Please don’t fall in love with me.
I know you think that you want to
But I have met myself and I can assure
You that it really is not what you think
You’re getting yourself into,
Regardless of what you may believe.

Please don’t ignore me for days on no end.
I understand that I can be annoying
And have too much energy one day, and
None at all the next day,
That I speak the truth and that
Most of the time, I’m not all that kind.

Please don’t tell me that I’m smart.
I know that it doesn’t make sense to someone like you,
Who really is quite the genius;
But I have only ever been called that
And once you call me that, too,
I will forever be in fear of letting you down.

Please don’t call me pretty.
Flowers are pretty. And I would make a very ugly flower.
Were you to call me pretty,
Then I would think that
I stand a chance in this world
And we both know that’s not true.

Please don’t ask me about myself.
I know this is a stupid request
Since I ask you about yourself
And listen as you talk about yourself,
But I don’t want to tell you something
If you were never ready to listen.

Please don’t tell me I have nice handwriting.
I get it, you just want me to know there’s a
Legitimate reason that you’ve
Been staring at what I’ve been writing,
Yet, all I can think of is that you accidentally
Read some of it and are disgusted with it all.

Please don’t tell me that it will all work out.
Believe me, I have told myself that
Enough times to know that it
Simply isn’t true, and I’m betting that
You also have told it to yourself enough to know
That it really doesn’t work that way.

Please don’t make general statements.
I get it, if it’s simply a segway into something more
But it is rarely a segway into something more.
If it is not leading to something else,
Then I’d rather you say nothing at all
So I don’t ponder what exactly you meant.

Please don’t ask how my day went.
I know that you don’t care
How my day went and
Really just want an excuse
To tell me exactly how
Your day went.

Please don’t ask if I want to talk about it.
If I wanted to talk about it,
Then, trust me on this one,
I actually would talk about it;
Maybe not with you, as you’d like,
But I’d talk about it, with someone.

Please don’t make me think that we’re friends.
Whether it’s logical or not to you,
I actually take that quite seriously
And do not like it when
I get lied to about something like that,
Especially something as important as that.

Please don’t return the cold shoulder I give you.
I know that I should be able to take the
High road, since I’m asking that
From you, at least sometimes I do
Take the high road, and so since I’d do it for you
Can you get off your high horse and do it for me, too?

Please don’t cut me off in the middle of a sentence.
I know, I know, we all get really excited about what we have to say,
Sometimes forgetting that a conversation
Has to go two ways in order to work.
But I always think no one cares,
And that only proves it: that you don’t care.

Please don’t tell me how I’m feeling.
I know how I’m feeling
And I know that you cannot know
How it is that I feel
Because you are not I
And just because you say it doesn’t make it true.

Please don’t tell me what I’m thinking.
Yes, I get it, you really mean well,
You’re simply just trying to help.
But I didn’t need someone to help me think
I have been left alone to my own devices
For far too long to even need something like that.

Please don’t point out when I need help.
If you really think I need help
Then please, feel free to actually help me,
Because just standing there,
Telling me that I could use some help
Doesn’t actually help me out one bit.

Please don’t tell me what I cannot do.
I have faced enough issues
Of not being able to do things
Based on things that were
Completely out of my control.
No need to make me think of those.

Please don’t tell me that it could be worse.
I’m fully aware that it could be worse
And do not need someone I
Barely know and have
Rarely ever talked to, to
Re-state common knowledge.

Please don’t tell me a lie to comfort me.
I don’t want to hear your wonderful lie.
I know that we’re all quite good at lies,
Especially when they’re to comfort.
But I will never be a fan of a lie,
No matter how noble it’s intent.

Please don’t tell me that you love me.
I know, everyone would ****
To be told that, and here I am,
Refusing that which you want.
But I will say I love you too
And you won’t get how much that took.

Please don’t tell me that you care.
I think that you don’t realize
That I may actually expect you
To become concerned about the
Simplest of things and the boring ones,
Not just the drastic ones that impact you, too.

Please don’t tell me that you want to help.
I appreciate the thought,
However selfish it may actually be.
But I would never want to
Inconvenience you by asking for
Something as useful as your help.

Please don’t guilt trip me into anything.
I understand that this is sometimes
All that others have left you as an option,
But you can simply ask me,
Or better yet, straight up tell me.
I’ll be more willing to help you, then.

Please don’t tell me you’re sorry.
I quite honestly don’t care one bit
If you’re sorry or if you’re not,
See, I care what you’re going to do next,
Because it matters more where you go
Than where you came from.

Please don’t become my friend.
I know that I really could use one,
But you seem like such a nice guy
And I don’t want to do something silly
Like fall for you in the process
And ruin everything good we had going for us.

Please don’t ignore my advice.
You’re going to think
That I’m making it all up,
That I don’t have a clue
About that which I tell you.
But ignoring me hurts us both.

I know that they all like to say that nice guys finish last.
But this really is far from true.

Most nice guys really will end up finishing first.
It just may happen to them well after they want it to.

But it may be to your advantage, that way.
You’ll get to meet people at their best, some would say.

When you get to finish first, first, you will miss out on a lot.
The people whose prime is early in life are generally not the best.

I know that it is really hard to think that you’ll have to wait.
There is not a single person who enjoys waiting.

But it really is in your favor to wait for a little while.
You can meet yourself before meeting other people.

And you have to be crazy to think that there aren’t others who are lonely.
Sometimes the nice girls think they’re in last place, too.

Nice guys think that they have to change.
Nice guys, please do us all a favor, never change.

The world can use a lot of people like you.
We need some people we can be proud of.

See, you think you’re a problem because her parents would like you.
Give it a few years, and that will be what she wants.

I meet this nice guy once and really liked him.
But, as you’d like to guess, I didn’t date him.

I’m even certain that we were flirting for a little bit.
Yet, I did not wish to date him.

I suppose you can call me a hypocrite right now.
I would be lying if I said you’re completely wrong.

But never did I say that nice guys would always win.
All I recall saying is that they wouldn’t finish last.

Because, if I’m being frank here, they cannot be last.
Last is reserved for those whom you don’t desire in the slightest.

And I can attest to always wanting someone nice.
I can admit that I will always want someone who is kind.

And you’re wondering why I didn’t date what I wanted.
As luck would have it, I knew he was too good for me.

He may have actually gotten a different message on that.
I’d be fibbing if I said that I told him that.

He just thinks that I only want him as a friend.
He thinks that was all I ever thought of him as.

He is not entirely wrong, honestly, he’s not.
Dating friends is something that complicates things; so I won’t date them.

But he doesn’t know that I was willing to break that rule.
I would go against all I stand for, just for a nice guy.

Sure, I would then somehow ruin things, but it would be nice while it lasted.
But I could never think of hurting someone so dearly, not when he gave his all.

Nice guys don’t finish last because no one wants them.
Nice guys finish last because everyone wants them.

Nice guys win in the end because others have gathered up their courage.
When we can be real with them, then they can win.

Nice guys finish later because we like them so much.
We are scared to hurt them and it causes us to hurt them more.

