one day i woke up
and i couldn't remember
what it was like before you

My mother thinks she knows me, she thinks she knows my favorite color, she thinks she knows my favorite chip, she thinks she knows me. The saddest part is, she doesn't know my scars, my tears, my personality, my heart. I try to show some of myself but she just shuts me down. I try to show my heart but she just crushes it. I try to show my real self but she just throws it away. So, if I tell you one day that you don't know me, I know I am right.

the feeling of knowing and not knowing
that pull toward conclusions
empty faces, blank eyes
racing hearts

we live for the thrill of it

-the thing about secret crushes

I'm going to tell you a story.
It's my favorite, full of magic and pretty things and color.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was a very sad girl, and she never seemed to fit in very well with other kids.
or other people.
or other anything, really.
Her friends never loved her very much, and her parents didn't either.
They didn't much like that she liked other girls,
Or that she gave them nothing to brag about.
Her parents wanted a businesswoman, who would meet a nice man and settle down.
This girl was far from businesswoman material.
So she grew distant.
And drifted further, and further, and further into the dark.
Her candle blew out, and she was alone.
And she was tired.
So, very tired.
And so she wrote down a goodbye on a slip of paper,
And she walked towards the edge of town.
The edge of town, towards the cliffs that overlooked the sea.
She wanted to sleep.
As she was walking, she saw a girl.
This girl was the prettiest she had ever seen.
The pretty girl looked as sad as she did, and so she crumpled up the goodbye she had written and vowed to never let the pretty girl know the emptiness that she had.
So she brought the pretty girl back to life, spoon feeding her soft words and flowers.
Flowers, like calla lilies, for magnificent beauty.
Or Lilac, for the first emotions of love.
But she almost lost the pretty girl.
and then she realized how much she loved her.
and she held the pretty girl in her arms and made her swear to let her help her, and she accepted and then
our girl saw color again.
the pretty girl had brought the feeling and the love and the color and the hope and the light back into our girl's life,
and the pretty girl smiled.
and our girl decided that her work was done.
One last kiss goodbye,
And she would fall out of the world with the stars in her eyes and snowflakes on her lips,
and so she fell asleep after all.

its the sudden denseness in the air ; erratic change of breathing ; the struck of dizziness ; vigilance pumping through your veins ; wholesome fear toppling onto you as it hushes you to be utterly still, do not make a sound. Avoid his heavy gaze meeting yours, avoid it. Do not stare back at heartbreak.

and in
((four days))
i want to find myself on that familiar path home,
"the heat never had the chance to get to me,
for he got to me first."
(oh he killed me, yes he did.)

he did the
thing that she said
he would do,
which could be that he didn't do a thing at all, or that he
did a thing
(which could be that, he did the thing,
or that he didn't.)

the heat killed me last year, it cannot
**** me again. am i invincible? am i skipping home in
a giddy, flowery fit? or power-striding to avoid tripping on
my own tears, straight into the nearest pothole?
(am i already dead?)

i can see the spoilers in the movie reels now, i close
my fingers and squeeze my eyes shut but the tears resting on the corners of my mouth, yes
i can feel them trembling now.
the shaking of my poor heart and the ghostly fingers of feelings, yes
i can feel them being stolen now.
but alas, i shan't lose hope. i shan't lose hope...
(i don't feel so good) GURL you don't--

--hey hey, hush now. listen for the ending, folks.

four days. four days. four days. four days.
(until the summer.)

You think I don't like you but I do,
I wish you liked me back but you don't.
You talk to my friends but not me,
I thought you liked me but I thought wrong.
You flirt with my friend but why not me?
You seem like you care about me over text but
at school i'm nothing to you.
When I roll my eyes at you it means
I wished you talked to me.
I told myself I didn't like you anymore but
could not stop thinking about you.
I had a dream you asked me out
and told me I was beautiful,
but then i woke up an realized
that wasn't reality.
Sometimes I wonder what
life would be like if you liked me back.
Many girls fall head over heals for you,
but you ignore them.
I know you don't like me
and probably see this and think nothing of it,
but just think for a second, because what if
who i'm talking about is you?

life is so boring? the suggestion? of something beyond,
that is beyond me. what should we do
today? what should we eat and where
should we go? what should we be and where
should we start?

if i were to start with you? i would only need a few more
lifetimes with you...

watching the fireworks through your eyes, some
sultry summer evening.
ripped jeans, the back of some SUV, parked
haphazardly on Jones Beach.
we tip our heads together, my summer clothes
soaking through yours, a guitar riff
signals the synchronization of our dreams, the outro
signals the drowning of me out of yours.

...life is boring? let's stay this way.