You called me a *****?
How ironic.

You called me a *****?
When the farthest I've gone was with you.

You called me a *****?
When you were the one in a relationship?

Maybe I am a *****.
But what would that make you?

I’m smart
The kind of smart that shows up on tests.
Not the kind of smart that knows not to kiss unavailable boys
Not the kind that tells me to maybe not comment that
Not the kind that tells me to make myself happy
I’m smart
But not in the ways that count

I’m smart
So my parents have high expectations
Not just for school
For everything
I’m smart
So I have to be responsible
I have to know better
I can never sin.

I’m smart
So I can’t complain
“Everything comes easy to me”
So it’s really not that impressive.
I’m smart
But "I never actually try"

I’m not smart enough to guard my heart
I’m not smart enough to take care of myself
I’m not smart enough to say no
I’m not smart enough to save my money
I’m not smart enough to avoid temptation
I’m not smart enough to like guys who are actually available.

But hey.
I scored high on my SAT’s
So yeah
I’m smart.

My name isn't Rosie
It's Rose.
That's what it says on my birth certificate
That's what everyone calls me.
That's what I introduce myself as.
My name's Rose.

But when I was younger everyone called me Rosie.
When someone was annoyed with me, they'd call me Rose.
All my memories of someone calling me Rosie are nice.

Rose sounds grown up to me.
It makes me more accountable.
Which sounds really dumb.

Honestly, I like the name Rose more.
But sometimes I just want to be little girl again
I want to be Rosie.

I think I'm really self centered.
See, I never cry when I'm supposed to.
Only when it's about me.

When our dog died, I didn't cry.
My sister got mad at me.
She said I didn't care about Jelly.
But I did care when the character in my book died.
I cried about that.

I didn't cry when my grandpa died.
I hadn't seen him in years
But still.
I did cry when I was in trouble.
I felt sorry for myself.
My tear ducts worked then.

I didn't cry when I found out my friend was hurting herself.
I was really sad, but I didn't cry.
I had tears streaming down my cheeks when I cut myself.
It seemed a lot more sad then.

Whenever my mom or sister think about my grandparents dying
They cry.
Whenever something sad happens on a tv show
I cry.

I've pinched myself before
Trying to make myself cry
Because I thought I was supposed to.
It didn't work.

Just because I can't cry doesn't mean I don't care.
Or does it?

One of my favorite books is Gone With The Wind
I read it when I was younger and liked to imagine I was like Scarlett
She was decisive, sassy, bossy; nothing could hurt her
I thought I needed a man similar to Rhett Butler
Someone who was authoritative.
Someone who could "put me in my place"
I thought of myself as indestructible
No one could actually hurt me

But they can.
I've realized I'm just as fragile as anyone else
Maybe even more so
Words can hurt me
And they do

I don't need someone who is mean to me
Or tells me what to do
I'm not indestructible
So I don't need someone to destruct me

It took me growing up to realize
I'm just a little girl

I used to think you had to be sad to write good poetry.

It always seemed to be true for me.
But it wasn't a problem,
I had plenty of material.

I mean, the best movies are the ones that make you cry right?
It's only the really good books that you throw across the room.

But yesterday I felt the need to write a poem.

So I tried to think of all my hardships.
And
I couldn't really think of any.
I realized that the most poignant moments in my life right now
Are happy ones

And maybe contentment doesn't make readers turn the pages.
Maybe my life isn't as interesting as it used to be.
But I think it's my new favorite story.

It's funny how we always like things that are the opposite of ourselves.
Do we do it because we don't like ourselves?
Or do we not like ourselves because we do it?

I think the best kind of bodies are pear shaped ones.
I'm an apple.
My sister is a pear.
She thinks the best bodies have slim legs.

When I read poems on here.
I prefer the ones that are nothing like mine.
Mine never rhyme.
I like ones that do.

I have tan skin and light hair.
I think the prettiest girls have light skin and dark hair.
My friend who has a pale complexion
Thinks those with tans are the most attractive.

I think integrity is one of the most important virtues.
But I'm not the most honest person.
Patience too.
And that's definitely not my strong suit.

I don't think the reason for all of us doing this is so sinister.
I don't think we all do this because we hate ourselves.

I think we're just used to ourselves.
So something else seems so much cooler.
Think of all your clothes.
Your favorite piece is usually the one you just bought.

I think we just understand how we do the things we do.
Our talents don't seem that difficult.
Because they come to us easily.
But others' talents are hard for us.
So we value them higher.

I don't think we do this because we hate ourselves.
But I think we learn to hate ourselves when we do it.

"Oh ****."
Is what I said when I realized I was in love with you.
I mean we both knew I liked you.
But I wasn't even supposed to be doing that.

