I wish people worked like clocks
They can be tall
Short
Loud
Quiet
They can be digital
They can be old-fashioned
They can be dressed up
Or even a little bare
And when they break
You can tell
And you can fix them
And make them all better

My heart is giving me fits,
but there is no way I'll let it quit,
so I'll keep on fighting the good fight,
until everything is alright.

By my cousin Bill

i don't know
if i can
forgive you.
after all of this
heartbreak,
i am still
broken.
and you are
new.
you cannot
fix what is
broken.
you cannot fix me.
you have scarred me.
ruined me.
manipulated me.
i don't know if
i am capable of
forgiving you.

we humans have such a need to be loved
afraid of being
alone
abandoned
left for granted

and i am no different
i want to feel the rush
butterflies in my stomach
wing against my hair
hands against his heart
heart intertwined with my soul

you may ask why
am i so enamoured with this
idea of love

perhaps it is so i do not feel lonely
for i have been (lonely) for a while now
even when i am surrounded by people
there is no one
not really
not anyone who connects with my soul

or perhaps  i just want to feel more put together
after all
everyone thinks you’re so much happier when you have a significant other

or perhaps i just want someone to hold hands with
someone to kiss
embrace
****

oh
ah
oh
i’m not fooling anyone, am i?
the reason i am so enamoured with the idea of love
is because i am obsessed with the notion that someone else can fix me up
heal the void in my heart
clear the window to my soul

When trying to mend our hearts,
We often search for “the one” who can fix it.
Ultimately finding “the one”
That leaves us more broken than before.

Young heart
Trying to fix a mechanical monotonous machine
It’s rusted
But the gears keep turning
Getting it through the tunnels
Blinded by flashes
Plastered on the face of every magazine

The masks move closer
Close your eyes tight
Don’t give them the satisfaction
They can’t shatter your shattered heart

She’s perfect.
It’s plastic.
Just tragic.
You crave her victory;
The affection of faceless strangers staring
On the other side of the glass
Snow white shackles
But it’s written on your grave

You think you’re in control
But you’re walking on a bed of nails
They’re pulling your strings, Puppet
If you fall from the tightrope you’ll disappear into emptiness

And the fear of ripped up teddy bears
Rejected to the shelf
It’s too much to bear

The possibility that what you want is a shadow you’ll never catch
You’re eyes, plastic immersed in porcelain
You’re falling apart at the seams
And no one seems to care enough to stitch you back together
You’ve forgotten how to smile
And pushed away those who used to care
Told them to stay out of your business

You’re drinking arsenic
Walking a narrow path with no doors
And every step forward erases another piece of you

Im told I'm fake
Because I try to please everyone
But I cry and I laugh and I forgive
Does that make me fake?
I smile in the halls instead of frown like most
Because smiles spread quickly
Does that make me fake?
I prefer friends over enemies,
Because when I was younger I had neither.
Does that make me fake?
They tell me to be myself,
Because having pink hair makes me too different and I try too hard
So I fixed my hair.
If being fake means helping others,
I'm going to be fake for as long as I can and I refuse to fix myself.