We can never win when it comes to people.
No matter what you do, someone will get hurt.

Once, I was told that it would take two years,
Once break,
And 6 months more
To have braces and be complete.

I was then told that
5 standard deviations
Meant an extra two years.

An extra two years
Two sets of braces
A jaw surgery
Which would get delayed a year.

Typically making progress
Means hearing something new
Each time you come in.

I have heard the same **** thing
Each and every time
I sit down in that plastic chair
And get two hours of torture.

I have had braces for 7
Going on 8
YEARS.

Most people have them for
Six months.
Then, they are done with them
FOREVER.

A jaw surgery
And an extra set of braces later,
Only to begin again.

Plastic things on my teeth
To fix the ******* bite
That apparently 6 weeks of no chewing
Wasn't good enough to accomplish.

Because I know what they
Do when they are really
"Almost done" with your braces.

They don't try to fix your bite
With two pieces of plastic
When they made you think in 9th grade
That jaw surgery was right around the corner.

And then it got pushed to the next year.
And then to the following summer.
And then to the summer after that.

8 years
I have had braces on my teeth
And looked in the mirror
And knew I never fit in.

Because everyone gets braces off
In the middle of sophomore year.
That's when I prepared for jaw surgery.

Jaw surgery
Was apparently not enough.
Because 12 thousand dollars and 6 weeks
Are no match for two pieces of plastic.

Two pieces of plastic
That are to stay on my teeth
For six months.

Two pieces of plastic
That took 6 minutes to put on
And 6 hours to kick into effect
And 6 months to come off.

Because it is "carrying on"
To want one birthday
Where I can eat a caramel apple and popcorn.

Because when I was 10, I got braces
For the very first time.
I couldn't chew a granola bar
Because my teeth were too sore.

I got a bite plate
That made it impossible to talk
And no one understood me.

I have spent seven years
Trying to hold it in and pretend
That it really doesn't matter;
I'm not the first person to have braces.

But has everyone else had them for seven years
Only to be told that even jaw surgery
Isn't enough to get them off?

Has everyone else waited 6 weeks
To finally be able to eat pasta
And then go to the orthodontist
And be back at ******* square one?

I don't think they have.
And it really doesn't matter if
Other kids have braces, too.

It is "carrying on" because
I want them off.
I want to hear that they
Can actually come off.

Stop instilling hope in me
That they'll come off soon
And say that it'll be 6 months more.

I have had braces in every school picture
Of every single yearbook
And I have never been able to fit in
And the braces aren't helping.

People smile and show their teeth.
This is something I've never liked to do.
Who wants to show off her braces?

I am 18 and I get the
******* pleasure of
Becoming an adult
While still having ******* braces.

At 18,
I should be able to eat a caramel apple
Or whatever the hell I want.

Hell, I can smoke at 18.
I can have tons of people in my car.
I can drive past midnight.
I can even vote for the president.

But I can't have a senior picture without braces.
I can't eat a caramel apple
Or even chew gum.

My entire life
I have been the fat girl with braces
And I have never ever fit in.
So maybe it matters to me.

But apparently I need them
Or else I'll have to do it all over
When I am 30.

My mom thinks that I shouldn't complain
Because my brother has
The same plastic things on his teeth.
Yes, but he gets braces for only two years.

I will turn 18 and he will get them off.
I will be 19 and probably still have braces
Because they never seem to come off.

All I know is that it would be worth it
To pull off the braces myself
And finally, for once,
Feel as though I actually fit in with everyone.

It’s really a quite funny story,
Truth be told.

In middle school,
There were all sorts of dances,
Most of them actually
Fell directly after school.

I think it was more out of convenience for
All the teachers and faculty
Who were needed to come and make sure
Us middle school children didn’t wreak havoc.

Anyhow, I think I went to one
Of those after school dances.

But that never counted to me
As anything more than
A glorified after school activity
That I was doing with all my friends.

See, to me a dance meant
going out,
Buying a new dress and
A matching pair of shoes.

To me,
Anything that you could come
Exactly as you were
Did not count as a dance.

The next year, in eighth grade,
I decided that I wanted to do cotillion.

I’m certain that my one friend
Exclaimed how confused she was at this;
She could not stand the event
And did not understand why I’d willingly join.

But it was never about the details of it.

It was about the idea that I would get to dance
And that I would learn how to dance.

At five years old,
I decided to join ballet,
If for no other reason than
Because my best friend was, too.

I was not ready for ballet
Back then, at the young age of five,
But it may have been good,
It made me realize that I like to dance.

I would always like to dance
Even if I lacked all grace and coordination.

Because I may have had two left feet
And a great tendency to twist my ankles.
But luck would com my way when my dancing partner
Would also have two left feet.

That was really my first dance,
That time at cotillion,
When we were trying to tango,
And we both had two left feet.

I dressed up in a floor length dress,
Pink, with a sheer layer on top,
A solid one beneath,
And two thick straps on top.

So maybe we weren’t the best dancers
And maybe I’m not much better now.

But it was a lot of fun,
And I dressed up all fancy,
And I got to dance with someone,
And my first dance was what I’d wanted.

I had wanted something memorable,
And it was certainly memorable.

So, they don’t let you know that it’s easy to be ready.
All I hear on the topic, is: steady, or, “ready, Freddy?”

It was so very easy, with myself, to be concerned.
But look at me now, all these things, with which I’m adorned.

Everyone is so easy to be around today
A big change, but a great one, I say.

They seem to look at me, thinking that I’m pulling a stunt.
Although they think I cannot see their worry, I can; they are being rather blunt.

Were I to have been told that being fine would be so easy peasy
I may not have been as concerned about giving in, lemon squeezy.

For once, I ran around and played some games with others out there.
We all were in it to win it; they needed me, to be fair.

Yet, it seems as though they really truly like me.
Maybe myself really is the best thing to be.

Today I laughed, screamed, ran, shouted, had a **** good time
Should anyone ask me, I can only say: It was sublime!

That was yesterday, when I promised to be more daring.
Do not fear, it does not mean I cannot also be caring.

This feeling is so wonderful, so nice.
If it could last forever, man, that would suffice.

I made a wish last night, as I looked up high at the stars,
Please, I asked them, let this last awhile. Let me go far.

When I was five
I dressed up as
sleeping beauty
For Halloween.

My grandma made me a dress that
Perfectly matched the one in the movie.

And I held a bouquet
But was not told that
There were thorns on roses.

I should have known that.
Flowers were around my yard.

But I don't think that
I wanted to believe that
Beautiful things have
Such power
To hurt.

And the thorns pricked me.

It was the first time that
Something I find lovely
Hurt me dearly
In return.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good rumor as much as the next guy. Some of them are actually quite lovely and kind. Some of them have come from a really kind heart who gave one of the most amazing grains of truth. Sometimes rumors are the truth. It’s just that, most often, they are not. For shame.

Perhaps I have gone way too long being jaded by the idea that people really are generally good and that they would never want to hurt others. This may be the worst idea that I could make in my life, but I am choosing to believe that it is in fact one of the better ones. Maybe I want the world to be good.

