Remember the time
I thought I liked you
But it only lasted a week.
Remember the time
I cursed for the first time;
And it was at you.

Remember the time
I liked you for an entire year
And obsessed over you.
Remember the time
You teased me everyday.

Remember the time
We used to take piano from the same woman
And I saw you at a lesson one day.
Remember the time
You told me about the night
The black thing came to you,
Up your arm.

Remember the time
We spent backstage
Goofing off.
Remember the time
I wrote about how much I hated you
In my diary,
Everyday.

Remember the time
I dated your best friend
And you were the obligatory third wheel.
Remember the time
You threatened to punch me
Because I made fun of the girl you liked.

Remember the time
We spent during choir practice
Looking at squirrels through the window.
Remember the time
You told me
"I don't care what homeroom I have,
As long as you're not in it."

Remember the time
The stinkbug kept following your shoes
In Spanish class.
Remember the time
You threw a pinecone at me
Because I deserved it.

Remember the time
We sat together in all our classes.
Remember the time
I dreamed about you
Dying
In my front room.

Remember the time
We Skyped for three hours.
Remember the time
I beat you up
Because I was angry.

Remember the time
My two best friends started dating
Because you finally got up the courage and asked her.
Remember the time
You told me you wanted to break up with her.

Remember the time
You stole my Sharpies
Until I asked him out.
Remember the time
You broke up with her
And avoided me for a week.

Remember the time
We spent after school,
Studying for Spanish.
Remember the time
I was scared of you
But walked with you,
In silence.

Remember the time
You had a rave in class
And asked me to tape it.
Remember the time
I cut myself
And you got mad at me
And we spoke even less.

Remember the time
The algebra teacher threatened to separate us
Because we talked too much in class.
Remember the time
I messaged you
And messaged you
And you wouldn't answer.

Remember the time
You and your mum invited me to dinner.
Remember the time
I saw you for the first time
In two months
And, despite the same clothes
And hair,
You looked like a stranger.

Remember the time
You asked him out for me.
Remember the time
We Skyped for five minutes
And had nothing to say.

Remember the time
You held my hand all period
Because you were cold.
Remember the time
You told me you were insane
And we couldn't be like we used to.

Remember the time
You told me not to worry,
That we were still the same, relationship-wise.

Remember the time
You told me not to cry
But I did.

Remember the time
You held me while I sobbed,
The first time you'd ever seen me cry.

Remember the time
You assured me you'd be fine.

Remember the time
I shook while you held my hands.

Remember the time
You hugged me after class,
A week later
And I nearly cried of happiness.

Remember the times.

Do you remember the times?
Because it seems all I'm doing these days
Is remembering you.

The blood seeps between my teeth;
it's sweet,
like Your words.
How dare You tell me to die?
I could easily **** You,
**** You,
like Them.
How'd you like that,
to stop being a You
and be
in the Them?
So, shove off.

It's a wonder we're not all dead
yet.

You blame Satan for "us",
"my kind"?
If that were true,
why do I spare You;
You who judge
and taunt,
and all I do is live.
Satan had nothing to do with me.
But, this is not about angels and God.
This is about Cannibalism.

I miss you,
*******,
With my whole being.
You make me so
SCARED.
Scared to think that
I can be happy.
I'm having a great time,
Flirting with him,
But then I think
"****, I'm leading him on.
I can't do this.
I'm ruining this."
So, *******.
You ******* *******,
Who stole my heart
And returned it,
Shattered,
In a million pieces,
And no intention to fix me.
Oh, and by the way?
I **** at sewing.

The quiet shuffle of
Those two people in the hall.
The sound of the chalk pieces falling
As my teacher grinds it
Into the board.
The shouting of the man teaching next door.
The ruffling of papers when my teacher tells us to take one out.
The jangling of keys out in the hall.
The clicking of calculator keys
(Even though I'm in Chemistry).
The squeaking of various doors.
The three people who all just cleared their throats
At the same time.
The unevenness of the bell tones
(One's a concert A).
The flower resting in it's
Bunsen burner vase.

I love being an
Introvert
And noticing.

