my father always keeps a hammock in the back of his car,
as if one day we will camp out under a million stars.
that's the kind of spontaneity i long for.
the closest i have gotten was confronting you this week,
and my only result was burned bridges.
i have never camped out under the stars, never gotten drunk, never kissed a stranger.
but i told you i was mad at you and i told you i did not care if you were mad at me too,
and now it is one am and i cannot breath and i feel like i am going to throw up because i cannot stop thinking about last year at this time.
i can't think of one thing that was the same.  i'm not even sure i'm still the same person.

some things sound so weird in past tense.

I hate you loving you.
I can handle that.
I hate you, and your friends, and every word that comes out of your mouth.
I hate your hair and your hands and your laugh and your voice and your jokes.
That's fine.  I know these things, I'm okay with them, really.

I hate myself.
I hate the time I put into you, and I hate that you hugged me last tonight.
I don't know how to handle my racing heart and sweaty palms.
I don't know how to hide my tears from my parents when I lie to them and tell them you were super happy to see me.
I was a predator and I've turned into a parasite and I don't know what I'm supposed to tell my diary because I promised it you still cared about me somewhere deep inside, and I'm tired of breaking promises.

you make me feel dizzy, and not in a good, just off a roller coaster kind of way.
being with you feels like standing on the edge of a rooftop and begging myself to jump, like placing my already shaking finger on the trigger of a gun during an earthquake.
i never liked the high dive because i didn't like the pain when i hit the water, but you feel so much worse because i can't shake you off by swimming around a little.
i feel like i am at the bottom of the deep end, fifteen feet down and i can't get back up, the pressure is killing me and my goggles are pressing into my cheeks and i am no longer able to cry.
i haven't been in a pool in almost three years and i don't know if it's your fault or if it's just a coincidence that that's how long i've known you.

somewhere between asleep and in love,
i am sad but not too sad.
tonight it finally feels like the right amount.
he does not love me, but it's okay.
he does not know what love is,
and neither do i,
not really.
i may as well give up now,
but i don't mind anymore.
it has been raining for days,
and everybody gets wet.
i am not the only one who thinks about dying.

two years ago on april fools day we told everyone we were dating and they all believed us,
because that year you let me wear your scarves and we walked down the halls together and i went to see all your shows,
and everyone secretly wanted us to date anyway.

this year i did not talk to you at all on april fools day, and i didn't even see you.
i looked nice but you did not tell me and i was cold but you were not there,
but it's okay, because i'm over you.

april fools.

i don't think i've ever hit a lower bottom, and i don't think i've ever seemed happier on the outside.
i talked about dying twelve times today and i was only joking once.
i have gotten better at small talk and at burying myself in the screen of my phone but i have not gotten better at dealing with everything i keep inside.
i could fly across the world tonight and i don't think i would miss a single person,
but i am not leaving. they are.  and somehow it seems a lot less intriguing when i am the one stuck alone in this dumb little town.
i feel weird about it too.  guilty, even.
i have friends but i do not want to be their friend.  i want to be friends with flowers and paintbrushes, not with people who sing songs for little kids and yell about tv shows.
that is not me anymore.  to yell i would have to have passion, to care about something.
i don't.
i know that i am not a robot, because i honestly used to care.  but when people stopped caring about me i stopped caring about them, and now it wouldn't even matter if i was made of metal because nobody would notice.
my best friends all have new best friends.  on days when sitting at their lunch table doesn't give me a headache they ignore me anyway.
i am sailing by on a boat made of false smiles and fake texts, but i am sinking.
or maybe i have sunk, and everyone is looking at me through goggles and the water is distorting my laugh.  maybe that's why it sounds funny to me now.
maybe i sound funny to everyone else too.

