i hate snow but i love winter
you always told me i was a
walking contradiction
but this time when you left
the snow covers the ground
and hides the footprints laid forgotten
when you walked out of our front door
without saying
goodbye
and now my hearts shattering
into a million tiny snowflakes floating
around the sky until it turns to a blizzard
because the more I think of all the fun we had -
the harder the snow falls
swirling around my head like
all the memories we created
just like the snowman in our yard
but eventually the sun came out and he melted
his nose and button eyes falling to the ground
as fast as I fell head over heels
for you
and now I remember why I love winter
but hate the snow

I am the rain, contact and I stain,
hydration for the nation but they always complain.
I'm better than snow, or atleast they say so,
less cold but I'm bold when I make the wind blow.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
but the comforting shelter blocks the beautiful stars.
And all of the thunder blocks all of my cries,
I slip when I drip straight out of the skies.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, down the drain.

I am the rain, sun storms I can feign,
it will fight for the light but I always remain.
My puddles collect each dribble and speck,
with a splash then I'm brash just like you would expect.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
the blanket of grey mask the twinkle of Mars.
And all of the lightning makes everyone blind,
you will pass greener grass when I'm around, you will find.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, sunshine's bane.

I am the rain, wash away the pain,
I get bored and absorb into dirt and to grain.
My heart is the storm, it still keeps me warm,
it shakes, the Earth quakes, but still keeps it's form.

Oh how the clouds cover all of my scars,
as I fall down on sidewalks and shower the cars.
And when the wind blows it pushes me far away,
I'll travel through gravel but always will stay.
I'm the rain, I'm the rain, through each vein.

Stripped bare what are we ?
static electricity ?
impulses of energy ?
no, we are souls loose in a baron land,
wandering hermits tightly packed in shells,
memories, thoughts, feelings emotions,
all strung together in an ethereal corpse,
passed on like an Olympic torch,
after the shell has expired,
picked up by the next runner.
What defines you my friend ?
seek the answers in your weary dreams,
there you shall find your sanctuary.

When Winter hits I'll be wishing I was still young,
but when Summer's around I'm still biting my tongue.
We both know that the storms have always been mine,
I never claimed to be blue skies and sunshine.

Atleast the nights are almost always cold,
but they keep me warm with the beauty of the stars.
Shining wishes for all, or so I'm told,
accessories for both Jupiter and Mars.

The snow covers all with blinding white,
but in the Summer the grass could always be more green.
We both know the storms have always been mine by rite,
'cause the blue skies were never truly clean.

You know every four season,
time has never moved so fast.
They've all blended for no reason,
never disappearing but they never last.
The world turns, the moon shines,
The sun burns, Nature's designs.

When Winter hits I'll be wishing I was still young,
but when Summer's around it still seems Spring never sprung.
We both know the storms we're always made for me,
I have always been the rain and you the sea.

You know every four season,
time has never moved so fast,
freezing to death when I let the breeze in,
and the outcome never matches the forecast.
The world turns, the moon shines,
and everyone yearns, everyday for some signs.

He tells me, "i think you are sad."
But i don't know him well enough to whisper my secrets to him, about the waves that crash in my skull for hours on end. And that sometimes i cry because my mothers country is so far away, and i don't feel like home here, but i don't feel home there either and I'm very lost. And maybe that's why i always look confused and hurt. Because my own country does not feed me. And my mother works 52 hours a week and i hear her bones creak from my bedroom but there's only so much i can do with her feet in my lap. So i ignore it and think about my bruises instead.
I could tell him that I'm so so in love with about 7 people at any given time and if you ask me to name them all and tell you their 2am habits i could, but my own secrets are secrets even to myself.
I said 'my skin is so horribly pale im worried people will see how brittle my bones are.' and he looked confused so i left it.
I wanted to write about my father but apparently having 'daddy issues' is a new trend and i don't want to be part of anything that glamourises my mothers scars.
I am both fascinated and terrified of the sea and i think that's why I'm bound to drown one day, because sometimes i truly believe i am a mermaid and its ironic because my swimming is horrendus. But im also interested in knowing what it feels like for my lungs to fill with something other than smoke for once. So i guess im excited about that.
I think when i die they'll say 'she had good intentions'. And leave me to decompose, which i think is the saddest way to go because 'at least she tried' is almost as bad as 'she was pointless'.  And i dont think i want them to say either. I think i want them to be quiet.
I think about the word pointless a lot because its the word that comes to mind when im asked to describe anything.
Mondays are pointless.
Sundays are also pointless.
Saturdays hold so much hope though which I think is why i survived this week.

it's like the more i try to be "normal"
the further away the goal becomes
i've tried time and time again
to make myself
look pretty and skinny and beautiful
all for you
and when that wasn't enough
i tattooed my skin
with both ink and the scars from a blade
to see if you would like me better
but the ink is now faded
the scars are now pale
and lets be truthful - no one likes
a girl who's disappearing