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Not so much vulnerability as
          wide-open hearts because
     ten years from now we'll look back at
                   where we are and note the
                                 change in what's around
                                                with a smile, if I have
                                                            ­     anything at all to
                                                                ­                 say about life

that's right.
                             We.
I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.

I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.

My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;

"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.

I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.
Trust comes like waves
If I were a beach.
(But I’m not.)

Calm sinks like stones
If I were a lake.
(But I’m not.)

Love bursts like hot cement
If I were the rain.
(But I’m not.)

Water would keep me
If I were in need.
(And it does.)
Sometimes I look at you,
and you seem to be looking back at me.
But sometimes you look away
as if you're afraid of what might happen
if you look just a second longer.

The way you keep looking back at me,
as if there was something in me worth seeing.
I wish I could envision the world
the same way you do.

Where everything is beautiful and new
and innocent.
Your world is untouched.
Immaculate.
Like a little kid.

But in some way, that's exactly what you are.
What it is that I would like to say, is
thank you.

Thank you for not fighting for me.
Thank you for not being here.
Thank you for making it so extraordinarily obvious
how insufficient I am
in your thoughts, cares, wants and needs.

It has made it exponentially more bearable to say goodbye.

Or, at least, that's what I would like to say,
if it weren't a gaping lie.

But, maybe if I keep saying it, it will no longer be a lie.
It's been said, "lying doesn't become you."
I think it's because, you must become the lie.
It's acceptable  to lie to yourself if you make it positive.
"I look so pretty today"
"I'm going to win the competition today"
"I'm going to start exercising today"

So I'll make it positive.
I will.
Once I find the good in you being gone.
With all the world waiting
We turned our eyes skyward.
Remember that day when we all looked through
Our electric windows on the universe,
Seeing old spheres from a new point of view?

Three times again, and again, and again,
Descending on dancing flames,
They scurried, slow-motion, through ancient dust
Who still now remembers their names?

They did the unthinkable, achieved the impossible,
Went where none had preceded, and more.
"**-hum! ...another launch, you say?
Is football on Channel Four?"

Mechanical colonists left behind
When we blasted back home in our ships
Drew life in their bellies from shattering atoms,
Energizing electronic chips.

They sensed the heat of ancient fires,
Moon-embers, banked deep inside.
They felt the star-bits streaming,
And the rumbling silent tide.

ALSEP voices, talking to Earth
In chattering bits and bytes
Sent their colonial treasures back
Through the lunar days and nights.

They measured the limb-shocked solar winds,
Changing the charges in sputtered lands,
And vibrating signals crossed the void,
Twitching inked fingers on metal hands.

The footprints and tire-tracks, unchanging, remain.
Like paths to the future, they glisten.
Solipsistic sentinals converse with themselves,
But there's nobody left who can listen.
The astronauts of the Apollo Program first landed on the Moon in July of 1969. over the next three years five more increasingly ambitious missions landed on other lunar sites. Each mission left behind Apollo Lunar Surface Experiments Packages (ALSEP), designed to continue gathering information about the environment of the surface of the moon  to sense seismic "moonquakes". Although they were designed to operate for about three months each, they all continued to transmit useful scientific data back to Earth until the end of September, 1977, when, for budgetary reasons, a signal was sent to turn all of them off. Read more about the ALSEP at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_Lunar_Surface_Experiments_Package
I walk down the halls
and I hear you call her name
at first I'm angry
but then I just feel ashamed
cuz all I want
if for you to be happy
even if controlling
my love is so sapping

can you blame me?
I'm just a girl in love
a girl whose heart
was given a painful shove
when they boy I
wanted forever more
pointed his boat
towards a different shore

and yeah, the tears burnt
as they fell in my lap
since I lost you when
I thought I had you in my grasp
you said we
could just be friends
which made me sad
since I didn't want an end

can you blame me?
I'm just a girl in love
a girl whose heart
was given a painful shove
when the boy I
wanted forever more
pointed his boat
towards a different shore

I want to puke
and I want to run
but running from you
is like running from the sun
I can't get away
not from you
I can't get away
cuz I don't want to
a part of me
still has a crazy hope
even if it's as likely
as becoming the pope

can you blame me?
I'm just a girl in love
a girl whose heart
was given a painful shove
when the boy I
wanted forever more
pointed his boat
towards a different shore

can you blame me?
I am waiting for a nice girl to cheat me,
noble enemy to beat me,
the sharpest spines of the cactus to hurt me,
and a starlit night to gobble  me up perfectly
leaving nothing  of me behind.
I care too much

I care not enough.

No one has ever marched

To the beat of my drum.

Dum diggita dum

dum diggita dum

dum diggita

dum dum

dum.


A funeral march

Progressive boredom over the course of my years,

It's a choice.


Throw in a good drink and a good show,

Call me content.

Call me anything you like but a waste.

A waste of time, money, air and space.

Call me a waste. I’ll wake up.


I’ll awake a year ago in my dumb love’s bed, thinking

of the last of his and the first of mine. I’ll show you a waste.

A waste of lines, of lies, of love and of time.

A waste of virginity down the drain, a waste of heartache,

of razor blades,

and pain.


Don’t call me a waste.

Let me sleep in my bed alone

my new cotton scent drowning

away the wasteland of stress pooling beneath my eyes.

Their cigarettes smell the same.
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