I saw a man on the
subway today
eating a cup of
vanilla ice cream
but it was no mundane sighting
this man looked worn
like he'd seen some ****
and been through it as well

this man
sitting across from me on the subway
was eating this cup of
vanilla ice cream
in such a way
that it made me think quite a bit
about life

this man
eating a cup of
vanilla ice cream
was eating it as though
it was the first thing he'd ever tasted;
he was eating it as though
it was the best ice cream he's ever had;
he was eating it as though
it was the last meal he'd ever eat;
all at once

this man
was eating this cup of
vanilla ice cream
in such a captivating way
I couldn't take my eyes off of him
he was careful about it
eating slow and steady
with each bite
he would close his eyes
and it almost looked like he smiled
as he tasted it
each and every time

a man
sitting across from me on the subway
eating a cup of
vanilla ice cream
when i get to his age I want to look
that peaceful
and that content
despite whatever **** I'll know

this man
eating a cup of
vanilla ice cream
made me think about life
and i believe it's so beautiful

I forgot a fork
So I'm eating my salad with a spoon.
I didn't feel like sitting in the cafeteria,
Where it's too loud and busy,
So I went home,
Where I'd rather hear a muffled trombone lesson
Than my best friends's stories.

(I'm in one of those tired-sad moods
Where my whole body feels fatigued
And my face feels sad
And I shuffle around;
No motivation.)
So,
I went where I am.

I wish I could spend all day in home
--the band room--
The place I go to hide.
I have to remind myself
It's just a classroom
That I'll probably
Never
Set foot in after I graduate.

But, those are thoughts for
A later date
When I can remember
A fork.

I don't have my black pen today and it's killing me.
The blue ink is murdering me.
I'm so dramatic, remember? ;)
So how have you been?
I like all your new clothes,
The sweatshirts and stuff.
Except the drug rug;
That still makes me a little uncomfortable.
But I can get over it.

I've been pretty good.
I was failing English a few months back.
I'm better now!
Have you done any of the Macbeth diary project?
I haven't. Glad she gave us that extension.
Hey, I started Breaking Bad a while back.
NOW I GET THE HYPE.
It's so good.
Only on season three, though.
P.J., Doug, Claudia and I
Want to have a Tremors movie night.
(Honestly, the idea's been thrown around for months.)
You should come!
Do you even know what Tremors is?
It sounds AMAZING.
Well, actually,
We all paid for the movies.
But maybe you can just mooch off me and come anyway.
You'd love it.

People keep trying to be Joe's and mine
Third wheel.
I wish it were you.
You were my favourite third wheel.
You're so good at it!
I guess I'll just deal with the ones I've got now.

I'll be honest,
It has been rough since you left.
I've been crumbling significantly lately,
Missing you a lot more.
Joe's been helping,
Really well, too.
I was a hot mess before he started helping me.
I think you two would like each other,
If you got to know him.

And I . . .
I cut myself again.
More this time,
A lot more.
Go on, yell at me and storm off
And ignore the problems.
But I've stopped
Again.

I don't like it when you yell at me,
In case you haven't gathered.
It's so scary,
The only time I'm truly terrified of a person.
All the anger surging through your arms. . . .
The anger in your eyes. . . .
Your eyes are angry all the time.
You have the fiercest green eyes. . . .
ANYWAY, I'm off topic.
How are you doing in Algebra?

yes
as the evidence shows
i know how to
and can
play the piano
that instrument borrowed
five years of my life
which it kindly gave back
when we parted ways--
we decided to keep it casual--
five years ago
so it's no wonder that
although I play the piano
i'm no piano player

I'm from sawdust and spackle,
Nails and hammers and wood stain.
I am from watching my dad
Building
And creating.
I'm from Legos, building
Alongside my dad.

I'm from reading,
Harry Potter and Eragon
And Goosebumps.
I'm from books,
Piles,
Covering the TV.

I am from music,
Practicing and rehearsing and dancing.
I am from the sing-song of strings
And the plinking of the keys.
I am from the rhythms in my veins.
From following in
My sister's
Footsteps.

I am from me.

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.

