It doesn’t make much sense that I love you.  I’m so wrong for you, and you so right for me.  I guess it does make sense.  But you don’t love me so don’t feel bad.  It’s okay, I understand.  I’m not a high class, well-educated girl.  I feel like you need someone more like my sister, not hot-mess me.  I never match, I’m always late, my hair is always frizzy, I can’t dress myself nice, I love you.  I ******* love you.  Why can’t it be that simple?  Why can’t it just be

I love you
I love you too
I love you more
I love you

I love you.  So completely.  So needy.  Truer than blue.  You’re just

So.

Blue.

And I love you.

Your eyes.  Your smile.  Your laugh.  The way you talk with your hands.  And slur Italian so ****. Your arms. Your muscles. Your skin. Your sweat. Your spit.  Your feet. Your chest. Your strut, hips swaying. Your hips, those hip bones.  My mouth is watering. I want you.

I love your anger.  I love your jealousy.  I love your stubbornness.  I love your cockiness.  Your ****, too.

I love your hangovers.  I love your attitude problem, the way you talk down to me and ruffle my hair.  And tease me and talk to me and you don’t love me.

And it breaks me so violently, snaps every single one of my ribs, one at a time.

Crack. Crack. Crrrrrackkk-kah.

It hurts me.  It will **** me.  But it’s so true.  Because you are so completely and fully

Blue.

You consume me, floodwaters breaking the gates in my mind, leaking into every cavern, swimming debris of you slicing my brain, shallow cuts bleeding into the blue.

You move me, an ocean untamed, your waves thrash against my sanity, turn switches all the way ON.

But you go through me, you don’t see me.  You are this endless, perfect, vibrant, enormousity of sky and I am a bird, mesmerized by your beauty.  

I’m not Old enough
Smart enough
Wise enough
**** enough
Charming enough
Graceful enough
Clever enough
Fast enough
Strong enough
Tall enough
Skinny enough
Crazy enough
Impressive enough
Bodacious enough
Perfect enough

To ever win you.

How is it possible for one person to make you feel so absolutely wonderful and absolutely awful at the same time?  Even now I feel self-conscious writing these words, as if you are somehow perched behind me silently dotting i’s and crossing t’s.  I wish I could be prettier about this.

For you.

I ******* love you.

And I can’t say a word.  I’m afraid to inconvenience you.  I don’t want to make you feel anything but bliss. Part of me wishes you could just feed off my rich, sweet, sticky love for you.  And you could live forever.  But part of me knows you don’t want to sip from my overflowing cup.

And
You
Come
First

So I’ve sewn my mouth shut and fed you the key.  I only hope you’ll reject it, throw up stinky bile all over me.  It’s the only love from you I even deserve.

I love the way you touched my thigh.  Your fingers just barely grazed it, as if sitting next to me was so natural you forgot I wasn’t a continuation of you.  I only wish your lips had followed.

Sometimes I imagine myself getting drowned deranged drunk and spilling my thoughts all over you, a slimy shower of emotion you would rub all over that ******* chest and your heart would pound so loudly veins would rip.  But then I snap back into reality when I bump into a pole.

You smell like Italy, summer, on the beach, with an ice cold fruity drink in my hand.  White white teeth, smiling around an orange wedge.

Whenever we talk I secretly reread our conversations and overanalyze and morph and mold them into the perfect love.  You and me.  I think you are pounding at the door ten flights down screaming my name.  But it’s just all the stupid drunk druggy college kids.

Am I a stupid drunk druggy college kid

To you?

I remember when you hit me in the foot with a door and I yelped “ow” and crouched to the ground. And you crouched down and said, “Are you okay?”  But you looked right into me, into my muddy eyes, and you were

Soooooooooooo thisthisthisthisthisthis close to me.

And I got angry.  And said, “Yeah, I’m fine, ****, calm down.”  Why did I do that?

I told you I have a bad memory.  I don’t.

Have you ever lied to me?

I’ve been writing so much all I can smell is the tangy bitter smell of ink.  And it’s sad that that’s the only sensation I’ll ever know when it comes to you.  

Unless you want ***.  And you might.  I could give myself too, let you use this mint-condition waterbag shell.  You could use me ‘till I wear down to bone and my organs look like rotten vegetables.  But it would **** me faster.

