her dark hair flows down her back, she finds herself
in another basement in southwestern ohio,
there's a drink or two around and the faint scent of cigarette smoke in the air.
she takes another tan boy with
a forgettable italian name
and a forgettable italian ****
back to her room and locks them both inside
not much happens after that

some say she takes herself too seriously during the day
****, i say she takes herself too seriously during the day

she's eighteen and she moves to new york
and changes her name
and moves to miami
and changes her *****
and moves to california
and changes her mind
southwestern ohio is barely a dream
that italian boy is barely a dream
so is everyone else.

The little spider sits
atop a paperback novel with a faded
cover, skitters along when it sees the
shadow of a descending
Chanel lofer and inaudibly
squeals as it is crushed
beneath the polished leather, four-inch
heel.

Wading, Wading.
I have my friends here and there.
waiting, waiting.
I smile at both.
wanting, wanting.
I'm in between two lives right now.
I've almost sorted out my **** now.
oh, but today brought me new ****.
**** for the new,
you're almost sorted
**** with the old.
I'm not in the mood to deal with you.
Out with the old, in with the new.
I'm wading between two lives.

Way to catch me off guard
I'm not what my hair colour says I am.
I know you're toying with me.
I'm on to you.
But I think you're on
to me too.
Please wait for me,
I know I don't want you until I've
sorted the rest of my life out.
But I do want you.
I know that sounds shallow, I'm
sorry, just please
wait up.

jesus christ
that's exactly it
it kind of bothers me
its closed minded
closed grouped
i have no one
nothing there
it bothers me,
because im once again looking only at the good
not the bad
just please stop showing
up in my newsfeed.

Le tableau sur le mur
me montré une monde nouveau.
Et me dérobé de la monde
que j'ai aimé toujours.

well sometimes I have feelings
that need to have their cork taken out
so I go and write these poems
they may be about you
or us
but they often don't really mean anything
unless they do
and it doesn't matter if they're ****** or boring or inarticulate
the point is that I have them written down.
they don't need to rhyme;
in fact i quite detest rhyming poems.

La rose
s'assieds sur la table
et avec les temps
fane.