missing you used to be an open wound.
every time i saw you, heard you, thought of you, it hurt.
i did everything i could to go back in time, and i tried to get your attention like you were the last band-aid in the box.
and now i am healing, scabbing, slowly.
it's itchy and uncomfortable and i avoided your eye contact in the halls five times today alone.
i have to work on not picking at my scab.
every time i think of you my fingers ache for the familiar movement, but i must not.
sometimes it still hurts, because you are still around and my skin has not grown back all the way.
i still bleed.
but scabs do not last forever, and i am healing,
even if you leave a scar.

you can carve a knife into your stomach but even you cannot protect yourself from ending up alone and afraid.
your days are numbered, and no matter how much you matter you can never seem to matter enough anymore.
everyone is pulling the strings inside you, and your story is changing at a pace that you can't keep up with.
you are running,
always running,
and everyone else is running too.
they are trying to reach you but they cannot.
you are stuck somewhere inside a body that has been beaten and bruised but is somehow still moving and making mistakes and hurting people you would never hurt.
this isn't you.
you haven't slept in months but you can't wake up.
every time you think you do there is another darkness that holds another nightmare that is holding you.
w
   a
     k
       e

          u
            p

my tears spread my makeup down my cheeks and leave messages for me in a language i wish i didn't speak.
they tell me that i am not good enough, never good enough.
i have gone a long time without crying for him but all it takes is one photograph and i am a victim of loneliness again, and again, and again.
i learned how to cry silently to myself when he moved to town, because that was right about the time i started losing all my friends,
and now everyone that i talked to is gone and i have a new group to eat lunch with but it is different and i am different.
there are 7,216,737,659 people in the world at this moment and he is with two and i am with zero but i cannot stop thinking about one.
out of all the cities, why did he come to ours?  there are only a hundred kids in every grade and so he was guaranteed to make a splash but i didn't know he was cannon balling into my blood, i thought it was just a pool.
but that's what sharks do, they smell blood, and when he came i was so desperate to be loved that i would have bled myself dry for his attention.
it took me four months to start betraying my friends for him, five to start telling him their secrets and now after fourteen he won't make eye contact with me because i got so attached to the idea of having somebody that i got too close and i got blood on his favorite shoes.
so maybe he's not a vampire, but he really *****.
the only thing you can count on him for is his inability to show up for things that matter to you.  he will let you down time and time again like he is a ski lift that only goes one way and like the mechanic has been too busy to get around to fixing him,
and i will keep riding that lift because the hill is steep and i am probably not a good skier anyways.
when he lets me down on nights like these, i often wish i could just wipe my own memory.
i have seen stories of girls who swim in shark infested water, and they always lose something important, like an arm, or a leg.
i just hope i don't lose him.

i'm not sure if i'm still jealous, or if i'm just overwhelmed with missing you every time you nod at me in passing.
2. my head is aching and i am shivering and i am thinking about when you used to let me wear your sweatshirt and scarf on cold days.  this winter has been colder than any of the winters i have known you for, and so have you.
3. you used to be mine in a way that was so hard to explain.  i wanted you to love me and i wanted to be your best friend.
4. i wanted you to tell people about me and i wanted you to tell me everything about you.
5. it is proven that second place hurts the most, and god how i am hurting watching her take first and watching her laugh at your jokes.
6. i remember every moment we spent together, so much that i think i scared you away with it all.
7. you are gone and i am stuck with all this stuff that i know, like your favorite musical and your brothers' stories and how you got your scar and how you feel about your mother.
8. your birthday will come again this summer and i will draft out a hundred texts, but i will not send them.
9. you're turning sixteen, and i am afraid the first place you'll drive will be to her.
10. i can't believe i'm losing you both to each other.
11. i had you first, and i am not good with jealousy at all.  i'm not good with loneliness either.
12. next time you see me, pretend not to notice how desperate i am for your love, and pretend you do not see the tears in my eyes when you walk away.
13. it really is the least you could do.

i can't remember the last time i wasn't thinking about you.
you are seeping into my dreams and my bones and my blood,
and i am so angry.