We would carelessly flirt, with your girlfriend around the corner.
Except now it wasn't careless.
At least not for me.
See that was the problem.
(Other than the girlfriend)
I knew you weren't in love with me.

"......****."
Is what I said after we kissed the third time.
See, you still had the girlfriend.
I knew her; nice girl.

"*******."
Is what you said to me after it all.
Well, you didn't actually say that.
But I imagine if we actually talked to each other that's what you'd say.

You always did like swearing.
I guess it does make it much easier to express your feelings.

"Was he a good kisser?"

I couldn't say.

I know they were the best kisses of my life.
And I'm not just talking past tense.
It will never be better.
It will never be him again.

I can say he tore my heart out every time he left me.
I can say he ****** it back in every time he returned, reminding me what it was like to feel so deeply.
I can say when my knee grazed his I could feel electricity shooting up my body.
I can say he was the greatest love my life will ever have.

I have no idea if he was a good kisser.
It didn't really matter.
He was a good person.
He was the best person I've ever met.
He is funny and smart and witty and forgiving and caring and adventurous and handsome and FUN.

When I kissed him I felt dizzy and ecstatic and lucky and beautiful and LOVED.
I didn't have any room to notice how his lips moved.

When I was younger I read Aesop's fables.
In it is a story about a father, son, and donkey.
The father and son try to please everyone they come across.
They end up falling off the bridge, and killing the donkey.
The moral is that you shouldn't try to please everyone.

I don't try to please everyone.
There are certain people I try very hard not to please.

But I do try to please some people.
And I rely on those people's opinions very much.
If I don't please them.
I don't please myself.

The problem is I sometimes pick the worst people.
....Like whoever I have a crush on at the moment.

And I hate it.
I hate that I need certain peoples' approval
For me to approve of myself.
Nevertheless, it still happens.

I don't really like people.
Like, until I know them,
I just don't like them.

That's why I'm bad at making friends.
I don't want to.

That's why I yearn to be special.
I don't want to be like them.

That's why even though I think I'm prettier than the average girl.
I don't think I'm pretty enough.
Or thin enough.
Or smart enough.
Or good enough.
I think I'm better than the average person.
But I don't like the average person.

But then there's the people I do know.
The people I do like.
All of my extra affection goes to them.
All my extra respect goes to them.
All of my extra worship.
And loyalty.

I either dislike you.
Or I like you way more than you like me.

You mean a lot of things to a lot of different people.
To me you're my best friend.
You're the person who knows me better than I do.
You're the person who does random tests on me without me knowing.
You're the person who I actually like.
You're the person I don't feel insecure around.
You're the person who loves all of me.
(all my curves and imperfections.)
You're my bae.

Not in an ironic way.
I do put you before anyone else.

I would be a completely different person without you.
I probably wouldn't even like that person.
I wouldn't say, "**** son" when things were deep.
I wouldn't wear flats.
I wouldn't purse my lips and raise my eyebrows when someone said something stupid.
I wouldn't be as nice to new people.
I wouldn't be a swimmer.
And I wouldn't have you as a best friend,
One of the most integral parts of my identity.

I'm so glad we colored together when our brothers were cub scouts.
Happy Birthday Bella

I like it rough.
I like when a guy slaps my ****.
I like it when he bites my lip.
I like it when he makes me gasp.

Naturally I liked rude guys.
Because if he's rough in the bedroom
He has to be rough everywhere else.
Right?

Wrong.

What I need is a patient wolf.
Patient until he gets me alone.

I know of a certain blog that's dedicated to you.
The girl writes really good poems.
But they're all about you.
First, how much she loves you.
Secondly, she starts writing about how she doesn't understand.
She doesn't know why you left.
Thirdly, how mad at you she is.

I loved the poems when I first saw them.
They describe you so accurately.
But I felt kind of bad for the girl.
I mean it was a bit pathetic that she had a whole blog.
Dedicated to you.

I knew I would never do such a thing.
It just wasn't my style.
I would never let a guy mean that much.

I counted the number of poems I've posted here.
And then I counted how many were about you.
I realized I kind of did it.
I made a poetry page about you.

So from now on,
"You" isn't you anymore.
And this blog isn't about you anymore.
It's about me.
And this is your last poem.

I don't know if I deserve to be sad that you died
It feels like I didn't earn it
Like if I'm sad I'm pretending for attention
I don't know if we were close enough
I don't think I texted you back enough
or respected you enough

After so many years of resentment I don't know if I get to love you
It doesn't feel like my loss.
It feels like my siblings lost their dad
And my mom lost her husband
And I'm so sad for my family
but it doesn't feel like my father died.