See, you all go around, thinking that nothing good comes without a price to pay and neglect to mention that the same is true for bad things. You cannot do something bad without giving up something that would otherwise delight you. These two ideas have become fois, and, as foils, they cannot come without the other.

It has come to my attention that one can think anything which she wants. This is only the beginning of the wrongdoings. When one can think anything, what is to stop her from doing anything? There is no way to stop actions when you have so boldly fought for the right to think them up.

But she asked about my forearm. I did not want to answer. And she did not push me to say anything about it. As it always goes, I don’t know what she should have done instead, just that I did not like that, which she did do. It is so very complicated when someone wants to help. I don’t want it. But she does.

It is not as though there isn’t a lovely backstory. Believe me, there is a large book somewhere that I could call my backstory. It would chronicle my entire life’s doing, from the first time I was hurt to the first time I hurt someone else. It would say everything that I cannot.

When I was five, I broke my arm for the first time. I ran into my mom’s car. It was parked. I was trying to steer a bike. Turns out I couldn’t. Years later, in 3rd grade, I would finally stop being afraid and learn how to bike. Still didn’t like it. Years later, in 7th grade, I would find out that it was actually my elbow that I had broken.

Some girls who I thought were my friends picked on me for it. It may have been my first experience of getting picked on for being different. It did not matter one little bit, though. I had my friends. We were five. We all make mistakes. I just learned that not everyone can be trusted with anything.

At the age of six I was in kindergarten and there was a girl who did not like me very much, if at all. She picked on me. I was a skinny little thing back then. I have seen pictures. But that did not contribute to the picking on me. Nope. I was picked on because I really liked to eat salads. Salad. I was bullied because I liked salad.

And I was always very nice to her. I can attribute this to a lot of different things, but I think it was because I knew that fighting back wouldn’t accomplish anything. So, I ended up choosing to hang out with guys. There were more of them at the school, anyway. And so I learned that different people can be beneficial.

This girl who bullied me was never someone that I was mad at. I remember that she had a lot of animals at her house. I remember being so jealous because she had every type of pet imaginable and I only had a fish. I named my fish banana head. It was yellow. But this girl had so many pets.

It is funny, in a way. I know that years later it would be told to me that her home life wasn’t exactly perfect. Maybe I hadn’t known that much when I was that little, but I did know not to throw fire to extinguish fire. I think that I was so willing to find good that I did find it. I learned that everyone deserves to be cared about.

In third and fourth grade, there were these two girls. They were nice enough. I can’t exactly pinpoint why it was that they did not like me, but I have my suspicions. I was the fat girl at that point. And, to top it all off, I was in an advanced academics program. I was prone to all the bullying. Didn’t know it.

But this is not the point. The point is that they hurt me and wrote me a letter in my yearbook telling me that I should apologize to them. And so I did. I felt so terrible for having hurt them that I asked for forgiveness. I did get it. They were not without hearts. And so I learned that the loser must give in to demands.

To talk about the next few years is a crazy mess. But there was one time when I saw this guy cry. He was talking about how his sister was mean. I guess that this is a common thing with older siblings. He was this guy that everyone thought was rude and immature. But, from that day on, I had a soft spot for him.

Jump ahead a few years and he and I are in the same German class. He is there, talking with his friend. They begin by having a puzzle solving competition. These guys, who are brilliant, are racing to solve a puzzle. But they talk about the funny things they did in second grade. There was a stick one of them found.

They were the type of guys who had a lot going for them and perhaps I was the only one who saw that one guy who all others had found immature as being absolutely brilliant. He just didn’t try. People are so much more than the facade they lead you to believe. That’s how I learned to look before judging.

But I know that my appearance has always made me feel like the ugly duckling in the room. I have been waiting for so long to become a beautiful swan. A lovely, skinny, beautiful one. Once I was tricked into seeing a therapist about it. Had I known, I may have given it a shot. Thought it was a weight loss clinic.

In eighth grade this new girl came into school. She was from Florida. She was pretty and skinny and blonde, which should have gone without saying. She was everything that I could never be. And my group of friends came to the realization that she was better and picked her over me. Can’t blame them.

In middle school, my theatre teacher gave me roles that were absolutely gorgeous roles and told me I did wonderfully. I believed her. She allowed me to be a lead when there were better actors out there. I was made to think that I was someone with talent. So I tried from then on. I will always thank her for the confidence.

And then I entered high school. I discovered that it was only the same people who got cast. They all looked the same; petite, skinny, and gorgeous. Of course they would get the part. It was made for them. I was then lead to believe that I had no talent. I was swimming on dry land. I learned that people only want certain things.

Still I adored theatre. I decided that, since I would never be pretty enough to be an actress, that I should at least design. At least I could be a part of things that way. And so I took a summer arts class in which I learned the basics of makeup and applying it. It may have been the highlight of my summer.

But that was the summer that I realized that I would have to be proactive in changing my appearance. I did some things that I may not be exactly proud of, and certainly not enough so to mention, but they did happen. I cannot lie. It was seen as the only solution. I learned that mind over matter wields great truth.

Two years later and I would have designed once and been stripped of a crew head title as well. I had told her I would be gone that week. She said it would be perfectly okay. But then she changed her mind at the very end of it all. Some other girl wanted the points. But we all knew who was the first choice: me.

Then comes the piece de la resistance, you could call it. There was this girl who decided that I could show up to all of the rehearsals show week, stay until late at night, but then could not be there for the actual shows. She did apologize to me and I was only mad at myself. I confirmed that I really was not good enough.

So here I am, right now, at the point where tears have run dry and my thoughts are overtaken by daydreams. I have all these lovely times in which I am running away. off to a foreign land. And everything always works out in my favor there. I am allowed to love whomever I please. It is perfection.

Because now I am in love with a beautiful foreign girl. Her demeanor is lovely and when she smiles, she has the cutest dimples. I cannot help but smile and act like a fool whenever I am around her. Love is strange like that. But I am not allowed to love a woman. I have learned to not add another strike on my list.

I was never the daughter that my parents wanted. They tell me that this is not true, that they love me no matter what. But I know better than that. They will love me more if I am into science or math. My mom keeps on telling me to not stop math, because there is a way to creatively use it. What lies.

She just doesn’t think I can make it in the art world. Maybe I can’t. Oh, but what if I can? Don’t I owe it to myself to at least try? Oh, that’s right, she’s the one who fought for years to get me to become skinny and gorgeous. I understand the reasoning, but was it necessary? I am not enough for my own mother.

I have not become secluded because of one event. I have not shut myself out because of one person. It has been a series of thoughts. It has been a long time in the making. It has been a lot of decisions. I have not undertaken this change lightly, and neither have those around me. Poor them.

This is something that scares me, too. I used to be willing to face the world head-on, and now I don’t want to even think it exists. Who have I become? The product of a society, which teaches girls that they are worthless if they are not classically beautiful…
The product of biased marketing. That’s who I am.

She was there, as she always seemed to be,
Reading a textbook and blocking out the world.
And I was there, as I always seemed to be,
Waiting patiently for someone to come and talk to me,
As though someone would choose to talk to me
Willingly, of her own accord, as if there were nothing better.