i know that it is late and that you are asleep and that you are dreaming of someone else,
but valentine's day is in four days and it isn't too late for you to kiss me.
please.

i hate being clingy and desperate and i know you aren't into that,
but you don't really seem to mind when she does it.
so why do i keep getting pushed to the back?

when did i start letting you get away with everything you want?
you could burn your name into my skin and i would say okay.
i don't know what else to say to you.

i am afraid i will say "i love you"
and then i would lose you forever,
and i don't want to lose someone i never had.

i can't stop thinking about y o u because i love
1. nothing
2. everything
3. when you look at me
4. i can't breathe
5. but i take shredded gasps because
6. your air is so sweet when
7. i can sometimes get just a little in the lungs that you
8. collapse when you walk into a room with your
9. smile that spreads up to your
10. eyes which are dark brown but sometimes look yellow which you
11. still think is as magical as the
12. stories you are still willing to talk about and you
13. laugh at all my jokes even when you are
14. just pretending to think i am funny
15. your voice, which is amazing even when you are
16. making up excuses that sound like good enough reasons to my tired ears
17. you will always come crawling back to me even if you are
18. only begging me for help with school
19. i can pretend you need me to survive like
20. i have grown to need you
21. you always act grateful for the answers to my homework even if you are not grateful for me and
22. on days when it isn't too much trouble to come to school you are willing to give me the answers you have, only
23. i am too scared to ask you for the only answer i care about and i know you will
24. tell me we should not ruin this
25. friendship
1. nothing
2. everything

tonight i almost asked you why we haven't spoken in three weeks
but i am so afraid
because i know the answer,
and you don't like me anymore.

sometimes you find a girl who is forever holding up a pearly light. she is forever golden but she looks forever sad.
maybe you are seeing your reflection in the glass and mistaking your face for hers.
there are goddesses of love whose arms have not been attached for a century,
and there are shimmering pieces made entirely of death.
i wonder if being made into art makes you feel less sad about being dead.
i think i would like that to happen to me.
stain glass with my blood and carve rings from my bone, string my hair into robes and paint lilies on my skin.
i want to be immortal, admired.
even if i end up tattered and frayed, covered in stains and held together by only a rope,
tell me i am art.
put me in your gallery on a pedestal and draw a line on the floor so that people cannot stand to close.
(i would push them away anyway. i always do.)
burn me, if you must, because fire is supposed to end things but it has created so many new colors.
put your hope into me. it does not matter that i can be erased because i am here right now, and we are feeling everything in capital letters and i have to be home at three so let's do something
turn me into something that a teenager who is pretending to be more whole than she is can find herself in,
for hours i want her to look at me and try to understand why i make her want to cry.
i always wanted to be that girl, and i feel like i am dressing up in her skin.
it does not fit, but the zipper is stuck.  it's too tight.  i can't breathe.
something is exploding.
i don't know if it's inside me or at the end of this road, and i have no choice but to keep going forward.
we'll see when the sun sets.
i will never see any of these people ever again.  they might stop existing tomorrow, and i wouldn't know.
i think i will miss them, just in case.
all of the things i will never tell you can be found between these walls.
i am sorry that i will never paint your portrait.
i still love you.

i am on a bus and i am sitting next to a girl i haven't sat next to in a very long time.
we used to listen to taylor swift and now we are listening to poetry that makes us cry.
i am so much happier than i have been because i am looking at art and i feel like maybe,
if i try hard enough,
i can become art.
the colors remind me of my old bedroom and they remind me of my old best friend.
she was in the hospital last month, because she overdosed.
i promised her once that we could talk about our end, but we never did.
i wonder if she ever thinks about me.
it is one am and it is raining and i am wishing that he would paint my portrait to keep in his pocket,
to immortalize in a frame that is prettier than i ever hope to be,
on a wall next to painstakingly created flowers that hold more emotion than i will ever feel.
the moon has a special hold on poets, but all it is doing tonight is making me wonder why my hands don't pull angels from stone and beauty from destruction.
i am wondering if i am still alive, if any of these people are still alive, and if the dead feel good about themselves.
i am wondering why i feel so different than i did last year.
maybe it's the dress and the notebook and the quiet steps i take because i don't want to disturb the art,
or staring long enough at a stranger that i can pretend to know his story, and that he wears his father's watch.