I will be your *******.  You can cheat on me and hate me.  And chew my nails.  Eat my skin.  You already set me on fire.  I’m just gonna burn out, anyway.

I want to look in the dictionary and write down every single word that belongs to you.

I want to write you suicide notes.

Every time I eat an apple, I think of the time you let me take a bite of your forbidden fruit.  And you bit right on top of my saliva and teeth marks.  Like nothing.

Because you are everything.  And I am everything else, nothing.

Soulmates.  So you say.  Why do you tease me?  You hang yourself right above me, a shiny, round, juicy, tender, tempting, sweet nectarine without a single bruise, just out of my reach.

I howl my rage at the moon every night, for tattooing your contagious inferno across my throbbing chest.

You make me cry.  Did you know that?  I cry into my pillow so it stifles my whimpers.  I sound like a choking, sputtering, snot-filled dog.  And I can never swim to the surface of the loneliness that is drowning me.

Sometimes, I just wanna ******* punch you.  And knock all your teeth out.  Stab you up the nose so the whole **** thing falls off in a gurgling, bubbling, ****** mess.  Because

Well I don’t know

You make me mad

But that made me think of you dying and the jolt that just went through my body was so searing I pray you’re immortal.

And I never pray.

If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?

The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
******* in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.

The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing "That ole Ace down in the hole,"
would understand.

The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.

The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.

The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.

The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.

The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.

Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
****! Like a basketball.

It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.

The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisisble cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.

Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.

Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.

Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.

Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.

He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.

i'll admit i found him humorous upon first sighting.
he was
obese,
with one leg,
in a motorized wheel chair,
wearing large sunglasses,
a volunteer firefighter cap,
and awkward headphones, circa '79.

"hello there, sir!"
he shouted as his wheel chair and body
shifted, slanted, bounced with each crack in the pavement.

"hey, how's it goin'?"
i called back, with a warm and hospitable tone.
i've been trying to be more social.

"i am blessed, but sir, would you be so kind
as to help me get some food?"

"yeah sure. where's the food?"
good deed for the day.

"i don't know, i guess around this here corner. i'm lookin' for that pizza place."

"oh okay, i think it's just over here past the bookstore."

"alright. what's your name, boy?

"josh. and yours, sir?"

"james. josh it is a pleasure to meet you. and i thank you.
you see i'm homeless, mr. josh. and you wouldn't believe
how often people turn away from me, josh."

"that's awful."

"yes it is. but i pray for them.
they need it.
may the lord forgive them. may the lord forgive me."

"here's that pizza place."

"excellent. would you go in and get me some food?"

oh. i'm buying him food.
that's what "help me get some food" means.

"of course. what would you like?"

i returned ten minutes later with a gyro, a pepsi, and some chips.

"thank you mr. josh," he said with a bright smile, "this will be a fine meal.
now, josh, you have done a good thing. look at my eyes."
he removed his sunglasses.
his eyes seemed normal enough.
"i ain't no druggy or dope fiend. i'm just james w. green. mr. green.
i was a bass player that just fell on some bad luck. now josh, i'm asking
you as a friend to just give me a little more, so i can eat tonight."

this made me uncomfortable.
i hate to admit it, but i began to suspect this uni-legged, bass player, of ripping me off.

i gave him a 5-dollar bill. that's a weeks worth of suppers at taco bell.

he said a prayer for me.

then he asked me on behalf of jesus,
"can you look into your heart and give generously? just one big donation and who knows what could happen!?"

i gave him another ten.

"thank you mr. josh. i appreciate it. remember me? and do me a favor?"

"sure."

"tell the world about mr.green!"

you're welcome, james.