So this was the way things went between us
For a few weeks and then maybe a month more.

But then Christmas was nearing and
We all knew exactly what that was code for:
Gift-giving. And, that is a code in itself for:
Who really is a friend?, and ,who
Is nothing more than someone who takes up space
That you use only so you don’t have to feel lonely?

See, it determines if that person sees you as someone worth value
Or as someone who is a warm body and a friendly face, if that.

Simply put, and this is not a lie,
From me, she received a hand-painted
Ornament that had her name on it
With block letters that,
Inside, were filled with a pattern that she,
Herself, had specifically chosen.

It is really important to mention right now that I
Didn’t expect something from her. It wasn’t something that was necessary.

But low and behold, she had to go ahead and get me something,
Likely to satisfy her egotistical need.
What did she get me? A tin full of candy.
Now, I realize that doesn’t sound awful.
But the thing is: I put in a lot of time and care into what I gave
While she didn’t have to do much more than go to the store.

Why does this matter? She blatantly gave another gift to another friend
Of hers; it was a customized, lovely, thoughtful gift.

I essentially got a gift card.
Do you know how much thought goes into that?
None. None at all.
Sure, you have to choose the right place.
But you really don’t.
Because it can be easily converted into cash.

Anyhow, this began the slow realization that I didn’t mean anything to her at all,
That I really was that ugly fat friend that no one really wanted.

It confirmed that I was worthless
Last resort at best and then
Maybe in the top thousand
On a decent day when things
Seemed to be going my way.
And she was more to me, I realize.

It was incredibly destructive, I’m  aware
To care so much about someone who doesn’t give a **** about you.

But I thought that maybe it was a fluke
That it was simply because she wasn’t expecting
The very thought out gift that I had given to her.
I believed that it was because I had simply
Caught her off guard, and had she had more time,
I would have gotten something that was comparable.

Now, I know that a gift is a gift and that I have no right to complain about it
But, frankly, no gift at all is so much better to me than some plain old thing.

That was simply the first event in
A long series of events that
Did very little more than
Destroy a friendship that already
Was quite brittle and fragile,
Simply delicate on a good day
And “handle with care” at best.

Yet, I tried to salvage it because I thought that I was making a big deal of nothing.
I don’t want to let something go down without a fight. But how much will it take?

Once I met this girl who had
Been single for only a few minutes.

To me, one who has never dated,
Never even been kissed,
This was more of a reflection of
How bad the tables turned my way
Rather than humorous,
As she had intended it to be.

How is it that some people manage
To always be so content
While others lounge about,
Waiting for love to come their way,
And they would fight to make it all work out.

But they are the ones who will be
Twenty years old,
Never been kissed.

Searching for love,
And still believing in it all.

There was this girl who fell in love with her best friend.
When the friend came out to her,
She said absolutely nothing,
The friend never knew how she felt,

Four years down the road,
She finally musters up the courage to ask her out.
And so they’re happily dating.

I fell in love with my best friend
Three years ago,
At fifteen.
The other girl is eighteen now.

I guess that adulthood gives you courage
To do some really daring things.

I wish that I had the guts to do that,
Tell someone how I feel.

But it is so very hard to.
And I know the answer i wish for
And I know the answer
Which I’ll likely receive.
They are not the same thing.

But maybe,
When I’m eighteen,
I’ll get the courage to ask,
And love what happens next.

Napoleon Bonaparte once said that it takes more courage to suffer than to die.
Unfortunately for me, and perhaps for others, I am not courageous.

I look out into the world and everything it stands for, and all i can think is that, even though I am all alone here, there must be someone out there who is more alone, more lonely, and I should get over myself. It may be very self-destructive and will bring me no good, but it is a constant in my life. At least I know, no matter what I am doing, I will always look out at the moon, think about my life and other people on this earth, and, despite my loneliness, still care.

As I sit out On my porch and stare up at the stars way up above, I am again five years old, chasing fireflies with an open jelly jar as i stare up at the sky and only want to dream. I have always dreamed. It seems to be the one thing that I am actually good at. Sure, living would be nice, but what about dreams? In dreams, I get to say what happens and when. I get to have as many “re-do”s as I want and there is no one to stop me from the insanity. In my dreams, I am always happy.

And that’s the issue with dreams, isn’t it? That we can all sit there with our eyes staring blankly into space and think of a place or time where everything is exactly how we want it to be. We get whatever we want in our dreamland, and maybe that’s why we’re all such a mess when we wake up or whatever. Our dream is gonE.

In dreams, there are no rules. There is no one telling us that we can’t do this or that because of some law or some principle of physics. No one is standing there, arms crossed (or maybe folded, but who cares,) saying “You can’t do that,” because the truth is, we can do that and there’s nothing you can do about it. In our dreams, we are daring. We are the person we wish we could really be.

When I am dreaming, I am able to say what I think and people seem to really care and they seem to want to listen. My world is perfect and I am not worrying about not being wanted or liked. See, when you dream, whatever your greatest fear is will never ever happen. Then it would become a nightmare. But when that is about to happen, you just change your dream and make it all better.

When you get to dream, you are able to more happily face the world the next day, since you have just discovered something new about yourself. You are able to make stupid decisions and ones on a whim. You are able to do more than you ever realized you were capable of doing. Dreams allow you to be yourself, even if it really only is for just a little while. A little can really be a lot.

Through dreaming, people are able to make groundbreaking discoveries and solve issues that they otherwise could not have solved. I wonder why it is, then, that so many young people, full of brilliance and wonder, are given so many things to do, that they barely have any time left to dream? Why is it that the world seems so very against people dreaming and relaxing for awhile?

In our dreams, we are able to take on character traits we wouldn’t otherwise get the luxury of having. Some people are beautiful. Some people are talented. Some people are happy. Some people are successful. Some people are lovely, all around. Some people are in love. Some are loved in return. Yet, no matter what it is that people dream of being, it always has one element in common. It is always the trait that they, and maybe their heart to, always desires.

Courage is something i have in my dreams. I am able to tell how I am and be honest with myself and the world around me. Yet, when I snap into reality, all of those traits of the girl I love being, they disappear. And then I am stuck being boring old me, whose lack of courage causes her a bunch of problems.

I asked her why she wouldn’t say a word to me
She, as the problem stands, didn’t respond
And so it became my turn to tell her my side.
I now have to tell her how I think she’s being.
Without offending her or making things worse,
I have to be blatant and tell it like it is. Oh joy.

All I have to do is explain how I could understand her
While also telling her what I am really thinking now.
It’s what she asked me to do. I should keep my word.
She doesn’t want people to lie to her anymore.
I never want to lie to her, but this is different.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t believe me one bit.

I may not be any better than the lot of them.
The whole hoi polloi may have gotten to me, too.
Try as hard as I may to avoid the status quo,
Being one with the crowd may be all I know how to do.
“I’m not your average Joe,” I happily told her once.
Now, like the rest of the masses, I have a big mouth and big ears.