*--Dr. Earl Reum

And so I'll run away from the deaths
The heartbreaks and the wars
And lock myself away

There's ivories and ebonies
Rosewood and steel strings
Horse hair and pearls

I'll stare at white pages for hours
Deciphering their strange locked codes

The way I truly feel
I've let my soul take flight
And it's never coming back

My life is filled with song
Music runs my life
My heart
And it's never setting me free

Why?
WHY do you always
show up
in my life
at all the wrong times?
I told myself
I was done.
You gave me
every reason
to give you up.

I want you
to walk back in this room
so I can
                                                             ­   panic.
So I can
savor the sheer
     confusion
you put me through.

There's
no reason
for me to even
consider
giving you a
                       third chance.
I've moved on.
You are my past;

"last call, percussion."

A lion on my left
a tiger to my right
they're sweet
house cats in all actuality
wouldn't harm a fly

until the titles come
and stereotypes must be
perpetuated

so they
with their personalities stripped
keep their vicious reputations
alive
**** for their names
the title that begs them to

"soldier."

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.
Questioning my sanity,
If you will.
You don't realize what you've done,
Do you?
You don't see what you've done.

Remember the time
You told me about when you were almost struck by lightning.
And then,
The results.
Your superpowers,
As you called them.
You'll never know how thankful I was for those
As the years went by.

You told me about the ghosts.
The little girl and boy
Who came to you for help.
She died in a barn,
That used to be in your backyard I think,
And needed your help.
She was your favourite, I could tell;
You talked about her a lot.
She slept in your bed sometimes, you told me.
But you couldn't communicate with her,
So you couldn't help her.
And that was that.

I told you about my ghosts.
My grandparents I've talked to,
And whatever evil is living in the guest room.
How my cats slink around my house
Like they're still alive.
Like the sounds I hear for no reason
And no explanation.

You envied me for that.
That I could hear them.
Because all you could do was see.

We were the only ones who believed each other.
Even when we hated each other,
And that was a long span of time,
We could still bond over this.
When no one else listened,
We did.
We were the only ones who understood.

I guess it's obvious enough that the phrase
"I see dead people"
Was tossed around a lot between us.
Because we could
And we knew it
And it scared us
And we loved it.

Until you stopped loving it.
And you claimed insanity.
You told me it was all in your head,
That you'd made it up
Because you're crazy.

So,
That's why  I've been calling myself crazy lately.
Because the only thing I trusted to understand me
Is telling me he's insane.
Who's to say I'm not the same?

The hill screams to me,
jostling me into a day dream.
It hides behind our industrial scars,
But still fights us.

Trees, burning in flames,
Drown in a black, gaping river,
Dotted with metal killing fish.
Choking the hill,
Killing it,
Slowly.
Slowly.

The river melts away,
Revealing a beautiful blanket of green.
Lush, rich, beautiful, green.
The hill, alive once more.

But the river can not melt,
The fish can never die,
And the hill
Suffers,
In silence.

I walk through the doors,
and the wall closes in.
I stand, shoulders squared
and fight it.
It might have a grip,
but I'm in control.
It might win the battle,
but the war's just begun.

I throw down my bag
and brace myself.
Soon to be free,
I take nothing and jump,
not caring what falls;
it doesn't matter to me.

They chase me and fight,
but I'm soaring too high
to be touched.
The wall comes to life,
dancing with colours.
It screams and it whispers,
shouting: me.

They know I have gone,
So they try to pull down.
But I'm out of sight,
So now,
I'm free, in control.

The wall is now mine, is
free.

This, being the best day of my life,
The last time we sang together,
The last time we laughed together,
Last time we danced together.
The stage was my home,
Your presence my palace.
You broke down my walls and let me be free.
I'll cry when I think
Of the times we spent.
It was bliss, those
Five months
That we spent.
But now, as we cry
And say our goodbyes
Remember just this,
If nothing else:
Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.

