"Shhhhh"
you tell me, your hand in my face,
your lips a sloppy mess.
"Will you ever say anything that makes sense?"
I wonder.
"Probably not."
Gesturing your hand out of my face,
it falls limp to your side.
But you are quick to raise BOTH of your hands this time.
Waving them.
Sloppily.
Shaking them.
I glance your unstable form over.
-wide eyes
-raised and slanted brows like pleading
-mouth, agape.
Releasing a pent up sigh,
I wipe your mouth off and close it,
smooth the hair away from your face,
bring your wrists back down to your sides.
What do I get?
A blank, expectant stare.
I kiss your cheek with my thumb and walk away.
Turning the light off before shutting you behind.

These bags under my eyes don't go away.
Even if I don't feel so bad.
When I smile,
sometimes they are worse then.

But I smile.
Regardless of those bags.

Sister I don't know you particularly
but I see you
hear you.

I sure understand that feeling of always ugly
because of what's on your plate
on your mind
under your conscious.

But as they say
"beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Spattered with obscenities of this earth,
the mud can't block your light.
Honest. Sincere.

Wipe the mud from your sharpest eyes
and see that your smile owns those bags.

Ugly is just a word and bags can only ever be bags.

So delicious, ah delicious
I cannot help but eat
mozzarella, Monterey,
I'm turning into cheese

Cheese is oozing from my skin
it's dripping down my knees,
the thing I loved, I ate so much
the cheese has mastered me!

I'm not good at being your friend.

I was so sure that I loved you in the most complete way possible, I wouldn't have even begrudged you if you liked someone else. It wasn't in my interest to covet you.

But then things happed...
...as they do.

And I tried my best feel they way I did at first.

But I cant.

Because things happened.

I try to treat you like I used to but I begrudge you
half the time I think of you I think of ways to break up with you

woops.

You did inquire why all of my poetry is depressing, or morbid... or sarcastic.

I wish I was ~positively~ poetic, but my positive feelings channeled through prose!
I have some neat journal pages... inspiring or thoughtful
-I guess...

But when I look back at the days of pages I wrote in my paranoia or depression.. spite... it's just really horrible! It don't like remembering how sick I  got myself over things. And I've always admired poetry.. and I remember the first poems I read from you were more morbid and dark. So I followed suit.... and I like looking back at these poems, more artfully worded and less angst ridden... much more than those journal pages.

I have been inspired to write more light hearted poems that are NOT sarcastic, but those are all drafts and I just don't know how to do about things and they just sit there and never get finished. No, those poems about friends leaving me behind, school being really fricken freezing, and mom sounded like a raspy parrot are the only ones that seem to get finished.

I'll work on putting something light together for you... rather or not it gets finished it up in the air though haha. I love you a lot!

xoxo

I'd totes write to you
the sweetest poem to grace your ears
but my diction and lack of rhythm
leave something to be desired

I do admire the words,
their cadence and flow
and wish I could piece them together
to tell you how much I love you

but I have this rule of thumb see,
press the enter key and move on.
it will sound kind of poetic.
Even though I just kind of drone
on and on and on.

We leaned across the lines
I looked you dead in the eye
You looked straight back into mine
Then the sparks began to fly

This was the first time
-With our features so aligned
I’d ever felt inclined
To cross the line and kiss you

I close my eyes and think about evaporating...

First my eyes.
Eyes tight shut, I imagine my evaporating eyes streaming into the sky like cigarette smoke.
                                                                                                                                                       No.
             Eyes are much to dense to rise.
            
Slowly at first then faster,
    the fog rolls out of lids
                      flows down my cheek
                                 like the smoke from dry ice.

My skin gently wafts away in the still, calm breeze

My hair like a candle flame,
                      flickering and swaying in the wind.
                                   Growing larger and smaller and larger again

My muscles sink to ground, spreading in a misty puddle beside me.

I can feel the hollowing of my face,
                 wind scoops caverns out of my cheeks and temples.