This is exactly the issue at hand to me.
As much as I don’t want to be like the rest of them
I really don’t know what to do to help her out.
She expects me to always be on her side,
And I really always will fight for her, always.
But what happens when hers isn’t necessarily right?

So she looks at me with pleading baby blue eyes
That want me to tell her my true thoughts about everything,
And, believe me, I really want to tell her everything.
But how am I supposed to without breaking down in tears?
This may not be just for her own good. I also will say
Words to her that mean a lot more to me than she’ll ever know.

She may think that I couldn’t know anything about this.
Now is not the time to spring on the stark reality to her.
But doesn’t that mean that I’m, only like the rest of those people,
Holding back from being real with her
Because I’m too afraid to tell her the truth?
How is doing something like that to her justifiable?

Then again, it may not be the worst thing to happen.
I could be honest with her and give her the reality.
Yet, I really don’t want to hurt her anymore than she already is.
However, it would be good for us both if I could do this.
If I could do this one thing for her, everything would be solved.
Or at least I hope that, that’s all it takes for it to happen.

“Listen to me,” I tell her, my voice soft and not very clear.
“What?” she murmurs, barely audible, eyes looking into mine.
“You wanted me to talk to you like anyone else, don’t you?”
She nods at me. “So, here goes nothing, my love.”
Even though I called her love, I don’t think she thinks I mean it.
I inhale a deep breath and look into her eyes, hoping it will go well.

"So, here goes nothing," I tell her, not fully believing myself, either
"You think that you're the only one who's going through something like this?
You think that you're the only one who has felt so much pain?
If you think that's true, at all, then let me know, so I can leave right now.
Because other people out there get it, more than you'd care to admit."
I look at her, realizing that I may have cut too deep. But this, she asked for.

"If you want me to stop, you just have to say so,"
I tell her, knowing that she doesn't have the heart to.
I wish that she would.
Even if just so that I could think she's okay.
But she's nowhere near okay, anyone can see that.
And here I am, trying to force her out of it.

She looks at me, and I try not to see the pain in her eyes
I try to not look at her with pity
I know that she wouldn’t like that one bit.
“I know what it’s like to feel like no one cares about you,
To wish that you could leave the world behind.
But I want you to know that you cannot leave without a trace.”

Staring at each other, she nods, as if to let me know
That it really is all okay, and that I can continue on.
“But if you think for one second that no one will care
Then you are mistaken and you’ll have to deal with that.
And there is no one out there who will tell you that there are people,
People out there, who won’t care. It won’t change a thing.”

Once more, I peer into her eyes and enjoy the long stare.
“If you really want to know what it is like to not be seen,
Then you have to go to the edge of the Earth and stare at the sky.
You’ll have to watch the world pass you by.
But I don’t recommend it.” I stop and wait for a response.
As though it was planned, we both begin to cry.

“So, there will be people who don’t care about you at all.
So, there will be things that you can never undo, no matter how hard you try.
And, you know what, don’t say that no one will love you or care.
That’s ******* and you know it. I will always care about you.
If you think that you’re allowed to leave me,
Then think again, because I do not go down without a fight.”

Her lips open and I am ready for her to scream back at me.
She could, she should. I know that I deserve it.
But she does little more than talk about a whisper.
“You think that it’s easy to walk around, wanting to die?
If anyone understood, then everything would be different.
There’s no one that I can talk to. They all say the same things.

And don’t tell me that you’re different.
Sure, you’ll admit that people may not miss me,
But does that really make a difference,
In the grand scheme of things?
Because I don’t think that it makes things change at all.”
So I now have to respond to this poor, lonely girl.

“All I know is that some people are going to bring you down
And some people will never care that they are.
I know that you cannot allow that to destroy you.
You cannot allow that to drag you way, way down.”
So I look at her, tears in both our eyes.
And as I walk away, I swear I heard her say “goodbye.”

The odd thing is that
Only certain people are
Allowed to get picked on

When she’s pretty
Maybe even itty-bitty,
She cannot be a target

When she is ugly.
Or has a different way of being,
She can only be a target.

It is acceptable to look at one
Who is so very different
And then keep on insulting

If he is a sports star
Then he must be wonderful
And is never to be picked on.

If he is smart and clever.
Wears glasses, maybe, then
He can only be less sought after.

It is said that all are
To be treated equally.
But this is never lived out.

She is told that she
Can be anything she wants,
As long as she looks the part.

She is told that she must
Be brilliant and then
Falls apart when she fails once.

It can be as bad as to create
One’s identity for her as
It is to deprive her of one.

He is told that
He must play sports
He must get perfect grades.

Perchance he doesn’t,
Opting instead for art,
Never aware of it’s hefty price.

Apparently only the
Pretty girls can pick
On others.

But the smart ones
Can throw a
Much, much larger punch.

When you are
At a disadvantage,
The ***** are in your court.

Because the pretty girl
Who has no real friends
Cannot be bullied.

It is not viewed
As something wrong
When done to certain people.

We accept that some
Get picked on, deciding
That it’s how the world works.

Because the popular guy
Who wants to dance
Does not understand pain.

Bullying is only seen
As taking one’s freedom. Never
As telling one how to live his life.

Because, somehow,
You are never allowed
To be pretty and smart.

Because you are
Only allowed to be
Society’s perception of you.

You are allowed to be fat.
But then you must be comedic.
Never can you be a fat dramatic.

Because it isn’t over until the fat lady sings.
She is always the comic relief.
Never is she the leading lady.

You are allowed to be short.
But then you must be petite.
Never are you just something ordinary.

Because retailers makes special jeans
For the tall and the short,
Forgetting how it highlights the differences.

We pick out the differences
And choose to make these
The prominent points.

We don’t look at what’s the same
Because then we’d have to admit
That none are really any better.

We all want to be better than
Someone else around us.
It’s simply the way the world goes around.

All I wanted was acceptance.
All she wanted was kindness.
All he wanted was to have fun.

But we all wanted to be seen
As something more than ourselves,
As something extraordinary.

We all want to
Feel amazing, to think
That we are worth a lot.

But only if we play
That role we were assigned
Are we allowed to feel we’re worth something.

About three days ago
I heard a strange sound
But when I went to find it
I was only met with silence

So I threw my earbuds in
And hoped that they would drown it out
I wished that nothing more would come
That somehow I’d fixed it all

Then, there was a loud noise
I jumped, startled, frightened
I really wanted to scream and shout
A part of me thought it would be best
If I could just run far, far away

Yet, I am one to ignore thought and logic
Especially when it is my own creation

That all said, I did not want to confront it
But I felt compelled to come toward it
I was going to see what it was
I was going to see what had made me wonder
But where to go, where to look?

So I approach the windowsill
And hope for the very best
But when I look out the window
All I see there is a clear, sunny day

So I retreat back to my chair
I wrap a blanket around me, in a cocoon
I place my earbuds back in
And blast the music way, way up

When I first told people, so many years ago,
That I could never get cold, no matter what,
I., myself, really, truly believed it.
It wasn’t a lie when it really was the truth.

No one thought that it was actually reality.
But it was my reality, not theirs.
They didn’t have to believe anything I said.
It was their issue, not mine.