The thick grey sky
Reaches down
And wants to cuddle.
It wraps around me a chilling blanket that I,
Nor anyone else it seems,
Is able to shake off.
The thick dark sky
Sees our reluctance
And begins to cry his
Frozen tears.
The trees feel like being heroes
So they,
With their stiff hands to the sky,
Try to console him
And stop his crying--
To no avail.
His tears sting
When they fall onto my face.
They bite my slowly,
Acidic,
Eating away at my warmth.
He'll go on moaning and crying
While his attempts to befriend us are
Wildly rejected,
But really,
It's his own fault.
There's no one to blame
But himself.

-1928-
There are whispers,
Whispers of something coming.
A time with no money.
Maybe it's just some
Panic.
I wonder what they'll do,
Without money.
It's all they talk about.
What'll they do,
If it's gone?


-1932-
They've gone.
No one has been  here for years.
I guess it was true,
What they said
About the money.
There'd been some talk
For a while.
But this time,
It was
Real.
They ran out of money,
Or, maybe someone took it.
Either way,
They couldn't save me.







*Meaning: This is told from the point of view of a house during the Great Depression. The family he is housing has been hit by the Great Crash, and have been foreclosed out of their house--him. The beginning (1928) starts the year before the stock market crash, and the end takes place a few years into the Depression (1932).

Yes, I'm:
Impatient;
too loud;
obnoxious;
picky;
childish;
rude;
disobedient;
and so on and so.

But they are my flaws.
And if you are just going to
cut me out
because you don't like them?
And are just going to
yell at me
for everything I do wrong?
Too bad.

You're never going to see me again
because if you can't accept me
for who I am
then you obviously don't deserve
a single word out of my mouth
to you.

Remember that time I called you an *******?
I'm sorry.
You did nothing wrong,
Except like her
When you loved me.
I'm sorry,
Just,
Why can't you love me?
Please,
That's all I ask of you,
To love me.
I'll do anything.
I don't want to be
Desperate,
But, really,
I can't be anything else.
I just want you to
Love me,
Love me
Like before.
Because,
I still do.
I still love you.
All the **** you put me through,
And I still love you.
You can't see how wonderful I am?
I don't have to,
Don't have to stay
And defend you
To everyone.
But,
I just crave you.
Your love,
Despite your ****.
But, I guess that's
Madness.

There's a girl
somewhere
and she's happy
she looks to her boyfriend when things get tough
but he can't really assist
she's happy
she's so happy
but everyone's skeptical of her

There's a girl
far away
and she's content
she spends time with her girlfriend
despite the backlash she gets to be seen with her
she's content
she's very content
but she can't understand why everyone hates her so much

There's a girl
over there
and she's alright
her boyfriend yells at her sometimes
about her ex's
she's alright
she's perfectly alright
but she can't understand why everyone's so upset with her

There's a girl
someplace
and she's upset
she looks to her boyfriend for help
and he tries so hard but
she's upset
she's thoroughly upset
and she wishes everyone would stop making fun of her

There's a girl
in the ground
and she's dead
she killed herself one night
because of everyone else
she's dead
she's properly dead
and no can understand why she did it

I want to
Do shots of Jack
And
Wander around a city
Drunk and lost
And
Cry on the sidewalk
About lost love and new love and
Just love in  general
And
Hurt myself
(Accidentally)
So I can't feel the
Shame until later
And
Get lost in my
Cloud of cigarette smoke
And
Let myself be sexually abused
And
Feel so ashamed
That I walk around
Hollow
And
Have scars on my cheeks
From my burning
Rivers of mascara
And
Sit in an ally
And
Try to rub off my tattoos
And
Cry myself to sleep
If I ever find
My way back home.

I don't know why I'm such a sad person.
My friends are lovely.
My parents are kind.
I'm good in school;
I'm musically talented.
I am (I think) a likable person.

Still,
some nights I spend crying.
I rip the skin
off my thumbs
until I bleed.
I yell at anyone who tries to talk to me
when they interrupt my
silence.

My heart sinks when I think of
relationships
and how flighty I am;
if I am?

I make up
so much
in my head,
especially
when my anxiety hits.
Do I even have anxiety?
Maybe;
I dunno.
Self-diagnosed
with depression and anxiety.
It's how I cope,
I guess,
with being a sad person.

