It’s really disheartening
The way people are being
They only love you at the beginning
And they chew you up the next thing
They spit you out after they use you
They forget everything right that you do
They take your air until you turn blue
Turns out, people are worse than you knew

It’s really disappointing
The way spiders keep you spinning
They bind you up till you’re hurting
Keep you in a shelf until they start eating
They make you wait for your death
Mercilessly, they take your last breath
What’s worse is you don’t even have a death bed
Your awake but all of you is spent

Like a lake without water
Like a pen without a paper
They left me like this, more alone than ever
I just wish I could be happier
But I promise myself, this is the last time
I’ll never again let them take what’s mine
My sanity is all that is left in my mind
And I’ll bury it somewhere even I can’t find

I went to the canyon
To see the sights
To read the writes
To meet the heights
The heights were high
The lows were right
But something didn’t click

The tears didn’t run
The breath wasn’t taken
Yeah it was cool but I’m not mistaken
I wanted to be blown off that cliff
But the wind fell short, the air was stiff

Never have I met my sense of awe
I hope we’ll meet someday
I’m holding out hope that I find my strike
That I’ll be blown away

I do so well without you
Then you come back again
I say that I am fine
I sit and play pretend.
I go off to parties
I try to flirt with men
I do so well without you
That it’s hard not to pretend.
And, silly me, I loved you
And, silly me, I care
For you and all around you
But love is never fair.
I do so well without you
Then back you come around
I see you in the distance
You look for common ground.
I say I want to see you
I say I want to call
I sit alone and wonder
If I was anything at all?
And, silly me, I loved you
I thought I meant the world
To me, you were my everything
But I was not your girl.
I do so well without you
So very, very well.
Until you say hello again
And I’m under your spell.
And, silly me, I talk to you
I often bare my soul
And, silly me, I love you
But you don’t deserve to know.

You laugh at my jokes and blush as I tease
You drive me insane and I swear you’re flirting with me

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I’ve thought this for a while
So I decided to say
I like you a lot, but I know you don’t feel the same way

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You’re straight and I know I can’t change that.
Am I just telling myself what I want to hear,
Is it true that those intertwined hand holds were anything but queer

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They fit like puzzle pieces and I swear when we pull away..
Its like they don’t want to let go, they just want to stay

And oh how I wish they could. 

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They depart slowly and I can still feel the heat
Sadly not the warmth from your rosy red cheeks

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Is it true that when we locked eyes, blushed and chuckled,
It was nothing, simply a friend, your bright eyes rebuttal

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Is it true that my heart beat shouldn’t have increased and my face shouldn’t have turned red
Is it true I shouldn’t be lying here writing about you alone in my bed
Or at all

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Please

Just 

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Disappointment

I see it in my mother’s eyes
I hear it in her voice
I feel it in the air
The tension is painful
It’s sharp like needles against my skin

Her words hit me like broken glass
“Can’t” “Don’t” “Wouldn’t”

“Why”
     It stings
“Why”
     It seeps into my skin
“Why”
     It creeps through my veins

How does a mother’s disappointment explain why?

Why?
     My brain was asleep
Why?
     I was on autopilot
Why?
     My head was full of fog
Why?
     I wasn’t in control

Disappointment.

I am everyone’s greatest.

I don't like new notebooks.

I mean, I like new, beautiful, clean, pristine notebooks,
but I don't like using them.

I don't want to ruin it.

I open up to the first page and it's so blank, so white, so pure,
there's not an imperfection in sight.

I don't want to use it because I don't want to mess it up. I want it to stay perfect, and beautiful.
I don't want that inevitable ****** drawing or poem to **** it up.
I don't want my uncleanliness, my messiness to spread to something so perfect.

I do end up using it. If I didn't, I'd just have a bunch of empty notebooks lying around which honestly I'd prefer.
But I take forever to do it, to break the seal.

I have to have the perfect thing to ruin perfection because if it's not perfect, it's not worth it to ruin it.

It goes two ways though:

The first entry is perfect, beautiful, inspiring, deep,
and then I never use that book again.
Because now it's perfection is magnified.
I couldn't possibly follow it up with something better or just as good,
and it's quite possible that the more I try to come up with something good to match, the initial piece deteriorates and it becomes disappointing, thus resulting in the notebook not being used.

The second way this goes is the first entry is trash.
It's disgraceful and I want to tear it out
but suddenly the book becomes less daunting, less intimidating because now, it's imperfect.
Every entry to follow doesn't have to live up to some grand standard.
But I'm reminded everytime I use that book that I failed, that I created garbage.
It makes everything that comes after, not as good as what I want to do, it lacks passion.
If I tear out the initial entry, the cycle starts over.

No matter which way you spin it, we just don't get along. I end up with a bunch of half used, disappointing books sitting around haunting me as I walk by.
A notebook is reflective of who you are,
it displays the deepest parts of you.

What if your unhappy with what you see on the page?

What if what you see isn't you?

What if, this blank, empty page of nothingness is better than what you are?

Why would you want to ruin something so pure and perfect with your mess?

Because nothing you ever write, draw, sketch, compose or create on it will ever be as good as it's once held purity.

-t.s.

Connection beyond all belief. Connection between two.
If only.

Deep connection, where tether strings are tied, no matter how far - there is a floating connection.
And I yearn for it.
The connection, one where I fall, one where I fall aimlessly into reciprocation.

And I am always closing every door.
No one sees the mirrors like I do. And if they stand behind me - I crack the mirror, or, I will fog the mirror, I will stand far away....
With my entire heart, my entire being - one day - I held out a single, violently shaking finger (the only part of my body reaching out.)
The only part asking for help, love, acceptance.
The only piece of flesh that I will reveal.
But, I tend to clench my fists.

And the connection between anyone is never as strong as I hoped, as I wanted, as I....
I stand in the darkest of corners.
Hearing my own breathe every once in a while.
My heart beat, loud, my stinging chest, quivers at their intertwining connections.
They......

And I wish I could connect, but fear keeps my mouth empty
My mind's sparks are dim - I keep the light low.

But their roaring flames, brilliant, luminescent - it's growing.
Shining through a prism.
Shining daylight - glorious to all with wide eyes

and I.... wish, they knew I had a finger to spare in their conversation.
But the corner, is comfort.
The corner is the protection against loss. The corner never gains or loses. And that is where I will remain.

Do they know?

I thought I was still special
I guess it isn't what it is now
I've become your form of distraction
I ponder on who else have been treated the same way, and so my thoughts crow

You'd tell me that you are okay when really, you have just been trying to find an escape from the affection your heart has been longing for since the time you lost the warmth from someone else

Hence, I've been so foolish
thinking I was different from the rest.

It didn't matter who,
Or When,
Or Where,
Or What,
He used to get his way.

A manipulative little boy,
Born and bred to be,
No less than destructive.

A brother by blood,
But by God not by love,
And perhaps that's why.