Everyone tells me that you were a good person
And I believe them
But I don't think I thought so when you were still here
And now we share the same sins
It's the first thing we've had in common

When I was writing your eulogy it felt like I was writing a paper
It was like I was writing it for someone else
Someone who knew their dad
Someone who liked their dad
Someone who was liked by their dad.

The only thing we understood about each other was the bad parts
Because we recognized them.
And neither of us liked either of us.
If you were such a bad person I think I am too
The passive aggressiveness
The drinking to be likeable
The sneakiness
The lust
The pride
My personality is like mom's but my vices are from you.

I don't think we were so distant because we didn't understand each other
I think we disliked each other because we understood each other perfectly.

You broke me.
Not beyond repair, you're not that powerful.
But still
You broke me.

I put myself back together
Piece by piece.
One of those pieces I couldn't put back.
Because it was you.

Thanks to you,
I'll never be complete.
Whenever I look down at myself
There's something missing.
There's a hole in my side.

I'll never be whole
I'll always be reminded
You broke me
And I'll never be the same

I've always had this sense of entitlement.
This thought that I deserved to have certain things.
After all I always learned if you work hard you get results.

That is sometimes true.
And it's good to work hard.
But you shouldn't depend on it as truth.

Because one day,
You're going to be waiting for your acceptance letter.
And instead get an email saying you didn't get the appointment.
And if you're used to getting what you want.
That's going to hurt.

I get tired of things.
I use them as much as possible
Until I don't like them anymore.

Whenever I have a favorite song
I listen to it over and over and over
Until I'm completely sick of it.
And I don't like it anymore.
In fact
I hate it.

And sometimes I eat so much of something
That I don't want it again
At least not any time soon.

I've done three years of debate
And loved every minute of it.
But to be honest
I'm kind of over it.

And I've liked a lot of guys in my lifetime
Once I get them
If I do
I'm over it.
I'm over them.

But sometimes I hear my old favorite song on the radio.
Or I taste that food I gorged on.
Or I have to watch someone debate, instead of debating myself.
Or I hear the guy's name.

And I love it all over again.

I always heard that guys love mystery.
And that terrifies me.

Because one day I'll be sitting in our living room
And our daughter will ask me a question.
And my husband will answer her because he knows exactly what I was going to say.

Because one day my husband and I will get into a fight and he'll say sorry, and then he'll say, "I know, I know, 'if I was sorry I wouldn't have done it.'"

Because one day I'll tell him about my day.
And it will be the exact same day as every other day I've told him about.

Because one day I'll try to lighten the mood with a funny story,
But he's already heard it; twice.

Because one day he'll meet someone at work.
And she'll surprise him.
She'll be full of mystery.
And I won't have any left.

I think I am afraid of being in a relationship.
I think I do like people I can't have on purpose.
Even if it's subconsciously.

I'm afraid of being hurt.
The people I like, I like a lot.
I am very attached to my friends.
And if I were to be in a serious relationship.
I would fall in love.
And that gives so much power to the person.

The thing about me is I like having control.
And love is basically the opposite.
I won't be able to control what I feel.
We'll control each other.

I think I'm afraid to be in love.
So I like people I can't get to close to.


Or maybe it's not really that deep.
Maybe guys I like are in relationships
Because their girlfriends like them for the same reasons.
Maybe I like older guys
Because they are intelligent and they know who they are.
Maybe I like people I can't have
Because of the reason I can't have them.

It's really sad how many people hate themselves.
It's always the ones who seem the happiest that aren't.

I asked someone what his happiest moment was the other day.
He said he didn't have any.
I asked what made him happy.
He said making others happy.
Because making others happy was easy
But his happiness never lasted.
This person was one of the funniest, happiest people I know.
Or so I thought.

It's just so sad.
Some of the people I think highest of
Think so lowly of themselves.
Some of the best people
Feel the worst.

It makes you wonder, when is it too much?
This one guy was cheated on
so it's okay he refuses to get into relationships.
This one person was abused
so it's okay he has anger problems.
This one girl was *****
so it's okay she cheats on her boyfriend.

At what point does what happened to someone
justify what they're doing to someone else?

Because most serial killers
got abused by their parents.

So if something bad has happened to you
I'm really sorry
But that doesn't justify you treating others incorrectly.

I'm not afraid to jump off cliffs.
And I'm not afraid to climb tall trees.
And I'm not afraid to jump barbed wire fences.
I'm not afraid to speak my mind.
And I'm not afraid to smoke cigarettes.
I'm not afraid to drink alcohol.
And I'm not afraid to tell people no.

But I am afraid to look a guy I like in the eye.
And I am afraid that people don't like me.
I am afraid that I'm the extra in my family.
I am afraid that I'm everyone's second choice.
And I am afraid to tell boys I like them.
I'm afraid that no one likes me as much as I like them.