Our hearts are on strings, controlled by somebody. But somehow your strings got all tangled up with mine and our hearts are side by side but I don't mind cause that was the day your heart touched mine and I knew nothing would be the same with you by my side to be my guide and show me some light once and a while and hold me when I cry and listen to my thoughts when they fall to my feet like loose change and no one would bother to pick them up but you and sing me to happiness in the way that you do and tell me that no is ever just the same as me and you because no one can love just the same as me and you because no ones strings are tied the same way as yours and mine and our knots are special and our knots make us strong and our knots make us in some kinda love that's higher than the moon and our knots may one day lead to "I do"

The moon yawns:
yet another all-nighter for him.

He wants to rest
but our dreams are too interesting for him to miss.
How can he sleep
when all these beautiful things are being woven before him?
He must stay up and read them.

He's so focused on our dreams
that he can't see the holes in the sky.

The holes the stars are burning.

He can't see them,
and it's for the best, really.
Let him be,
peacefully content with reading our dreams.

My wrist shakes
As my blade nears.
Should I?
Yes.

The jagged edge of the glass
Pulls my skin open,
Opening a hole for all the
Ghosts
To enter.

Ghosts that smile,
Ghosts that laugh,
Ghosts that cry,
Ghosts that are frightened.
Ghosts that sting
As the glass draws my blood
To the surface.

And I look at the red
And cry.
I cry
For all the times
I wanted to do this
And didn't.
I cry
For all the times
I promised myself
I wouldn't.
And now,
I have.
Who can I trust,
When I can't even keep
Promises
To myself?

And what,
What
Will I do
When I can no longer
Keep
The biggest
Promise
I've ever made to
Myself?

It mocks me.
I know it must.
Only forty-five minutes out of three hundred sixty.
These dead, beige walls
choke my soul.

I long for the smell of fresh air,
the clash of the taste of rain,
the feel of the elements.

But, of course.
I'm locked in this brick prison.
Never allowed out,
staring, staring,
straight ahead.

But I'm staring, staring
staring at the
beautiful tree,
gnarled tree.
Longing to be near it,
and out of the brick walls.

When you're happy
you'll take all these precautions
so you won't be sad

You'll have all these
--things--     set up
so you can never "feel sad"
or you can "take care of yourself"

It's all well and good
until you get sad.

Because once you've healed
          (or  -ing)
you'll look around
and say
"golly gee, why didn't I do
ANY  of these things I have set up like stations at a science fair?  That surely would have helped!!1!"
(and yes, your naive mind deserves a middle school punctuation)

Well, when you're all                   
                                       sunshine
you fail to realize that
even though creativity should
help you escape your own prison of a skull,
when you're depressed
you just
don't want to be creative
You'd rather
waste away
than pick up a ******* pen.

You tried.
That's what counts, yeah?

I find it funny that
Our band director
Noticed that I was happier
Before even I did.
He noticed how happy you made me
And I made you
Before it registered in myself.
That first month
Before we started dating
Was filled with
Tears and suicide and sleeping too much
And bleeding and those nights of
Sobbing to you.
And you to me.
You saw me cry
Before you asked me anything.
I saw your scars
Before we shared a kiss.
I guess, once in a while,
There's the storm
Before the calm.

Waiting by the door;
footsteps echo.
A stranger's heart
beats nervously in my throat.
It's not mine, no,
how can it be?
It's filled with
lies; lies of my life
flashing before my two cold eyes.
Happy times and places
now shredded beyond repair.

Trusting, trusting.
You asked me to trust you.
Years ago you could have said this
but no. You lied.
The beings I trusted
are nothing but lies.

Lies; lies fill my life.
You are not so.
I loved you at first
but now, now I must go.
Leave you to lie
to my brothers and sisters.
They will leave too
when they hear of
this tragedy you bestow us
through our lives.

Where, then, are they hiding?
Peel back the masks
and there they are waiting.
Like fire to ice
it melts in a rush.

Find this is a dream.
You all stay real.
But no.
Never a dream-state.
The worst ones
are only ever
real.