i am on the bus and she thinks i am less sad because she is less sad.
but when i look at all the art the first thing i feel is jealous, which is really the same thing as being sad.
i want to spend forever in the glass rooms but i don't deserve to, because i am so selfish.
i think that if i look at monet and picasso and van gough for long enough i will absorb them,
but i also want to walk past them, to the pieces whose plaques contain only a lifespan,
with no detailed description of the reasoning behind the use of numbers hidden in the abstract.
(picasso put them in so he could stay in touch with reality.)
i think that maybe that's why i am doing so much better in math this year.
i just want to stay in touch with reality.
because i have been staring at "evening mood" for half an hour and all i feel is sad,
because after the sunset there is nothing but darkness and that's what the night brings and it's what thoughts of you bring too.
it is called sandstorm but it makes me think only of the sea.
i think i need to get away from here for a while.  maybe i will go to the sea.

i haven't been on a bus in a long time, but here i am.
i spent the day as something i have always wanted to be.
we haven't talked in a month but she still thinks i am beautiful.
why am i crying?

sometimes when your wind is crying out to its lost lover, your sky looks yellow.
sometimes it's pink, and sometimes it's so black i can't see the snow outside the tiny window i look out of every night when i wish on a star.
i guess i'm wondering why.
i'm sure there's a scientific reason, but i've been falling asleep a lot in science class lately.
i think that i like to think you're feeling the same things i feel when i'm around you.
the weird part is, i don't even know exactly what those feelings are.
i mean, i'm obviously not happy. it doesn't take meeting up with you to know that.
i guess i just have a lot going on sometimes.  you can understand that, right? everything important happens at 3am.
it just isn't fair that i don't know what's going on, in me or you.
this is less of a love letter than i expected it to be.
i think it's more of a goodbye.
i don't think i should see you anymore.
here's where the love comes in-
i can't stay away from you. when your sky is yellow i am watching, and when it's pink, and black. i am watching as you fade away to a 4am and a new feeling and a new color, and i am watching when you come back.
you hold me when nobody else will, and you are there for me every night, even if it's only for an hour.
that's more than i get from anyone else.
who cares if i always leave you with a bad taste in my mouth and a tear-stained face, or that you've never said anything to me at all?
just sat, surrounding me with silence.
at least you have never told me you don't love me too.

is everyone stressed out?
or has everyone i care about
stopped
caring
about
me?

if you can see that i am breathing do not ask if i am lonely
i am
always and forever
as long as i live on this giant rock spinning in endless space
i am
i am
i am

the planet looks weird from up here,
wherever i am.

i don't cry because I'm sad.
i cry because I'm alive.
because that's such a beautiful thing,
and I can't believe that I have messed it up so badly.

my eyes are closed and my breathing is slow and from looking at me you would never know how broken i feel,
but i feel broken nonetheless.
i have been living as this storm for a long time now, and my hurricane walls are broken, but they're still up.
the winds tear me apart inside and push tears into my eyes, but i don't let them spill.  wind doesn't always bring rain.
sometimes it just howls, lonely and loud and cold, searching in the darkness for something unknown.
like me, searching for love, or peace, or companionship, or whatever it is that makes people happy.
what makes people happy?
i don't remember the last time i knew, because even when i'm smiling i'm a walking disaster.
i don't care about the people i care about and i don't like the things i love anymore.
i'm not a prodigy.  i'm not a hero.  i'm not a friend.  sometimes i think i'm barely even a person.
i'm just a storm, and if you keep your windows closed and you wish really hard, i'll blow over soon enough.

