I've been writing the same tired words
weary from forever trying to explain you
to the same endless song
repeating itself to me in your every kiss
ever since we started this game that we play
of me loving you
with a fondness that still remembers you, pure
loving you with depth that will always catch your falls
and you always pulling away from me
pushing me away
taking a needed piece of me each time you stray
making it a little harder to heal
making it a little scarier to feel
a little harder to keep hope in a new start
making me a little harder in the heart
when all I need from you, is all of you, just one time
because you would never want to leave the embrace
of a best friend kept in a lover's mask with a poet's need for only you
if you would just look into my eyes
that see only your beauty, blind to your scars
what you'd see would tell you
that to me you are perfectly imperfect

but the song repeats and somehow all my words fail me
in forever trying to win you, to charm you, to keep you
and the infinite sadness that is loving you
burns me again as I pull it's flame even closer
trying to make you mine at last
in every word I say all you have to hear is the truth
if you ever want to believe in love again, believe now
we are the proof

because every time we lay down together
and I wake up alone
I crack a little deeper, I become a little more fragile
I lose a little more I haven't got left to give
I turn a paler shade of ghost
and the crime is never punished
because you never stay to see
that you're killing the one person who loves you most
with every meaningless kiss you give me

I die a little
with each meaningless kiss

I wish I was thinner,
and I wish I ate dinner.
I wish that it didn’t smell
like peanut butter in here.

I wish she’d stop talking.
Or at least stop stalking
outside of my door.
I’m so sick of her voice.

I wish I could sleep.
And I wish he would creep
in my bed and lay with me.
But he won’t.

I wish he would call
Or acknowledge me at all.
I wish I didn’t care.
Cuz he’s not that cute.

I wish I didn’t blame myself
for things that I can’t help.
Like not being thin,
and the loud girl outside my door.

And the fact that he doesn’t like me...

Sorry that I found out
the price of freedom
is always leaving first.

I lose pens constantly.
Constantly.
At every second of every day, a pen I once owned is now in the hands of a stranger.
I wonder if they are appreciating it as they should.
If the pen gets to write love notes or encouraging words on sticky tabs or biology lectures or groceries or to-do lists or the signatures of celebrities or hearts on the hands of preteens.
Maybe my pen will be the one that signs some bill to end a war. Or begin one. It could write the next great speech. Or play. It could ignite a revolution. It could change the world.

I hope their hands aren't sweaty.

You have your friends and your dog and your music and your ideas and your preconcieved notions and your stories of traveling and your haughty attitude and your concerned demeanor and your crossed arms and your slow speech and your raised eyebrows and your faith and your pointed fingers and your guilt trips and your certainty.
You look down with disdain and fear and satisfaction on your face, hoping (expecting?) to see me cower and shake at your gaze. Catching your eyes in mine and then faltering to stare at my feet and kick dirt maybe, like a child being punished.
And I all have is a cigarette and a swing. Trying not to roll my eyes as you break my life down into tiny little pieces, sifting through all the good and finding the tiny gold nuggets of sin that you can hold up to the sun and show all of your friends.
You see?
I told you it was never real.
I told you she never meant any of it.
She's happy for once and that's not ok.
It's not happy the way I want her to be.
It's a happy I'm not comfortable with, so it must be wrong.

i work, i laze. such pre-
history this vessel holds,
such futuristic perceptions.
writing with no real purpose.
      Wolf Larsen, i am
nothing more than part of
the ferment. i would give
my existence, so as
to be challenged by another.
stable, my consumption is
minimal;      congrats.
learning better how to
curb the supernal longings.
   (they shall never abate)
i am at current unfetter’d,
without grave longings,
  most of all:
we should not try to find
our happiness in others.
take care of your knees –
of yourself – and
do not fear the wind.
to stand upon our own legs,
face the squall, be
found naked in truth.
and time passes with some
ideas, dreams, longings
falling to the wayside. some
turn to ash, others ember.
never admit failure, instead,
realize each floundering as
a chance for learning.
and learn, or don’t
and sleep, or don’t
and smoke, or don’t
and live, or don’t.
say yes, move on.

here and again, where ruins used to be
and you'd step with abandon in your white dress in front of me
only a mad hatter and an alcoholic fool for you, my Alice romanesque
with wonderland on every inch of you

apocalypse acropolis and columns lit from behind but you
lightfooted, Alice, were always so much prettier than tourist traps
and the drinks were stronger across the pond

so here and again, two years dry and two years older
(both of us but mostly you)
and the sand in your hair, long and light and gravity wet and romanesque
like you (and only you)
alice, they call this an impasse.
but you've been drinking too, tonight
and (finally) the stars are blurry for us both


and your mouth is so red
and romanesque
and so close