Many people refused to believe what I’d
Told them so many years ago and then
Continued on to think was real
For so many more years to come my way

Eventually, the day came when,
I, too thought that. I may be wrong.
Sure, it could have gone a lot worse.
But it also could have gone much better.

The truly funny story comes here
So, see, I'm coming out of swim practice
And there's snow all around me
But I'm dressed for summer.

Coach Beth asks if I'm cold.
And of course I say that I'm not cold
In my flip-flops and camisole.
I really was quite content at that point.

It's unforgettable to everyone
How I would wear shorts
And tanks and sandals
In the dead of winter.

Only because I could.
There was no hidden motive.
No siree, there was nothing more;
I really just enjoyed being that way.

And then years later I ran out
It was the middle of the night
There was a huge wind chill
But I had known that before leaving

And my hair was sopping wet.
And I only could grab flip flops.
And I could not find a jacket to wear.
And I worried, because I was cold.

It happened once before
I was outside late at night
And goosebumps were everywhere
I looked and didn't want a coat.

So I think that I have into
This idea that everyone must get cold
Because all I had wanted to do
Was fit in, and that did something.

But I would not realize until just one
Year later from that date
That cold may sometimes be
More than a physical condition.

See, you can be cold because of
Something silly like the weather
Or you can be cold because of
A serious matter like relationships.

That's what I've learned in the
Wacky time I've spent on this planet.
I've learned that people are the ones
Who end up hurting you the most.

I had never really been wrong
And I still am not, in truth
I never am physically cold
But that isn't what it meant

So it took years to get there
To that weird conclusion of mine.
But now I know that a bad ending
Really can turn you stone cold.

Yesterday, I thought that my wish had come true
Because I was standing there, thinking everything was now new.
And I thought that things would now be better.
I thought, now everything will be resolved.
Foolishly, I assumed that I had control and I would be fine.

These past five months have been really nice.
Well, the five before the immediate past three.
Good things come in threes, that’s what I was told.
Apparently bad things like that lucky number, too.
Bad things like three and good things like five.

“Three’s a magic number” is something that I have heard quite frequently.
It seems to make sense to everyone,
As a way to explain why things happen the way they do.
So why are things that I don’t like also allowed
To happen to me, in this world, in threes?

“Two’s a crowd, three’s a party” is simply
Another one of those phrases I hear tossed around.
It should make more sense now.
That’s why good chose to come in odd number five.
Add two and three - they make five.

Sure, it was really aggravating to me this time.
Wishing upon shooting stars is supposed to make any and
Every wish come true, every single time.
Trust me, it actually did come true, and that was lovely.
Even if it was only for a very short time.

If I had a dollar for every time someone said that they just wanted to forget,
I would have so much money, and it wouldn't even be funny in the the slightest.

Well, not for me, anyway.
See, I'd have tons of money and everyone else still would really want to forget.

But they would never realize
That, of course I still remember every single little detail of it all.

Yes, I still remember
What it was like to cry until everything somehow worked itself

Just hoping, wishing, wanting
For something better to come along and make everything settle itself down.

My problem is really that I don’t care to have anything in my entire life forgotten
Because everything changed me for good, even if it was really something quite rotten.

Sure, I’ve had some things I’d
Really truly like to not have follow me around for a long time

Yet, there are so many other
Goals, dreams, wishes, and aspirations that I hold near and dear.

Systematically, if I change one little thing
All others will somehow change themselves as well, almost like magic.

Problem ends up being,
As it seems to be every single time this happens,
That the issue really is picking the right thing to alter.

Surely I could pick anything that I wanted
And just wait and see what happens to me

Just wish upon a shooting star in the night sky
For everything to somehow transform for the better

It likely won’t happen to me
But the fun isn’t in it happening
The fun is in getting to dream about the future
About what might be
About what could happen with one little difference

I could become someone else
And become delighted with this new life of mine

Or, I could become another
Who is everything bad about myself brought out tenfold.

Either way,
As far as I am really concerned

No matter what happens with an alteration
Whatever may come my way

Anything, absolutely anything
Is preferable to this insanity that encircles me daily.

See, I could have a dollar for everything that people wish to forget
And I may come up with a sizable chunk of dough to spend to my heart’s content

But I would rather have (as it is to my advantage to do so)
A dollar for everything that I have managed to remember all these years

Because then, as sad as many of those memories may be,
As many as I should really long to forget about and
Just give in and leave behind

Would be all the memories that made me who I am currently.
Then I would have enough in my pocket to create something to go back in time.

At the young age of fifteen I dragged a blade across my skin
After fingers went way down my throat.
And sure, I felt like Hell, and I knew it was wrong
But, honey, I was going to look like Heaven sent me down.

It had become apparent to me that no one was going to believe
That some poor, lonely girl could ever become problematic
Because she didn’t look the part
And so she could never ever play it.

So I knew that I had something going for me
Even though I still doubted that I really belonged.
Because, sure, love, I had no one there,
But that also meant that I received no unwanted questions.

There was a little voice inside my head,
My conscience, holder of my sense of rights and wrongs,
Telling me it wasn’t right, it hurt,
Telling me that I should stop before I went too far.

But the voice telling me the reasons I should was stronger.
It’s not like anyone will care, it said, you have no one.
All people want is someone who will look like who you’re going to become,
Then you’ll have friends, real ones this time, it said.

Sadly to say, or so I’m told, it’s supposed to be sad,
I went on and on doing stupid things,
Not once caring about how much I was destroying myself,
How I only continued to feel worse and more alone.

Day after day, I did the same **** things that I had been
Told were wrong for any young person to do.
Yes, it really was something that I was not proud of
Ask around, or don’t, it’s not as though I told a single soul.

I did not want them to feel bad for me
I did not want their fake pity and concerned glances
I did not want to find out that I was only wanted
When I was troubled and nothing but a charity case to be fixed.

A few months passed and only red marks
Resembling lines, some straight, some intertwined,
Of sadness and shame that I still felt,
Were how I chose to release everything I felt.

I was not concerned with anything more than being
Alone and able to chose how my life was
Without anyone else trying to dictate my life for me.
I was not letting those I don’t like write my story.

Only later would I find out that I am able to
Write my story myself and call my own shots.
There are still purple marks all over forearms and thighs.
But, for the next few months, I may just be alright.

I did not feel the need to do anything stupid
Anything that I could not undo or fix.
And so, for a few months, I was alright.
I somehow found the will to fight myself.

I found that I had the power to decide not to do this
It was really nice, you know?
And so, for the time being, I really am happy.
The issue is, the problem is myself,

Reality
Confused.
Terrified.
Not enough.
Never enough
Never going to be enough.
I’m told that these are lies
That I have been led to believe are the truth.
But they really are the truth.
And that’s really the issue here.
Were the false,
I would not care.
But they are real.

Dreams
Courageous.
Confident.
Exuberant.
Daring and caring.
Strong and brave.
Willing to do whatever it takes.
That’s who I am.
In my dreams, anyway.
Anything I want to be to any extent that I want it to be.
That’s who I am in my dreams
I am fantastic.