Don't call me "punk", don't call me "druggy"
And don't you care call me by my home town.
That's where I've been not who I am
And if that is your impression of me
you obviously don't know who I am.
But that doesn't surprise me
No one in this town ever really knew
Next door doesn't even grasp it
So let me explain it to you
Though I am always myself I am not always the same person.
When I'm with you I'm the person you want
When I'm with them...
But it always seems I'm a little too much for you
And not enough for them
But unlike you
They don't seem to mind
They don't criticize my every move
And they love me without putting me down
Or trying to put me into a box where I don't fit
And
I'm sorry
But I just don't fit in your box.
I'm not made of clay that you can bend into a desired shape
And my heart doesn't have strings attached that you can pull like a puppet
And make me dance
You cant control who I am
Who I was
Who I will be
I can't even do that.
So you can put on your show
And make everyone believe you are something you are not
But I know who you are
Because I don't try to put you into any boxes
Not even the one that you are bending over backwards to get into.
Am I the only one who finds it liberating to breathe in the fresh air
Instead of being confined to breathing the same air
As you are passed on from one box to another
Until the only one left is a pine box that will hold you forever
Excuse me if that is the only box I ever want to fit into
The shapes I make are way too elaborate to be labeled as "punk" or "druggy"
And especially not by my hometown.

Just keep livin in this feelin
Never am I beleivin
That **** thats written
Questin for questionin

Im losin
No reasonin
No serotonin

Jane, dope burnin got me floatin
Lucy dances turnin got me smilin
Druggy desperate runnin got me huffin

Huff and puff an puff, pass
One piggy in a house oh straw smokin grass
Nother piggys house of glass
Last piggys house of cards but, alas

Little piggys grow big and pass
One pig in the straw smoked over ash
Nother pig served with a glass
Last pig out of cards, alas

Last pig out of the farm
Free hog free from the harm
Hunted down with a firearm
Pow Pow hogs need not roam

No escapin the farm
Just dyin in a drugged calm
Or dyin strugglin in dirt, ****
So just chill and spread *****

New meat for the grinders
Fresh meat for the diners
Pigs aint **** but some dinners
For pigs with gold incisors

why cant i cry without you being the cause
why cant you leave me
dont try and fix your mistakes
you know my name , not my personality
i show you my fake personality so that i can protect my self from you entirley
your not my mom
you can yell
you can critizize
you can call me names
to everyone else yuor a bad ***
to me you are a lowlife trying tom make herself feel better
i find it amuzing
that you think you can hurt me
that you think im crying because i want to be you
weel im not
im crying because you are so jelous
that your trying to replace my mother
one of the only exzact copys of me
well everytime you call me names
you are just hurting yourself
because i know that i am 3 times younger than you
and still the more respnsible mature reliable trustworthy person
and the only thing important is that i know that
so go ahead try to get me
try to make yourself feel better
because every word
every thought
every smirk
makes me the better person
you cant break my heart because i have a shell
a fake personality
only my blood know the real me
the secrets
the things that would crush you
thank you for making me stronger
thank you for being so low that you make a druggy seem sky high
i was only 10 when we met
but now im only 13 and i feel like im thirty
ready
ready to take on the world
im only a kid
but thanks to you im emotionaly a full grown adult
you need a script
but all i need is my mind
i play it real while you are always trying to be plastic
your blood son already hates you
i hate you
the boys hate you
what more do you want
you drove us away
are you really so low as to drive my dad away to
then the only thing you will haVE
IS A DISGUISE
the only thing youll have
is the lies that you tell everyone
your own mother is under your spell
but im not
im free
on my own
go ahead  do it
lie
because i know the truth

Lol Failure

Too much time to change your mind on the way down. Plus your scared of heights

Bandages and shoe laces stop that ****. hide it with tattoos on the wrist

Too violent, big mess, GSW fail now a vegetable and someone's burden

A lynching? Quit it! KKK gets no favors

Peace and quiet in the car, garage door closed. Then your favorite song comes on. Took too long after all. Don't you drive a prius?

Like you don't know how to swim. Sharks don't live in lakes

Nissan, lexus, most new GMC all have auto detection braking. Get back on the side walk dummy.

Too high of a tolerance you druggy and every Corner has an ER. Now your on the list with diarrhea

Police knows the world is watching they'll pepper spray before they draw now. Now your blind and got your *** whipped with a. Night stick

Honey? Bears? Really?

Circuit breakers homie! Now you have soggy toast.
Smile and shovel the pastries maybe you'll get lucky and cholesterol will stop ya.

Insensitive? Yes,but none the less,
Guess That's my LOL Failure.
-Xin-

If I were to tell me
My much younger me
That I'd be a druggy
Well, I'd probably believe
If I were then able to see
This handful of boring
Well, I'd think I was crazy