"do you have anything to say to me?"

why don't you love me?

why aren't i good enough for you?

what did i do to you?

why did you abandon me?

you've never actually loved me like you loved him

was there ever a time i didn't disappoint you?

i wish i didn't need you but i do

i love you

i wish you knew how much you mean to me

why do you want to fix me so **** badly?

sometimes i feel like a stranger in this house

i know you regret me
i regret me

i don't know if i can forgive you
i hope i can

will i ever feel like when i was eight
when you'd give me piggy-back rides and smiles?

i miss you

i'm sorry i'm not the daughter you want,
nor will i probably ever be

why don't you ever let me explain myself?

why is everything my fault?

will this barrier between us ever break?

"no."

(h.l.)

she cried, she cried because she would never be
good enough for someone else, she cried because
her mother didn't love her and neither did her father,
he loved beer and her brother more than he did her
she cried because she was so entirely alone in this world
and she had a dream once and now it was what
felt like light years away and god she wanted to end it--
she wanted to end the suffering then and there and
she could do it so easily, just one step off her balcony
she knew she was being young and dumb and naive
but in that moment she didn't care, she didn't care
because the future was what felt like light years away
and she wanted to end it all now,
and so she did

Never
Will you ever
Have me back
But I know you wish you did
I was your first everything
I showed you
What love was about
I taught you pain
And ache as well
But you know I was well **** worth it
And even though you act
As if you are over me
Deep down
You know good as ******* aren't
You may kiss her lips
And hold her waist
But don't dare deny
You wish it was me every time

i always used to call you my james taylor
because you would write these songs
and they were written in
a special sort of ink that you bought
at some convention somewhere and
apparently, the ink was supposed permanent,
we were supposed to be permanent
but it's funny actually, how the word permanent
can disappear on a cold december night when you
happen to have too much to drink
and i happen to be on edge because you're not
acting like my james taylor anymore, instead
you have broken your guitar and you don't go
to conventions anymore and i think the last time
you told you loved me and actually meant it was
a couple of months ago in july, i remember it
because of course, you wrote a song about it, you
always used to write a song about everything but
now you have run out of your ink and i fear
that i have run out of love for the both us,
at the end of the day i was the only one who
made an actual effort but by now i feel like giving up on
you and it's strange to even think like that
because i thought i would rather crash and burn
with you than let you run away but it seems
you are no longer the boy who i love so i guess
i'll be waiting to see your ashes float upon the sea

(h.l.)

She was painstakingly too aware then of the stinging pain
that rejection brought, she was all too aware
Of the gorgeous blonde gossiping about her to him,
she was aware of how she was blaming him,
saying it was all his fault because
he always attracted female attention,
she was aware of his soft murmurs to not get upset,
she was aware of the silent i love you's he told her
with the caress of her cheek,
she was all too aware of his eyes then,
the silent apology they gave for her and she was also aware
of the pity behind them too, the look of wanting to
feel something for her and feeling terrible because he couldn't
She was aware of all of this, so she put on a shy smile
and her always useful mask of I'm fine, it's okay
and with that look given she walked out of the restaurant,
tears already slipping, her composure now a mess
and she slid her back down the wall of the alley nearby
and let it all out, she cried then because
the boy she loved was an artist, and she knew
that he would appreciate everything about
the hour glass blonde the way he would never appreciate
the twig like brunette she was and she also knew,
in her heart that he would be kind about everything,
about the whole thing and that tomorrow in art class
when she told about a boy named Elliot that
she met on the way home, he would pretend it was true
because he was kind and wonderful and patient and
everything she wasn't, he was the opposite of her,
and that she supposed was the very reason
that they could never be together,
because he was an artist and his job was to
create catastrophe on a canvas and have others marvel,
his job was not to fix disasters like her in real life,
that was the job of fiction stories because
in real life he would try, until the end of his days,
to paint happiness unto her with vibrant reds and cool blues
but she could not be fixed and that was the thing
that he would probably never understand
which was precisely why they had to stay away,
he had an aura of happiness that made others
want to live and being with her would break him
which was why she figured he painted curvy blondes
instead of skinny brunettes and it would have to stay that way,
because she was oil and he was water,
and being with her would strike such a fire in his heart
that would only be capable of leaving embers of ashes
so that is why she would walk to bus stop that day,
with a heaviness in her heart, but also an understanding,
an understanding of why disastrous girls like her
could not love happy artists like him,
for the sun and the moon would
destroy earth if they ever loved each other

(h.l.)