I've been a broken record,
Since I've been put "on probation."
"I just love him, so much;"
"I just miss him;"
"I just want to be able to talk to him,
But he just . . . can't."

And the worst part is,
you know all this.
You know exactly
what's happening to me.
And that's why you left.
That's why you left me
to be on my own
for a while.
__

I'm accomplishing nothing
saying this.
It's all I've been saying
for the past three
weeks,
and
I just . . .

blood has been tasted on my lips
and there's coffee on my breath;
the bitter sweetness of love

                                                           ­       will you hold my sweaty palms?

and makeup on the pillow
beckons us back to bed

but I'd rather stay awake
scrawling the ghosts of my thoughts,
under soft glows of fairy lights--
held to cinder-block walls with clear tape

I may need your arms tonight;
help me sleep

                           but what makes tonight any different from another?

I could get along fine--
so long as you can go without
my peppermint lips
to kiss you awake

My mind has a library
It likes to read from.
Unfortunately,
It doesn't have a steady style.
For instance,
One day
It'll read a comedy.
The next,
It'll be a tragedy.
Next,
A horror.
But, I don't put up much of a fuss;
I don't try to change its mind.
I don't try to make it
Put down the tragedy
And pick up a heart-warming story.
It gets angry if I do that.
But, still,
It can never make up its mind,
Constantly switching books,
Getting me all confused.

I can't tell you I love you.
I'm too scared.
I'm too scarred.

I've been ruined.
I've been beaten and thrown around--
All in my own mind--
Because of three ******* words.
"I love you".
I poured my entire being into loving someone
Who never gave it back.
It took years for me to do that
Years where everyday was spent giving a little more to him.
And when I finally realized what has happening to me--
--How hopelessly devoted I was,
How I was blind and foolish to believe
He would ever truly commit--
It was too late.
He was a drug I couldn't escape from.
I loved every minute of it,
And he was leaching the healthiness from me.
And I had withdrawals.
I had moments where,
After I had sworn to never go back,
I went back.
And he welcomed me with open arms.
And I saw the thorns.
And I went and dug myself into them
Graciously welcoming their poison into my mind.

Three months.
That's how long it was
Between when I decided to give him up
And when I started dating you.
Three months
To try to adjust to
Healthy.
Five months,
In total,
Counting the months we've been together.
Five months
To adjust back to loving a healthy relationship.
It hasn't totally worked yet.
I'm still broken.
I'm still horribly familiar with loving someone who didn't quite love me back
All the time.
I'm still used to not feeling fully happy,
So when I don't feel broken,
I think something's wrong.

There are no words to explain
How I'm feeling about all this.
I say the same words over and over again to you
But they never seem to work.
So I hope this poem is our chance
To finally understand
Where I stand
Emotionally-wise,
In regards to us.
I love you,
Baby,
Darling,
Love,
Honey,
Sweetie,
Joe,
but it's really ******* hard for me to say it.

And I don't mean the short distances from your house to the school. I want to drive you someplace farther away, like my rehearsal in Newton. You'll sit in the passenger seat, and watch me. You'll see the grip of my hands on the steering wheel, how I slide them around and how I make turns. You'll watch my leg as I go from brake to gas pedal and how my foot leans on each. How I lean back and stretch at every red light, and the way my lips move silently to my music. And when they're not silent, you're hear my lips cursing things to all the other drivers. You'll hear my music playing and learn about me and everything I hear. You'll watch my eyes as they graze over the pavement, and glance through my mirrors, and you'll wonder what I'm thinking about. And I'll smile, and giggle, because I know we're thinking about each other and you're looking at me. I want to drive you somewhere.

