I know you imagine me to be strong
Build me up in this image
Of a person with attitude, guts
Too much anger, too headstrong
Too much of a stereotype,
Too much of a misfit

But I don't ask that you think differently
You see I am sort of used to people walking away
And I had rather you see me as infallible
Than as something to be pitied, as someone vulnerable
To their cheap attacks, to your barbed remarks
I wish that you would- could - understand
That I am something terribly moody
But I can be good. Yes, I am good

I can be better if you'd listen to me
Let me in but don't demand too much from me
I will try to leave everything undisturbed
Heal a scar or two then walk out from your heart
Without having occupied any position of interest
Or importance

I wouldn't mind. I have been relegated to the background
once again
But I am infallible

My scars aren't meant to be pitied
Or sympathized with
I hate that you think you can understand
When you don't
I don't care about what you've been through
Until you've been with me for years
You've seen all that I have to offer
Because believe me
I'd never trust anyone with everything
If they haven't even been around that long

Some might think this is all there is to it
But I can tell you that there are a million things
Left to learn about me
So wait. Calm yourself. Let us be but don't just let me be
Don't rush for me, don't slow down for me
Just let me walk at my own pace but if you see me falter,
Then check if I'm fine. Make it known that you care
Believe me it helps when I'm with a blade.
You don't know how the simple gestures affect me

How they shake the ground beneath my feet
How they make me smile
How my world changes

So please. Just care for me. But don't ask- demand- too much of Me
Don't put me up on some pedestal, don't think of me as fragile
My scars, the ones I will slowly begin to show to you,
Aren't indicators of that.
I am proud of them- intensely proud
I've fought and I've died a million times on the inside
I've cried and I hated myself the most through these years

(I used to tell myself those barbed remarks
Every single criticism, I would sit up and repeat it to myself
So that I never got ahead of myself
Everything they said, how much they didn't like me,
Didn't care for me.
I sat up and repeated all of that to myself
Every. God. ****. Night.
Hoping someone would call just so I'd have an excuse to quit
But no one ever did -was ever up, ever available- at such times
So I'd just continue)

Despite everything, inspite of everything
I stopped. I had the strength- with or without
Anyone- anyone- being there
Respect- love- me a little bit for it
Hate that I do this to myself
Tearing into myself,
Tearing myself down into such tiny pieces
Making myself into this small entity
Hate it. Detest it. Loathe it.

Tell me that.

But never stop telling me
Don't do that blindly though
Please listen to me as well
Don't blind yourself to how
I am marginally better everyday
Even if there are so manymany setbacks
Be honest with me
I wouldn't care if you talked badly of me then
Because I'd know that you truly loved me then
(yes. yes, i would)

So please. Just give yourself
Just give me  
A chance to be who I am around you
Don't expect it to happen too fast
I swear I'll be there by your side
If you called for me
I'd always look out for you
I would stick up for you
When your lover wouldn't do that either
Don't be afraid of how different
And moody I am
I'll always be there for you
Just call me
And give us time-time-time

Sometimes I drink,
to numb the pain
Or to feel something outside
of the murky, grayish
lonely ticking
That replaced my heart’s beating

But the funny thing is,
and always seems to be
When I drink to make you foggy
you just become more in focus
While your sorry, belligerent
excuses replay in my head

Over and over
until I’m forced to forget
my reasons for hating you
and join you in bed.

She sat on the edge,
quietly waiting,
for the sun to rise,
and chase away the darkness.

She looked to the east,
calmly calculating,
the amount of time,
till she hears birds sing.

She saw a glimpse of light,
slowly brightening,
with every single second,
the world held its breath.

She watched the light grow,
beautifully round,
and it rose above the hill,
not seeming to stop.

She felt the kind heat,
quietly warming,
her tired body,
till she felt alive again.

She knew why she was here,
calmly understanding,
that fate brought her,
and she could change that.

She sat on the edge,
tensely waiting,
she got up rigidly,
this will not be her last sunrise.

What is it about these tired, melancholy streets
That has you all hidden in your little houses?

My feet tread one over another and yet the only
Sound is the echo of my footsteps. Where are the other bodies?

I see no lovers holding tightly, hands in hands and arms
Intertwined as if the cold wind could pull them apart.

I saw you peek from the beat up little house, I was
Enjoying a conversation with your father. Loud laughs resonate.

I saw you peering through the trails of cigarette smoke and
Tattered blankets which keep you hidden in the shack.

Those blankets, much like when I saw you. Tattered and
Not so sightly. Worn by age and smoke. Sickly and stained.

Alas, my dog runs up the field and there is not a soul in sight;
The osprey have left their perch on the cellular tower.

Where are your huddled little bodies, little town?
The winter has not reached its age to have created anxiety.

The anxiety that forces them from their homes
In an earnest search for the sun's warm rays.

There is a bottle under my bed
Clear with three mutilated holes and no cap
Along with three ***** of crumpled foil
A pile of downy laundry at my feet—
The race of black lace at the bottom
Of a boat I’d rather not step into so my mother won’t relay to me her dreams
Of my possible alternative sexuality she’s subconsciously sensing and actually begin to question why I’m so awkward around my—
I keep hidden under exactly two blankets
So my imagination won’t tickle my toes and in turn, my senses.
This isn't my comforter
But it does comfort more than the preceding, this
Brown quilt spotted with creamy, leafy stars
Is only familiar to the depths of the hall closet
—That dings a precise pitch that I’ll measure tomorrow when opened—
So these walls will emit less lime and more depth to the time as to shallow out the savage speed of the
Hands no longer ticking above my head.

Glimmering lights from the powerful skyline,
reflected like jet flames in the River Thames.
Lights multiplied by the flash of a camera,
capturing beauty in it's searching lens.

I wasn't so sure of here before,
but now I know there will always be
a place in my heart for this great city.
A home, a hub for the bustling race.

Some say mind over matter,
I say heart over mind,
but my heart has learned to love
that which my mind has made a matter.

I await a slip of paper
Foretelling of my death
I await a slip of paper,
For I've not received it yet.

I've staved my curiosity,
Like a tiger in a cage
However, eventually
Tigers want to eat,
To hunt,
To be satiated
And so does my curiosity.

Though morbid,
Though vague,
I wish to know my end
By fire,
By age,
By disease
or by vehicle?

Vague enough to open questions,
Concrete enough to give me something
I want to know
How I'll die.

The reaper with his crystal ball
Stares
With no eyes
From the faded machine
A hand reaching from the coin
Slot
Reaching to shake mine
"Congratulations, you've paid
the piper, child."
The reaper says,
But only in my day dreams

I want to know my death,
Wow, this takes forever,
I've paid the toll,
I've done what's necessary!
Why is there no paper in my hand!

Wait, I hear printing!
My heart, is sprinting in my chest!
Oh dear heaven above!
I get to know my death, God!
You can't hide it from me forever!

The slip of paper finishes through the machine
Printed, it spits out at me.
I take it, gingerly, excited all the while
To know my death, oh death machine,
Will make me smile.
I stare at it, giving great diligence
To find that I'll die by...

Patience