I really think that someone should have a video camera on me when I'm high because I say a lot of ****. And I mean some of that ***** pretty deep and meaningful and then also the comedian in me comes out. Or maybe the clown that makes everyone laugh. I don't really like clowns though. I mean honestly the whole idea and creepy. I mean god knows who the person in that costume could be. He could be the friendly neighbor hood mail man but what if he's a childmolester? And how are we gonna know the difference. My lips are really chapped. I really like this song. Linkin park speaks to me so well. Ahhh now three down doors. Love me when I'm gone. Since you obviously didnt love me before. Isn't that so sad? The way society has utterly ****** with the teenage mind.
Society says "you're ugly. You're not smart enough. You're not thin enough. You're not pretty. You're useless. No one wants you here." So then we finally had enough. We explode. We go insane. We have had enough society says "she was so beautiful in every way and so talented. Oh she had so many people that loved her" it's ****** up. Walking around every day never knowing who you're true friends are. Always wondering whose going to turn their back on you next. Always wondering if all the days I missed practice this season someone would say "it so much nicer without her here. She's so annoying." Always wondering if that "best friend" I made when I was a freshmen and she was a senior. Not she's in humbolt. Anyways I wonder if she remembers she's supposed to be my maid of honor someday. I haven't head from her in so long. There's so much I need to tell her. The pregnancy. The miscarriage. The "am I crazy for wanting to be pregnant again" even though I'm only 17. I'm 17. Almost 18. *******. It's kinda scary. Cause then society comes back and bases our whole lives on what we did during the hardest part of our lives. The part of our lives where our voices in our head scream "don't eat. You're ugly. You'll never be loved. You should **** yourself" and after a while you have to take a blade to your skin because it's the only pain you can control but also it's the only way you can feel anything at all if that even makes sense to feel nothing and everything at all once. And none of this probably even makes sense. So sorry for that. But my mind is a scary messy place. Terrifying and dark. Wow im high. Because the world so low and I wonder what movie Bug saw tonight man I wanted to go with her so bad. But I can't. Cause I'm grounded. Cause they they had to show that picture to my mom. I think I covered it pretty well but my life's hell now. She won't let me do anything and I'm her little ***** because if I talked back at all she'll take everyone. But it's so ******* stupid. Like ahhh ****. ****.  I swear to god I'm going to punch something. Mom even made me talk to people at church. I don't wanna ******* talk about it but if I don't ******* my way through it I can't do my senior project with Danielle and that ******* *****. Well guess wahat. I don't want to talk about it. Of course I'm not okay and you best get off your high horse if you think you are so much better than anyone else who want to talk to me and I won't. I don't even know where I'm going with this. Any of this. Especially my life. I'm really bummed the field trip got postponed. The Nuremberg trials. We were actually gonna simulate them at the court house. Gotta wait two more weeks now. ******* ****. I think I love history too much. I can't even tell you why. It just fascinates me. Something about the heartache and despair I can somehow relate you deep down. Especially during the world wars or the holocaust. Wow I'm tired. And it colds. Wow I'm ******* horney too. Sorry if that was tmi. I miss him. His body against me. A man ni. H ar der. Ha ar dar oh oh ohhhhh. What did I just write. What. Wow I'm really tired. AHHH. My favorite song is on. If you were dead or still alive. I don't care. Such good lyrics. I should text mark and tell him I'm listening to apoctalyptica. Or wait maybe I should text nick. Wait I don't think he's done working. Wait what. It's almost one in the morning. Thad why he's asleep. But I'm 100% fallingig jn love with him. Holy crap it's bad. He's 21. I'm probably just some little kid girl to me. But we're talking outside of work and he's my bestfriend on snapchatting but can you be more than a bestfriend on snapchat? Can you be in real life? Wht about my forever? Can you be my forever? And ******* I just looked at the clock and I started writing and babling at 12:17 and ******* I don't even have the slightest clue of what all I said

And I hate it.