It overwhelms, swallowing up my life. My eyes grow dreary from the computer screen, so I give up and retreat to my room.
I put on my music; songs not listened to for years.
Mistake.
Sitting down, I slowly press up the volume, pushing the earphones deeper and deeper into my ears until they can go no farther. I can hardly hear my own voice as I sing along to these songs; ghosts from my past.
His face flashes by.
No.
I have no defenses.
Yes.
I let him in.
Mistake.
WHY must you do this.
You show up at all the wrong times?!
My voice hurts just typing this.
I want to scream it at your face.
I bury myself in the music.
Close my eyes, begin to sing.
First, my old favourites, the ones I loved the most. Fun to sing, fun to hear.
Then the ones with pain..
The ones I used to lock my heartbreak into.
I feel my heart rip open.
Blood drips from the wound. Your face. My tears. My screams. My pain. My life.
I scream into the songs.
I feel you walking away.
I see your heart turning from me, against your will.
I want to cry,
But it comes out in my voice.
The things you said hurt me all over again.
I hate you.
I love you.
I miss you.
This is wrong.
I hate him.
I hate him.
I don't know you.
I don't know me.
I know you.
I don't know.
Sitting down,
eyes closed,
heart open.
My voice jumps
and crescendos
and cracks
with every tear I scream.
I am in my past.
These songs.

These songs were better left untouched.
I was better
when I didn't know
how to cry
through my voice.

Someone once told me
That there was a body found in that river.
The river down the hill
from my home.
They told me it belonged to
a black boy
and was put there by
White men.
They told me that they
Beat him
and
Ripped him
and
Shot him
and
Choked him
and
Drowned him
and
Murdered him
before they were finished.

And as he told me this,
I felt a lump in my throat
and I realized how dizzy I was.
The lump got larger
until it turned into
Searing pain,
And I got dizzier until
My vision went blurry.
My entire body ached. . . .
Before my vision went completely and I'd fall,
I looked down
and saw my blood
And realized the boy
Was me.

It circles us endlessly
Hopelessly devoted to our existence.
The closest satellite in the
Universe
And it belongs to us.
But he likes to hide--
Once a month.
He'll turn his back on us
And our sky is dull and empty.
The stars are delighting,
But nothing may replace
The exultation of his presence.

The moon is a beautiful thing in that
As long as there is light in the day
And darkness in night;
As long as there is life in the world
And eyes to see
He will always be there
To guide us through darkness
And to help keep us sane.

Maybe my heart's not as strong.
Maybe that's why I fall for guys too easy.

Maybe my mental blocks on emotions weaken over time.
Maybe that's why I feel too much when simple pain hits.

Maybe I should tell him I love him.
Maybe that's why this hurts.

Maybe I should tell him later.
Maybe that's why nothing ever gets solved.

Maybe I won't tell him and he can go on not knowing and it will be simple again.
Maybe that's why he'll never understand.

Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Yes.

if you ever happen
to be in the area,
look for the boys with the drums.
and ask him if he remembers
the girl with the violin.
and ask him
(if he remembers),
if he remembers
anything particular
about her.
and watch his face scrunch up
as he can't remember why there would be anything special
about her.

then
look for the girl with the violin
and ask if she remembers the boy with the drums.
and watch her face grow pale
as she remembers the boy with the drums.

I wish a million days gone in a second.
Why is every hour in a minute?
Every second seems too short,
every raindrop carries a thousand years.
Every word is too long,
every breath too quick.
Time never serves me well,
and now it's a winning war.
Please, someone, set me free!
Can I trust these four walls to listen to my screams?
Can I trust my blood to carry the secrets I can't say?

I thought these ghosts
were long gone.
I thought I threw them out--
evicted them from my head--
but I was wrong.
They came back to play.
About a month ago
they grabbed onto a nearby shard of glass
and etched their way out of my arm.
Six of them.
Six times
that glass ripped my skin open.
six times
I ripped my skin open.
And I loved it. . . .
every
scratch
made me smile.
They're beautiful.
The evil ghosts,
the ghosts that cry
and ghosts that are mean
and ghosts that are depressed
are gone.
Only the ghosts that laugh were left behind.

