If you could write your life in pencil,
How much simpler things would be.
When it is turned upside-down,
the slate is wiped clean!

But then again..
writing in pen could be fulfilling too.
If the situation comes around again
a quick glance back will tell you what to do.

But what if your desire
is for your mark to appear darker?
Then might I suggest, my friend,
a big.
       fat.
           black.
                    sharpie marker?


Alas, these utensils have one piece in common.
and that piece is this:
    The output seeps from that which is within.
as does the humans mouth reflect the heart's desire;
reveals the power;the soul; what lights our fire!

       understand it, can you? can I?
can we unlock our own secrets?
                     can we even try?

but maybe then, if we do, and have anything left.
                we can say our words right.
and extend a helping hand, but with a heart contrite.
to assist others in comprehending their plight.
and then.

in the end.

maybe our words will be put into pen.
or pencil

or
big.
    fat.
       black.
                sharpie marker.

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.

Afraid to be in love,
afraid of losing control.
Afraid of all you promise me,
because I don't know where I'll fall.

if it is not
my thoughts
that float through my brain-
it is the isolation
that drives me insane

"Be perfect! Be Perfect!"
That’s all that you say.
And I swear that I will be,
I'm closer each day.

"You're perfect, you're perfect"
Words I want to ring true.
I'm not, but I will be,
Though I already am to you.

I make myself perfect,
In my very own way.
Some might call it insane,
But what can I say?

Each fight with my dad?
I go add some more.
Each time we get angry?
A brand new score.

I'm perfectly imperfect.
It says so on my skin.
With my sharp razor blade,
I'm carving it in.

So please don’t worry,
I'm only doing as you wish.
I can deal with the pain,
It’s hardly a pinch.

Perfect, it says,
With my very own pen.
And I smile at the word,
And write it again.

i didn't mean to look into your eyes.
i didn't mean to make you laugh.
i didn't mean to get butterflies.
sorry.


i didn't mean to hold your hand.
i didn't mean to impress you.
i didn't mean to call you mine.
sorry.

i didn't mean to dance with you.
i didn't mean to become friends with your's.
i didn't mean to like your family.
sorry.

i didn't mean to love you.
i didn't mean to dream about you.
i didn't mean to wonder about us.
sorry.

i didn't mean to want you here
i didn't mean to feel alone.
i didn't mean to cry tonight.
i didn't mean to cry yesterday.

i don't mean to cry tomorrow.
sorry.

I want to dance.
I want the rush of energy to spread through my spontaneous body.
I want to move the way she does.
To be able to sway with that coordination and elegance and vitality.
To hide from my inhibitions just long enough to be alive.
I want that confidence and that joy.
My heart beats fast as I spin around and my hands find a home somewhere in the sky.
Its all natural, its all right, and I am there.
I am the one experiencing.
Then when others see me, they want to dance too.
Why can’t I dance?

Help me
before I
fall apart

Help me
if I
fall apart
to pick
up the
pieces

Help me
before I
fall apart

Help me
if I
lose some
of me
to find
it again

Help me
before I
fall apart

Help me
stay whole
and uncracked