Great
When I was four, great was:
Seeing my friend.
Going to the pool.
A lemonade stand.
A Beach Trip.
At sever, it was:
Friends and parties and fun.
At fifteen it was
Seeing the world
For all that it’s worth.

Terrible
At four, terrible was simply:
A scrape or a scratch.
At sever, it was:
A friend moving far, far away.
Breaking a limb.
Having a fight..
At fifteen it was:
Losing a friend.
Realizing the world may not be
Generally good.

All
Once there was a guy who went in search of the fountain of youth.
He wanted it all:
Fame, fortune, and eternal life.
But then he would be there, watching all that he loves die.
We all want something out there that we think will make our lives better, but have not taken the time to consider how it would end up fareing for us.
We’re told that we are entitled to it all.
And we are not given a way to actually obtain any of it.
Oh my, my, my.
How fun it must be to be five years old and think a wish on a shooting star means a lot.
I believed.
Was it a mistake?

Nothing
If every single thing that we thought was stupid disappeared,
I guarantee you that it would all be missed.
Then we’d once again want what we can’t have.
I did not ask to figure out the world’s intricacies.
I have made friends with some writers.
You can always have more
Is a line that I have always adored.
Of course you can!
When there’s none left, you can fill it up.
But, when there’s no room left, you can only take less unless you are willing to hunt down another container.
Oddly enough, it is this nothingness that terrifies us.
But all success stories came from little or none.
Why do we love the tale but not want it, too?

Take It
What you wanted.
What you got.
Have some fun with it all.
When will you realize that you may have taken the one thing that we all desired, too?
What makes you think that you’re entitled to it?
How I feel every time something lovely comes into my sight and I get the thought to want it.
It was easier back when these thoughts did not consume me.
But I took a very foolish chance and now I’m here.
What I needed.
What I received.
Had lots of fun pretending.
Realized too late that I wanted something else.

Leave It*
Run.
Go.
Fly, fly away.
Doesn’t matter how you exit,
Just that you actually do.
Walk
Crawl.
I really couldn’t care less.
How can you care less than nothing?
You can’t.
Said that I deserved it all,
Everything that ended up coming my way.
Thanked you
For telling me the truth.
Thought it was out of a sort of kindness.
Wish I were right.
But then you really didn’t want me.
But still you stayed.
Why’d you mess with me like that?
How rude can you get?
I gave you all the space you needed.
So what gave you the right to leave without a second glance?

So I was doing very little more than staring at the ceiling when I noticed that there was something really off about how I was. And then I saw her there and I realized that, well, I had fallen for one I cannot have.

And it is not because I am unlovable that I cannot have her. That may be the rationale that I seem to love placing on that, but not this time.

In this one instance, and this is really what makes it slightly amusing, the reason I knew it could not happen because she is a she. Now, I am not the one opposed to being with a girl, but I have a feeling that my very religious mother and father would flip a table at the mention of that.

Not to forget that my beliefs may also agree that it is not the best idea. Trust me, my small group leader is so very opposed to that idea, and so I really don’t have anywhere I can freely express these feelings and talk it out.

Because I believe in love and what it stands for. So I don't see much of an issue with what I feel, but everything I have been taught has led me to believe there is something wrong with me.

And my  may claim that she has no issues with same *** marriage but I know that the view only pertains to those who are not her family. Were I to be that way, she would have one hell of a cow.

And she is still there, that girl that I adore so very very much. Every day, I will look at her with a large smile on my face and pretend to not care that not being able to walk right up to her and ask her out on a lovely date is killing me.

Because it really does hurt me each and every day, to think that I am yet again in love with someone I cannot have. Typically, it is due to not being liked in return, but I won’t have the chance to find that out.

There is the glaring fact that my parents seem to really want to know who this boyfriend of mine is. They really seem to think that I, silly old me, have a boyfriend; they’ve taken to calling him “Tony”.

And I try so hard to keep a smile while hearing this all. But I may have to tell them that I do not have a boyfriend; I’m in love with a girl

I know that you don't get it.
How could you?
How could you
Get what no one here
Had wanted you to believe?

And she meant well
She always meant well.

Lines from a poem
I had written many moons ago.
Lines I had never ever expected
Someone to say
When talking about me.

And that's the thing about writing a poem when you have your life together and you are, in that moment, infinite.

You write the words
That you want someone to use
When they talk about you;
The words that you think
When you talk about you,
But these words are for you
And for your ears only.

So when someone tells you them,
You stutter in your tracks.

It's a yellow light
And eighteen wheels.
A halt that should never have been.
A glimmer of hope
Mixed with sounds of despair.
Everything you had never wanted
Beside all you had always longed for.

It could have been fate,
If fate came in small packages
With tri-colored hair
And a wonderfully soothing voice.

There is something about the way
That life falls out of place
When people just tell you
All the words
You had never intended to hear.

It must have been no less than a week ago when you asked me why it was that I looked so very sad and why it was that I never said anything. You said that you understood, but I highly doubt it. This isn’t just something that is situational and can be pinpointed. If it could be, then I could figure it out. But it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. I wish that I could explain it to you, but it’s much too complicated.

Do you want to know why….
I never tell anyone what is going on
The world seems like a dark, scary place to me
I still see the world as good, despite evidence to the contrary
Nothing that  you ever really need to be told is said
I will never try to tell you about anything
Please, don’t understand. Because,
I actually really do like you and care about you.

What you don’t know is that I have a really good friend who knows when I need to be left alone and when she can come talk to me. You don’t know that I actually have someone who is okay telling me all about herself and never asking me about my life or how I am. If I really wanted to talk to someone, I would talk to her, a longtime friend of mine, the girl whom I have somehow, and God knows how, made into this.

But it is not that easy, I hate to say, to….
See everyone laughing with friends
Realize that I have no one because of my own doing
Know that I caused all of this hurt
Believe that nothing I ever do is enough
Look around and realize just how little I’m worth to the world
Ponder about life and think how much is out there
Be certain that my dreams really could never come true.

Certainly you realize that I am not an easy person to understand. That girl, who is by best friend, time present, has told be that I am predictable and a surprise. I thought that was lovely. Little did I realize that it would not be so simple to continue being that way when others have found their place in the world and I am still wandering around, in search of mine. But I always was the odd one out. No use changing now.

You don’t believe that I understand.
You don’t believe that this is for my own reasons.
You think that it will stop with help.
You think that “I love you” is all I need to hear.
You thought that it would help out a lot.
You thought coming to talk would be good.
You knew that you were pushing a boundary.
You knew that I wouldn’t want to talk about it.

But you asked me anyway, And so, I haven’t told you a **** thing. I know that it is quite rude and mean and I understand if you want to run and tell the world. But I lost a friend because I wasn’t able to be there for her. I lost a friend because I wanted to be selfish and could not take the time to step back from my own issues to care about her. I lost that friend because I was the problem. So I took all the blame.