It's exactly what I said to Kay.
She was on varsity I was on jv when we got really close.
Your exact words were my exact words when I told her I wanted to die.

Now you've moved up a level and so have I.
Ten o'clock at night and you start to cry.
But baby please hold on tight.
*Don't turn out like me

I guess I should start off by telling you all, my name is a secret, which shouldn't matter anyways, because it would be nothing special with out the secrets. You can all call me, X, and my lover, O, which is ironic because I've never really kissed her. Oh that's another thing: I'm a lesbian who has seemed to lock herself up in the closet and can't find the key in the dark. I'm writing this now, because if I don't I think it might **** me. Maybe not the pops-pills or puts-a-gun-to-my-head kinda way but in the way where my heart is shattered and drops down into the pit of my stomach. The kind of **** me where I drink for the rest of my life every tuesday because that's when you would get drunk too and tell me you love me. Oh this is the worst part everybody: I'm in love with a straight girl who happens to be my best friend. I swear it didn't start out like this, but I dreamt of her one night when I was sick. She came to me in the middle of the night dressed in white silk and softly caressed my cheek. The next morning I had to text her, to see her words. She loved me too, for the first year. And I did a lot of thimgs wrong and hurt her so much, it cost me her love. See, she would hold my hand and press her head into my neck. We would lie on the roof and watch the stars fade and I'd draw gallaxies on her palm and plant kisses on her collar bone. Sometimes we'd both cry for the love of each other. I'd write her a song and she'd tell me whe couldn't live without me. Even with other people around, her hand would slip under the blankets and try to memorize my fingerprints. Then things started to change, because she started to talk to guys, which is normal for a 15 year old girl.  So I would cry myself to sleep and get drunk and send her mean text messages about how she hurt me and I hated the boys who got to see her green eyes so close and place their hands on her hip because she didn't do that with me anymore so she musn't love me as she said. Ill be honest with you, I broke the girl I love. As the years passed,  we faced so many hardships that I lost count. I was getting better at hold my feelings inside, its not like it was her fault,  I never told her that I loved her. I began to feel her slip away from me, which was a peculiar feeling because she had always held on so tight, so I'd get her drunk and tell her that I missed her so she'd let me hold her and in the morning I'd fake a headache and pretend it was the tequila talking. After a year of mostly self inflicted depression, I began to heal. Set boundaries for myself. I could go hours at a time without thinking of her name. She saw more boys, she had ***. The whole time she would tell me about it I had to hold my hands behindymy back to hide their shaking and swallow the bile rising from my throat. I hurt, but it got easier. I would slowly fade out of her life everytime she struck up a new fling because it was so obvious to me that she didn't need me anymore and I was just a burden. I began to let go of my anger when we'd be sitting in the car with her half listening to me when I was talking, with her phone glued to her hamd, texting her boy. After awhile I learned to be comfortale with the silence.she's leaving for college soon, and me being a year older,  I'm just the stay-in-your-home-town **** up that I always knew I would be, even with all the scholarships lined up and my parents willing to shell out thousands to let me pursue my dreams. I'm not gonna lie to you.. I flunked my algebra 2 class on purpose because I couldn't bare the thought of leaving her, even if she was happy to see me go. She knows I love her, maybe just not in what way because I can't help my self sometimes and I have to tell her that she's beautiful or that her eyes remind me of galaxies and her smile of sunsets. But I don't think she truly knows. As I said, shes going to college soon and even though its only two hours away, I know this is it. The last months of our friendship. You see, I won't be able to party with her on the weekends and watch her lock the doors of foreign bedrooms with a guy clinging to her waist. I used to think I was a terrible person for wanting to leave her like this but I honestly think its the best way. This is the time of her life when she'll be making life long friends, she won't need me. I can honestly say that ill miss her smile and her laugh and the way she breathes. Ill miss her shoulder blades, and her bad jokes, and her sass. Ill miss her warmth. But I will live.  I'm not good enough for her.. could never provide correctly or give her our own children.  Ill be the first to admit that I'm filled with flaws, I'm not beautiful, and I probably wouldn't love me either, I just need this page to keep me sane. You see, she knows of all my other accounts on here but now I'm just X. I like being X, its a nice letter.  I'm so sorry I've bored you with my life story, I'm just confused on why I hate myself when I have so much love to give, so this is me coping. Imwant you to know that everytime I write it'll probably be about her. If you've read this whole thing to the bottom, then thank you for listening, it honestly means a lot.