Finally only my bones remain.
                             Steaming hot in the cool air.

Along comes a gust of wind.
                       My bones are swept into the air like ash,
                                             my flames extinguished.

I guess it doesn't matter how much  I love you,
   you don't even like me.
But for all the while I've loved you,
  it's only just occurred to me...
  I don't like you either.

Your voice is so shrill,
you squawk like a decrepit crow.
Just... please stop talking.

Say it ain't so!
Ah, but I  loved you!
My heart sank when you left me.
I didn't want to keep you
didn't want you all to myself.
I'd have been glad to let you loose
been genuinely happy if you found a girl who loved you.
But you didn't.
You just left me
alone
for no other reason then you stopped loving me
-stopped liking me.
That hurts more then anything other.
I'm bitter now.
I trusted you with my thoughts
-you understood, listened unlike anyone else.
You left a hollow.
If I said something to hurt you- I tell you I didn't mean it.
You saw how important you were to me, how highly I held you.
But I guess you don't give a ****.
I slip and fall.
No- don't bother helping me up.
I can see you are itching to ditch me.
I see the explicit disinterest, disdain even in your eyes.
Go ahead. Leave.
I'll just lie here till my bones stop hurting
awkwardly rise and continue walking the other way.

The love that makes me cry
The kind that brings hot tears to my eyes
Is the one saying "you, not I"

Gentle, the softest consuming
it's the sort that tickles your fingers
doesn't leave, but lingers
unconsciously keeps you assuming

assuming their finite cares part by part
-you didn't even know it at the start
puling them deeper into your heart

And then one day the **** with crow
and when their love lets go your hand
it is then that you will understand
the betrayal of the love that takes

Alone I walk
across the windswept plains.

Drifting.

I am forgotten
Not a presence,
Nor a ghost

Drifting.

I open my eyes and scan the horizons
looking for anything to cleave to

Forsaken, I am
and too, forlorn
Where are you?

I am in the wasteland of your thoughts.
These things that pass me by
are faint, lifeless

So what am I?
Not even a memory.

Last week we decided to just be friends
Even though I like you and you like me
It’s clear that now, friends is all we can be
Our union is something no one recommends.
We’re too polar, for even our own pretends
Your Aquarian audacity
Coupled with my religiosity
We just don’t mix well, there are no “depends”
As we share our brains through books and music
We also share philosophy on life
Though to be “together” would prelude strife
Our contrasting faiths may seem ironic
But such conflicts will bode cuts like a knife
'Guess I rather would keep this platonic.

My best friend did steal my heart.
I didn't catch it when it happened,
only after it broke did I notice
something very wrong.

Stealing hearts.

Thief in the night,
leaving me to wake up to an empty house.

The light fills my eyes
as they follow the windows on the third floor,
I look up and think of you~ are you thinking of me?
sunshine warms the back of my neck
and I know you are looking back at me.

I just wanna howl.
I'm itching
twitching rather
like sudden shivers flexing my muscles like gun shots.

anxious
alone
half liking it
half wanting to tell someone

I'm alone but not in empty air
these suite mates and roommates and mates in this building
I wanna howl.

let it roar
my heart
my ears
my eyes
my mind
all stretching and staining

Oh! it grinds my gears
to be alone but not with myself

Maniacally feeling up the walls and floors and other surfaces
I'm twitching
urging to howl
I want to cut lose from myself.
I gotta do something.

I see blonde hair,
and I run.

She draws the corners
of her mouth back, cheeks
like soft hills rolling
under her eyes laughing
eyes like fire, lights pierce
through the mist and fog
it tried to hide her
but she wasn't lost
No, she found the shore

What is not is easier to see than what is.
I recognize more of what I'm not than what I am.
I understand what I don't want but not so much what I do want.

But maybe this is simply another lie I've sold to myself.
Maybe I really do know what is but I turn from it for fear of being wrong, being myself.
It's difficult to navigate when you are told that you are not your own and yet to be yourself.