as soon as one thing goes wrong i kind of collapse
becoming a total mess who complains and cries and does little else
i am less of a girl and more of a puddle,
one that cannot find motivation or reasons to wake up,
but does it anyway, half assed and tired and upset.
i don't care about school and people don't care about me and i don't know what i'm supposed to do because i can't stop crying
but that isn't an excuse to stay home and my parents yell when they see my tears and i still have to take finals next week

here's a shout out to the kids who can feel stress twisting their intestines.
to the ones who used to be smart and are now approaching the average line,
and who don't know how to deal with this.
to anyone who's cried in a school bathroom once,
twice,
three times a day,
and has never told anyone.
if you've ever stared at someone for so long they blurred around the edges but still looked perfect to you,
and they never looked back,
if you've ever stayed up until four am so you could go through the next day too tired to feel.
to the kids who hear sirens down the street and dream of the day they'll be coming for them,
but will be too late.
to anyone who has ever sat through a class full of people who want nothing to do with them,
anyone who has held their head up when they felt like falling to the floor,
anyone who has dreamed of epic adventure from the bedroom they are afraid to leave.
if you've lied to a therapist and your parents and everyone who has tried to make you feel better,
if you complain all the time but still keep things bottled up.
here's a shout out to us,
to the introverts and the depressed and the lonely,
to anyone who has survived one day and another and another,
and to everyone who keeps going,
no matter how badly we want to quit.

on mornings like these i beg you
think back to my last birthday,
and how many candles were on my cake.
how you wrote on my card that I am a young lady now,
only not past midnight.

i feel it in the wind that rattles my window when i can't sleep,
it is always calling out to someone who won't respond.

in the snow that falls and falls and falls and falls,
a fresh start for everything but me.

i feel it in the cars that look like little bugs from my airplane window,
all of them filled with people who are moving and changing and growing.

i am moving too, much faster than them and much higher up,
but i feel like i am at a standstill, stuck in hole and letting time move without me.

on new years, at midnight, taking shots of cider and throwing confetti and wanting to cry,
when my friends aren't enough, when i all i want is to feel his lips on mine but i never can.

i feel it in my folder of school work that i haven't opened yet,
in the thought of going back to take tests and to walk down halls by myself.

i feel it in the three and a half more years before i am free.

in thinking about the future and how many more days they expect me to live through.
in the words i keep repeating in my poems and in the words i don't know how to write.

i feel it in endings and beginnings and in my stupid hope that this year has to be better than the last one.
in the pages of my yearbooks and the texts on my phone and in the mirror every morning.

i feel it in the bottom of my coffee cup and on the underside of my pillow,
in the blanket that holds me when i am afraid nobody ever will. (and they wonder why i love staying in bed.)

(mpr)

i fell in love with the words you used to say to me
even if you never meant for me to
(i never meant to either)

and now i love the memories and the daydreams
because i am afraid that you are gone
and they are all i have left of you

sometimes i stare out at the snow, or the flashing car lights, or the seas of people who are all going through the motions of whatever, and i wonder if i am the only one who feels this way.
people say they understand, that they feel the same way i do, but it can't be true.
because how could they feel this sad and still be alive?

sometimes i stare out at the snow, or the flashing car lights, or the seas of people who are all going through the motions of whatever, and i wonder if i am the only one who feels this way.
people say they understand, that they feel the same way i do, but it can't be true.
because how could they feel this sad and still be alive?

people will forget.
people that are important to you will forget they were supposed to care.
people that made promises will forget to keep them.
do not cry.

when your family leaves you home alone all night, do not cry.
when you have two tests tomorrow and this week has been the most stressful one yet,
do not cry.

when the boy you love only hugs you by suggestion,
and barely notices you,
when you finally realize, after all this time, that you have no chance,
do not cry.

