taping back the pieces of a letter that was meant for you
crying to witch house and giving myself a stick and poke tattoo
smoking some **** and petting my cats
falling asleep and eating lots of snacks
cutting up clothes to show more skin
watching old movies and getting drunk again
painting my nails a beautiful blue
getting lost in the dark hue
getting lost in thoughts of you

i still love you

you are a man of many colors;
i am a woman of none.

you shine bright;
i am dull hue.

you blend in with the sun;
i fade into the background.

i float down the river
to the other seemingly grey
bodies of despair.

you stay on land,
grouping with other rays of light
and you all share stories of good times --
which are those times you aren't with us.

we cannot blame you.
we hardly even like each other.

we're as different as night and day,
black and white;
hot and cold.

i just wish our differences
could have kept us at peace,
instead of stripping us down
until we were cracked
and shattered bones
trying to find the glue
that held us together
in the first place.

Right now,
I believe I have no name.
Right now,
I could probably write a 351 page book on how I am nothing —
on how we are all nothing —
and pass as very intelligent,
very entitled psychologist
who knows so much more than you.

We're from two different worlds,
You and I.
I desire to reach out,
To touch you -
But my hand is swallowed
In the galaxies between us.
Your eyes are cobalt planets -
Deep emerald waves
Crashing upon their shores.
The smoke curling from your lips
Is dark, dreary:
The forsaken Milky Way.
I watch you,
And I know -
I will never close that space.
There is too much in the way,
Too much noise,
Too many opinions,
Too many disapproving, shaking heads,
And furrowed brows.
Our asymmetries are miles deep,
Coursing through
Your bloodstream,
Coursing through mine.

She couldn't decide who she wanted to be,
so she was everyone.

She couldn't decide what she wanted to do,
so she did everything.

This
was better than being no one;

This
was better than doing nothing,

as many are, and many do...

She
was not them.

She
was different.