I am not going to lie anymore, it is easy to write about you.
It is a gut instinct.
It is muscle memory.
I kept the letters, the postcards.
The first one you sent is in bad shape; folded edges, crumpled body.
I almost set it on fire twelve times.
You don't understand how every night I stand outside looking at the stars
realizing that we can probably never see them at the same time.
There is nothing poetic about how we feed off of eachother.
There is nothing healthy about holding on to this.
But all I know is that when I talk to someone, I almost always say I'm sorry as a greeting.
Because nothing I ever say will be pretty anymore, I have a serpent tongue when you're gone away.
And I'm sorry that they're not you.
I will still get your words on me.  I will hold on to the pain of the ink seeping into my skin.
Forever doesn't have a fighting chance against the chokehold grip you have on my thoughts.
Instead of this train of thought, paper bodies.
Ignition.
Fire.
Think of me when the candle goes out.
Think of me when you're drunk again.
Instead of this poem, broken bottles.
Instead of this poem:
Blue sheets.  White pillows.  Your hair was never this color before.
Your poems were never about me.
Slam poetry in the way you threw my necklace in the river.
Find me waiting at the window for you to let me in.
You left the bottle open, it smells like whiskey in here.
Blue sheets but yellow flecks of sunlight and candlelight and streetlight.
The light has almost disappeared since you went away.
Instead of this poem:
Come back. Stay away.  I am fluent in ******* things up.
Fire.
Ignition.
Paper body.
Think of me when the candle goes out.

I hope she knows what she's getting herself into.
I hope she knows what your heart sounds like after a night of
comparisons between her handwriting and mine.                                                                                                                                      
I want you to know that I am through with dumbing
myself down to fit inside your god complexed hands.

Don't tell me I never tried to save us.
I wrote you songs with knives on my palms
and your ears were anything but listening.

I had a dream about you every night since you told me
you didn't know how to love anything with a heartbeat and hope.
I started sleeping again when you came back, and oh when you came back...                                                                                                                          

I am not sorry that my temper is as short as the lifespan of us.
I am not sorry that your smile is the only one that ever made me
want to wake up in the morning.
I am all pain and long long longing and she has always been
a storm with a heart dead set on your stillness.
Our problem is that I never stop shaking long enough for the dust to settle.

I've been writing with the same pen for four years and
you still only recognize my words when she plays them back.

Let it not be confused, foggy or incomprehensible-
you were the one.
Until the one became none and I stopped being a number when you stopped counting miles.

I hope she loves harder than a woman with dementia, relearning parts of you every morning
in the places you reserved with my first and your last- maybe next time.

Maybe next time, maybe next life will be different.
Maybe I'll be patient, stronger, I'll stop covering my smile. You'll stop pretending to be in love.
I will stop shaking and the dust will settle and her poetry will make you sick.
Her poetry will sprout evening primroses and she won't know that you always fall asleep before midnight
or that you're allergic to flowers that bloom when the sun is down.

I like to find beauty in the things that hold on to us.
The universe has been writing wills and testaments on my typewriter and I am trying to listen.
It's saying things like "Let go... a little bit... let go... your grip has always been too strong".
The universe calls me dear and I want to scream when he tells me to let go.
Let go. Let the light in. I'm tired of letting things in, I am tired, universe I am tired
and you are a ***** liar.
Nobody is coming back.
Nobody is coming back.
My wrists are full of dead friends.
NOBODY IS COMING BACK.
And the universe replies "but when they do..."
Everything is always a hesitance. Why can't something be forever?
My words will die the day I do and what will be left of me?
A promise? A broken promise?
A broken promise.
I hope you know by my poems if I am doing well or not.
I hope you know it's usually the latter.
I hope you know I have loved you as long as I have thought
and oh, I have thought.
/
/
/
the universe never saw this coming
the universe quiets his mouth, lets her speak with only her tongue,
tries to decipher the back and forth.
the universe never knew I was a shadow.
nobody knew.
and all that's left, when the echoes die
all that's left will always be our prolonging.
our promise? our broken promise?
a broken promise.

