I just had to stop and delete
everything I had written
because when I read back over it,
I realized I was about to
try and put garbage out
and hopefully get a like.
I apologize anyway.
I just feel different these
days, like something's got
ahold of my spirit.
I feel like I'm a few more
bad weeks away from
having a mental breakdown.
Caution: keep the ***** away from me, otherwise you'll have a
sobbing nineteen year old
wreck in your lap.
I don't know how to end
this poem because I haven't
come to a conclusion.

I worry that he'll find
someone prettier,
who's got long blonde hair,
perfect nails
and a lot less issues.
Someone young and fun,
who doesn't stress about
life,
because things just happen
for her because she's beautiful
and smart.
And then here's me with
my short patchy hair,
and the definition of everything
a guy doesn't want.

When did my self esteem disappear?
I used to be so confident
in the body that I live in.
I used to know I was beautiful,
**** and mysteriously different
in all the best ways.
I used to joke about being a
man eater.
Well folks,
I'm not joking anymore.

You're the one that
I always thought I knew.
It took me almost 6
careful months,
of late nights,
empty beer cans,
and used up pipes.
But it wasn't just me getting
to know you,
you got to know me
in the darkest corners
of the morning.
And before my own eyes,
you almost had me figured out,
although I was no where close.
I'm sure that you know
I still care and miss you.
But there's not even
a breeze in the wind
that tells me you feel the same.

My biggest fear is that
one day,
something will happen,
and then my fingers will go
to work and the next time
I look in the mirror
it will all be gone.

And I'll be left
standing in a
pile of my own
regrets.

I think it's sort of weird
how I've created this
character of him in my
mind.
Where he is everything I
want him to be,
and the truth.
I was thinking that maybe
I'm becoming this weird,
stalker type person,
but now I realize that he
is that place in my mind
that I can go
when I need to find happiness
or solitude.

It's nice to go there.

I don't know
who I am.

I've been pulling all
night long.
Watching as each strand
of hair falls from my fingers
into my lap.
I'll notice the difference
tomorrow and feel angry and
embarrassed about what I've done.
I know that I'm
doing this,
but it's also not my fault.
I can't stop and nothing could be
any worse.