wrote down quickly?"
"Just because you write something quickly doesn't mean it doesn't mean anything."
"I just mean did you put thought into them?"
"I'm always thoughtful."
"I don't think you understand the question."
"You're right, I don't."

Everything always makes everything somber
because when I'm blue it taints even the brightest of stars
Things that shouldn't matter always make me madder
I wish they made me mad like the hatter
But they only make me angry like the bull
And now I'm mixing this blue with my angry red
and purple is the color I live in
I always wanted purple eyes like rain
and now my purple eyes rain out my pain
and this royal world has taken control of its reign
and it orders me to paint these dead roses red
but I'll just paint them purple with my tears instead
and the queen will order, "Off with your head"
But it won't matter to me because my purple rain will help them grow
and it won't matter to me because this isn't Wonderland
because the sky is full of thunder and
it dyes the streets with purple ink
Alice, take my hand and give me your drink
and we will shrink so small, because that's the size I feel anyway
Alice, you have less sense than I
and all the best people do
So while you eat and grow tall, I'll stay so small
because you belong to Wonderland
and I belong in this purple Melancholia

I am waiting for somebody to stretch my skin
The flesh that surrounds my mouth
Take the corners and pull them with force
but they will only bounce back to their place

So try again, but this time bring tools
bring tacks and tape and staples and glue
Anything to sustain this shape that's so new
I only ask this of you because I'm confused

My feelings and desires are never the same
They're above, underground, inflated, and punctured
I can only put my feelings into words this way:

I Wish I Could Feel Good Anymore

The light is so bright that I can't see your face
and your voice is so loud I can't hear what you say
and your touch is so strong that I feel nothing at all
and your words are too small yet too big to hold
You are far too smart, which is why you're so wrong.

I feel safer with that new car smell
but i am intrigued by rusty parts

Although railroad tracks won't break me apart
I'm missing the adventure of crashing down

Of leaking onto the pavement
and exploding.

I have nutrition in one hand and thoughts in the other
but both hands might as well be empty
they're too small to hold neither mind nor health
they're too small to hold onto anything at all
So I let them fall to my sides and I stand and wait
for someone with gargantuan hands
to hold them but I realize now
my hands are too small for yours anyhow.

then how do you interpret me?
I am only a pedestrian on the street
there is no beauty in me
I wasn't painted on a canvas
or carved from stone
but if I'm photographed here
I am a work of art

If I stand in this picture
I'm appreciated by modern spectators
but if I stand on this street
I'm not appreciated at all.