Thus is not a word that has slipped between my teeth in years. She showed up unexpectedly, as usual. Grey blue eye's, the ones I had inherited from her, were overflowing with joy, as I welcomed her into my home. Dyed hair beyond repair curled around her bloated face. She was wearing a beat up Jean jacket, the one she always wore. Along with grey sweat pants that use to belong to my grandmother, they fit her perfectly now. Her smile opened slightly displaying rotten, decaying, and missing teeth. As I took it all in, she grabbed my arm's unhesitantly, pulling me into a death hug. Voicing the same old words of affection and explaining how everything will be alright from now on. (As if now she was home I could finally sleep peacefully at night) but this time was different, this time the smell of her favorite alcohol and cheap tobacco didn't comfort me. This time it ****** me off. I pulled away looking past her eyes and into the broken pieces of her soul.
I began to see her for who she truly was, for the first time. My hands curled up into fist, sweat started to drip from the sudden intake of anger. Inhaling slowly, I spoke the words without thinking, what my gut was screams. "you can't stay here, I don't want you here."
Her smile fell flat and her eyebrows swept together. Her once daring eye's squeezed shut, holding back tears of confusion. She looked down feeling sorry for herself, and with a pleading whisper her mouth let the words "why, what did I do?" Looking away from this pity sight, I gazed out the same window I had done so many times wondering where she was and If she was okay. I began to analyse a list, I had unknowingly made throughout the years, of reasons why. Tears of hate and sorrow brought me back to reality. Eight cold words flowed effortlessly when I brought my gaze back to her. You will never know because you were never there. She backs away slowly, suddenly lost in thought. I watched her drift out my front door for the last time, not bothering to say goodbye or farewell. For the first time that night, I slept peacefully.

While driving home today,
a small boy pretended to shoot
at my van with his toy rifle,
as if I were the bad guy.

Our culture is fighting to strip
our children of violence,
"guns are a danger
and they pervert our sons."

I agree,
we should be purposeful
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
healthy for the young heart.

I disagree,
we should not be dictatorial
on how we raise our kids.
Violence is not always
bad for the young heart.

Taking away guns from a boy
is taking away paints from an artist.
Stripping a son of his warrior-spirit
is stealing the melody of his song.

He was John Wayne
wielding his Winchester,
and I was the bad guy
escaping on a stolen horse.

In his mind,
he was a hero.
Why would you want
to strip him of that?

Teaching him self-control
is absolutely necessary,
but removing his ability to learn
is killing his growth as a person.

Don't be the reason he rebels,
teach him to use his sword.

*m.w.

I can't explain why you're so important to me.
I'm not in love with you.
We've never been intimate.
Never even held hands.
There's no feelings between us,
but yet so many.
Maybe it's the way we've know each other since we were kids,
playing tag all day on the playground.
Or maybe the way we just got close last year,
but if feel like we've known each other for eternity.
Could it be how much we have in common?
Music, movies, star gazing.
Maybe it's the way we can talk for hours about nothing and everything.
One minute talking about what our favorite tupac song is, the next crying in each other's arms because cancer took him from me, and now he's taking her from you.
Maybe I like the way I feel so safe and comfortable around you.
Knowing you'll always stick up for me like you did the other night.
Are you important because I like the way my names roles off your tongue?
Or maybe it's the drunk conversations at 2am.
Or the 4am car rides,
both of us too high and tired to even know what we're saying.
Spilling all our secrets.
Maybe you're important because you're so much like me.
And if I can't save myself,
*at least maybe I can save you