In short, I'm afraid of rejection.
Really afraid...

I have this great talent, at putting things in a box.
At not feeling guilt.
At not even thinking about it.

It's great for me.
Not so much for the people I put in the box.

Trust is really important.
There are people you trust
And there are people who trust you.
And then there are people you trust who don't trust you.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of reasons not to trust me.
There are some situations where I probably did do it.
But this isn't one of them.
I didn't ******* do it.
But my family thinks I did.

"Just admit you did it." they say.
"Just give it back."
"Your life is going to be ruined." They tell me.
"We're going to take everything away."

They've made their decision.  
They're still deciding all the punishments.
There is just one thing they forgot to consider.
What if I didn't do it?

It's hard not to settle.

You would think it would be easy.
But when the other option
Is to get nothing
It's hard not to settle.

When you want love
Or something like that
It's hard to not just go with someone you know has a crush on you
Even if you don't have feelings for them.
At least you'd get to date someone.

When you're feeling lonely
It's hard to not call up the really cute guy
Who treats you like ****.
Because at least he's cute?

It's hard to wait for the perfect thing.
Because the thing is
You're never really sure it will come.

I'm a pretty girl.
But I don't deserve to be.

I eat foods that are horrible for my skin.
And my body.
I don't wear sunscreen.
I don't exercise unless I have to.
But despite all my efforts I'm still fairly pretty.

I'm a pretty girl.
But I don't know how to deal with it.

I feel uncomfortable when people stare at me.
I feel horrible when guys I don't like like me.
I wear shorts without worrying that it will be distracting.
I don't have much confidence.
I'm extremely surprised when boys like me back.
But it all still happens.

I'm a pretty girl.
But I don't act like one.

I usually have a grumpy look on my face.
I don't introduce myself to strangers.
I don't like most people.
I play loud music.
I'm sarcastic.

In short

I'm a pretty girl.
But not a very nice one.

"They're just doing it for attention."
So?
Give them attention then.
If someone is starving themselves,
or cutting themselves,
or hurting themselves in any other way,
Just so someone will notice,
Just to see if someone cares.
Then give them some ******* attention.

Happiness is boring.

Obviously you like it if you're the happy one.
But it's boring to witness.

No one watches tv shows about happy people.
No one writes sonnets about how happy someone is.

Everyone says their goal is to be happy, but that's not true.
Power, money, love; sure.
But no one really sets happiness as a goal.

If you want to be happy, just be happy.
Put down what you're doing and smile.
Go do your favorite thing.

But you can't.
Why?
Because you're doing something important right now.
Like school or work.
For what?
Money and power.
Not happiness.

In Africa they mutilate girls' genitals so that they can't enjoy ***.
Sometimes they just sew it shut.
They call it a ritual.
A ceremony.

In Gilead they give the women ugly dresses and make the wife stay in the room so it's not fun for either one.
They call a necessity.
A ceremony.

In Laguna Pueblo they relive their conquests. Remembering not the pleasure, but the power.
They tell it like it's a legend.
A ceremony.

At USAFA we read the stories. We feel bad. We do nothing.
There's nothing we can do.
Each one is just a story.
But it's a ceremony too.

He loved her.
He loved her so much his love overflowed onto other women.
He cared about her.
That's why he was so protective.
That's why he got angry when she talked to other men.
He was passionate about her.
It's only natural for passion to turn into anger sometimes.
It's only natural for anger to become physical.
He thought she was beautiful.
Which was the reason he kissed her and ****** her.
Even when she didn't want him to.
He wanted her to be happy.
She couldn't possibly be happy without him.
So he made sure she didn't leave.
He missed her.
So he visited her grave.
But that got tiresome.
So he found someone else to love.

They're a tricky thing.
You have your own.
And you have other peoples'.
And then you have your parents'.

It's funny, I've never felt burdened with my parents'.
I usually manage to fulfill theirs.
It's my own that I can't reach.

It is I who expects higher scores.
I want to do better.
Because I know my potential.
And I know I'm not fulfilling it.

That's what your name in my phone is.
Nah.
As in don't respond if you ever text me again.

I thought you were just a hookup.
A one night (two night) stand.
I thought I'd forget you quickly.
But here I am.

I decided the reason I couldn't stop thinking about you was because you were the last guy I did anything with.
I did anything with Peter two weeks ago.
I thought of you.

You were a complete *******.
You pressured me to have ***.
You told people the exact details.
Apparently you had a girlfriend.

But I can only ever remember the sweet parts.

I broke it off with you.
But I'm the one still not over this.
And it's not fair
And I hate it
And I saw you yesterday.
And now I can't get you out of my head.

I changed your name in my phone so I would never text you back.
I didn't need to.