discomfort births interest
and I hate that
because I like feeling comfortable
but I need that interest

why can't I just find someone who doesn't hate me?
someone who doesn't want to rip out my arteries
and watch me bleed out
staining the carpet
fuelling the "inspiration" he needed
or becoming the answer to his questions.

I'm tired of watching myself be torn apart by someone who feeds off of my pain

Nobody cares
Shut up...

But I care!
I do and I told him I didn't and I told me I was done with it but his eyes look at me and I can't help but smile and giggle but I don't
Know if he actually wants me like I want him right now and it hurts in my chest like he's sitting on me saying "But I'm a man. I'm a man."

You can be a man and still not hurt me? You can be a man and not waste your chance with me.

And I feel this longing deep in my chest behind my ribs and I feel like the water is at my lips but I can't taste it. I just can't taste it. And so I'm looking frantically for the water and it's with you and you have it but you won't give it to me, you *******. "Oh, later." but ******* I want it now.

In France everyday must be something
Going somewhere
******* someone

I'm not used to this
I'm introspective
Observing and waiting

Maybe Patrick was right
I don't make impact
But maybe that's what I want right now

I'm a bow turned too tight
wanting to break my own ankles
to feel relaxed

I would scream if I didn't feel
uncomfortable and too big
doing so

I'm tired of shrinking as I grow
and playing nice to people
who don't deserve it

I paint myself like a *****
to see if I can emulate it
so I hope it's working

I'm not stagnant

I'd smoke tobacco if it was from your hands
I think I'd do anything if it came from your hands
I've always felt this way for as long as I've known you
I can't articulate it

I'm not being creepy
but I have always watched you
not in the creepy way
but I just wanted to
know who you are
but you were always so far
away
I wanted to feel
whatever you felt
even in a small way

I have waited for a long time
and so I am nervous,
as you may find!
So when you walk me down the street
and talk to me about nothing very neat
I'm still blooming on the inside!
I'm absolutely shattered in the gentlest way.

I want to see you another day.
Maybe when I'm not so nervous.

What does he know about hearts?
He's a smart boy,
a genius perhaps.
Stanford taught
and although that seems impressive
it only scratches the surface of his résumé.

What do I know about art?
I can paint meaning onto anything
that could be better described as feeling
or intuition.

And although he knows all the parts
of the heart
and how to properly knot vessels,
does he know the thrum and the ache of it all
willing it to stop beating?

But yes, yes he does
He knows a lot about hearts.
And me?
Not so much of art as I should.
But one thing I do have in common with that boy,
I learned everything that I could.