One day, I would love to explain to you
Why it is that I have a wall ten stories high,
Crafted out of mortar and brick,
With no room to add in any sort of window.
I’d love to tell you that it is because
Every time I have let it come down,
Even just a very little bit,
The person who knocked it down ran away.

Go ahead, I dare you, try to tear down my cemented wall. Try to change me. Have at it. If you can do it, you’ll have won the most coveted prize of all. But I really don’t know how you’ll be able to do that. Many have tried for so very long to accomplish such a feat. The only one who stands a chance is my best friend. One word, and I’d break it down for her. Yet, she is not daring or bold enough to even try to do something like that.

It would make me so happy if she would try to do that.
If she would even consider pushing the boundary,
Ask a question a second or third time in a row,
Push for an answer that I don’t want to give;
Oh, if she could be so bold as to even try that,
If she could do that, even just for a day,
Then I think that I would have to give in to what she wants
And then she would get every answer she’s ever wanted.

Issue being, you are not she. And she is not you. Were you both to be each other or somehow become the other, then I suppose you’ve found your loophole right there. You have found that which will somehow become my demise or pitfall or whatever the hell you want to call it. But I really just want you to understand that I am not ready or willing, quite frankly, to tell you something that no one else knows.

You are such a sweetheart,
I do want you to know that, okay?
But it is because you are a sweetheart with
So very many friends and such popularity
That I could never ever open up to you
And I really don’t know how else to explain it to you
Except that to say,
Darling dearest, the truth is going to hurt you.
But I know you and I know that you won’t accept that as an answer. I know you, I know that you just want me to tell you everything. But are you aware what the cost of being told all of that is? You will know a secret that I want to be taken with you to the grave, while you will feel obligated and obliged to tell other people because that is, in all honesty, probably the right and noble action to take

I’m very sorry to have to tell you,
But I’ll spare you the waterworks
By only giving you a brief overview.
You have so very many friends.
I have a few, at best, and
Am their last option, on a good day.
You are sought after by so very many
I would **** to have someone even glance my way.

See, I cannot tell you anything because I am all too good at hurting those that matter most to me. I really do believe that you care. But listen to me, hear me out. I have been down this road before, where people care and they really seem to want to know everything about me. But I really don’t want to drag you on the emotional roller coaster that I am. I know that’s not enough for you. But it’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.

So many people ask me what I would do if my words were limited
And never do they ask me about what they should do,
Were their words the ones being limited.

They all stand there, so content, so easy going, so willing
Just to be themselves. And so they scream and shout,
Never realizing that words are something to not take lightly.

Did it never occur to them that they’ll have to say something more
Than just the words that they think people will need to hear?
Why do they ask me what to do? Why do they think I’ll know?

Should I know how to reserve my words and still say something,
Were I not confined to only knowing that words are beautiful,
That they all mean something,

Perhaps then I could help them out,
Use more words in a sentence than I would in an essay,
Possibly end up helping them out.

But at what cost? At what price?
I have been selected because I say so little.
Should I ruin it once to help out many more?

My heart tells me that words need to be reserved and
People need to conserve their syllables
Or else no one will listen, because everything will become background noise.

Stupidly, my mind disagrees with my loving heart.
It would be better to risk everything just one time
Because what’s the loss of one when it means the rescue of many?

As always, I embark on quite a debate with myself on the matter.
Do I want to do this, when so much is at stake?
There’s a great chance that I may be inclined to say more, again.

So many people continue asking how I say so little.
I sit them down, say it will only be said once.
Once silence falls, they finally understand that
Silence can have as much power as words.

Part One: Soulmate

So you go down the street
As you have been doing your entire life
Up to this point, anyway.

And you see a person
And you think it’s your soulmate,
Whatever that is.

But it’s not.
And it never was.

Yes, it exists.
Yes, it’s a real possibility.

But your soulmate changes constantly
Because you change
Each and every day
Of your life.

Part Two: Love

Here’s the odd thing about this funny little thing:
It’s not an emotion.

See, you know if it’s an emotion because you can sense that it’s happening.

But love sneaks up on you.
It comes by surprise.

One day you’re fine.
The next day, you see that person taking history notes.
Nothing productive to society.

And you stupidly
Can’t stop staring.
The Greeks have four words for love because
They knew it wasn’t an emotion.

Emotions have levels.
Love has only descriptions.

Part Three: Insanity*

Back to this history notes thing.

So there I was, just sitting there,
Also doing nothing
Productive to society.
When I glanced around the room.

Red earbuds.
White I-Phone.
Taking notes.

Something I really should be doing regularly,
Taking notes, that is.

That one has it all figured out
And has it all together.
I don’t.
I don’t want to.

I don’t mind falling stupidly in love and not knowing it until I cannot stop staring at one who is taking history notes,

Which are nothing useful in the grand scheme of life.

Just notes.

And, yet, I wouldn’t stop looking.
And I didn’t want to.

I must have been seven years old when I found out
That only the prettiest girls are the ones that people care about.

I must have been confused and cried my eyes out
But all I remember is that she was popular and oh so kind.

I must have been wondering what I had done wrong
They all seemed to be my friends, so why did they change their minds now?

I must have been worried about her, as all the others were.
She tripped and scraped her knee. It would be rude to not care.

I somehow had managed to give into the idea that I didn’t matter
For I had a broken arm and no one had asked me about what happened.

I must have thought that it was normal to be passed by so easily by all
Because everyone readily rushed to the aid of the poor girl with the scraped knee.

I suppose that it all made sense to me, even at the young age of seven.
Popular and pretty are all that anyone wants to concern themselves with.

I must have been willing to be a doormat filled with a whole lot of compassion
Just so that I could hold on to the very fake friends I’d managed to obtain.

I must not have understood that I deserved to be treated well,
Believing that I should be lucky to have anyone who would come my way.

I must have read a lot of books at that point in time
All of them full of some very terrible messages to live by.

I must have known that only people who are well liked get attention
It is not a huge realization, just the stark, awful truth of life.

I must have known that it was only the pretty girls who were the main characters
Even when they are not popular, they are always drop dead gorgeous.

I must have realized that I would have to change to be wanted
Yet, it never occurred to me that others would change alongside me.

I must have thought that I was nothing more than a sidekick
Only later on in life would the harsh truth of this make me cry tears

I must not have figured out that I needed to find better people
However, I really did like them and they really could be quite nice.

I must have been easily deceived in believing my stupid reality
Some stupid reason compelled me to believe that my reality was nothing but normal.

I must have been nine when my identity became the fat, smart girl
Intelligence at least got me some friends, although maybe not all that preferable.

I must have been convinced that I could never be anything but smart
When I became older, I never thought I could be anything else but that.

I must not have known that I was worth something more
Because every time I tried to be something else, I failed each time without fail.

I must have been seven years old when I discovered
That you have to be pretty and popular to get anywhere in this world

I must have been a little kid when I knew what others would take years to discover
That the world is a terrible, awful place full of hurt and pain

I must be absolutely stupid to still think the world is full of generally good people
But no one wants to tell the truth to the world, and I lack all the courage

I must have been fifteen years old when I walked into high school
And realized that, now, everyone else, too, knew what I had known since seven years old