I'm sitting in my first period class
Eating half a bagel
And drinking my tea
I'm wearing my boyfriend's shirt
Which I drenched in his cologne this morning
I'm checking my English page
And looking at all the assignments I missed
And marveling that I got an 86 on the exam
I'm thinking about when I have a band period
And what class I should miss for it
I'm sitting in my first period class
Where the board projector might be broken
And I'm hoping it is so we don't have to do anything
I'm thinking about the dream my boyfriend told me he had last night
And thinking about how great it would be to actually happen
I'm looking at the bagel that I said I was eating
But in fact have  not unwrapped from its foil
And the tea I said I was drinking
But in fact have not opened the lid
I'm sitting here wondering when I'll be sick next
Because I'd really love to miss some days of school
And for once have an excuse to not do work

when i'm depressed
there's always the signifier.
the ****** thumbs,
the scabby lips,
the sleeping in late
or never sleeping in the first place.

"depressed" is
a heavy heart and
sick mind
a stinging thumb
and the taste of blood

is being torn in half
"you're fine"
and "you're not"
is empty eyes and
constricted throat
dried up vocal chords
dying to break free
but choking on themselves
when asked to explain
why they
sit alone
waiting,
listening,
to nothing and
everything.

is eyes that wander
to everything they can inhale
but whisper past
the one thing they long for
they're large and blue and
love to hurt

is twisting your
already twisted spine
to sleep on a rickety thing
you know will hurt but you do it anyway
because happiness needs
underlying shades of darkness*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

writing by moonlight is hard
so I enlisted my old friend
candlelight
hopefully I don't fall asleep
like this
this pencil is largely useless
but struggling is
half the fun

I DECIDED SLEEPING ON MY FUTON TONIGHT
WAS MY BEST IDEA
I SAW THE MOONLIGHT
STRETCHED ACROSS MY FLOOR
and couldn't resist a poetic opportunity

my words don't sound
pretty
nothing is
pretty
anymore--
are happy poems in
my vocabulary?

maybe I need to
stop giving a **** about future
and listen to now --
stop trying to fix myself
and just let myself be
for a while

Dear Riley,

         This is a short letter :O
I can't come to 4th period band.
I want to smoke
I want to be with you (wink wink).
I want you.
I love you
You're my everything.

                         I love you,
                          Joe

I fell in love
With the way you
Held me and my tears.
I love the way our
Ghosts
Wave to each other
When I look into your eyes.
I fell in love the night
You put your arm around me
While I slept on your chest.
And you held your hand
On my arm and
Slowly
but surely
Our hands crept together.
I love the way
Our smiles crack
Pieces falling
Into each other.
I fell in love with
Talking you out of
Killing yourself.
We're just two
Broken people
Who fell in love with
Each other's
Pain.

On days like these
I like to go outside and
puzzle.

The sky is blue and the breeze smells sweetly of things growing;
does anyone smell that?
Do only I smell the curiosity?

People say:
Heaven is up,
Hell is down.

BUT
if you go up as far as humanly possible,
into the atmosphere and through the hole in the ozone,
where did anyone find the pearly gates?
And if you go and dig for years,
will you ever find the fallen angel?
(Does he have bruises?, I wonder)

If we cannot physically find any of it,
who can say what it is;
looks like?

Why is Heaven up?
why not, to the left?
The right?

Are we talking in relation to Earth, or
The Milky Way?
The universe?
Just ours?
(Are there more?)

I cannot say any of this for sure.
What I can say for sure
is that grass tickles my face.

I can say that Earth is round,
clouds are beautiful,
and foxes are elusive.

On days like these
I always finish the puzzle.
Kind of.

**** me slowly with a dagger.
Stab it in my wrist and twist it around.
Keep your hand on my chest to feel my gasps.
Keep your ear near my mouth to feel my screams.
Keep your knees on my hip to feel my struggle.
Keep your eyes locked on mine to see my humanity
Until I fade away.

**** me quickly with a gun.
Point it at my brain and fire away.
Keep your hand pressed against your thigh to hide the shaking.
Keep your ear ringing from the echo of the shot.
Keep your knees strong so they don't buckle.
Keep your eyes locked on mine to see my humanity
Until I drop to the ground.

**** me quietly with myself.
Put it in my mind and watch me follow through.
Keep my hand near my mouth to feed me the pills.
Keep my ears turned away from the thoughts in my head.
Keep my knees near my chest as I curl up to die.
Keep my eyes locked on the darkness of my eyelids
Until I fall asleep.