my skin is too big
i'm
drowning
in sadness i don't understand
i'm in love
with someone i've never even heard of
i spend my days crying and
i spend my nights alone
paralyzed in confusion
and loneliness
and fear
give me your love
but don't look at me
convince me you like me
but don't try to make me feel better
i can't
i can't
i can't

please don't tell me i can do it because i can't even meet my own expectations,
much less yours.
i want to scream from rooftops and i want to punch holes in walls,
my head is exploding and itching and burning,
but all i do is cry.
i am so useless.
stop
crying
please.
i am not my favorite song, i don't know about love and loss,
but yet the lyrics make me cry and i want to sing them forever,
paint them on my walls,
brand them onto my skin.
i feel so little and so empty and so sad all at the same time,
i don't care about anybody and i am so lonely that i don't even
care about myself.
i want to be with him and i want to go out on the weekend,
but all i do is cry.
rain makes the flowers grow but these tears just make my chest ache,
and my face red,
and my vision blurred.
stop
crying
please.
poetry used to come easy but now
the only words that come are the same every time.
i want to be successful and do well but i don't care
enough to make it happen because i don't deserve it.
what's the point of doing anything when it's going to end soon?
not soon enough,
but soon.
stop
crying
please.

i cry myself to sleep all the time
and not even my phone wants to talk to me when i'm lonely

i am so done with existing but i care so much and i hate when things aren't perfect
there are only like four people in the world that i like unconditionally
and even they can make me cry
this morning my dad yelled at me for seeming sad because i've been "so much better this year"
but he must be blind because i can't focus or find motivation and i feel like i'm slipping
past rock bottom and into the core of the earth where the heat and pressure are condensing me into molten liquid,
and then back into useless rock

5% thinking about dumb things i've said
5% wondering if anybody even likes me
5% obsessively checking my grades
5% worrying about money
10% realizing that i don't have any friends
10% stressing about work i have no motivation to do
30% thinking about him
30% planning a future i want but can't have

"because the media lives for-"
"******?"
"i was going to say controversy."

when a woman loves her body,
congratulate her.
when a woman is proud of her talent,
congratulate her.
when a woman embraces who she is,
congratulate her.

when someone tells a woman she is wrong,
scold them.
when someone rips off their clothes,
scold them.
whens someone throws clothes on their body,
scold them.

when a woman goes to the grocery store,
when she wears the same clothes twice,
gains weight,
loses weight,
when a woman has a child,
turn your head,
leave her alone.

on nights when nostalgia clings to me like the tears cling to my eyelashes,
any song will do,
any thought of you will do.

on nights when the memories choke me and put me under their spell,
any poem will do,
any thought of you will do.

on nights when my past catches up and i drown in bad choices,
any picture will do,
any thought of you will do.

on nights when you are so close i can touch you,
and so far you hardly know my name,
any thought of you will do.

a good way to cry is to read your old yearbooks alone at night
to see that in fifth grade your whole class signed their names
sixth grade was a competition to see who had the most inside jokes
in seventh grade your friends wrote you long notes and your crush took up a whole page
"you make coming to school every day actually enjoyable" and he signed it with love
in eighth grade most of the pages are blank
you got a hot boy to sign (twice) but your crush didn't have time until the promotion ceremony
he wrote that you forgot about him
he signed it with a dash and he added his last name
the only person who took up space in your eighth grade yearbook was your spanish teacher
who you promised to visit but never did
a boy you have known forever was moving away
you will never see him again but he had nothing to say about you
your oldest best friend told you she was saving her usual "novel" for senior year
but you don't plan on being friends by then
a good way to cry is to flip through the pages and count the people who you used to call your friends

i keep trying to write poetry about you
but all that comes out is how lonely i am
i guess it's the same thing

everyone told me that people would change
we'd grow up and grow apart and grow away
but i didn't believe them because i know my friends
(i knew my friends)
we were so close and we were so inseparable
on the days when things ****** they were always there
and i grew up and now everything *****
and they grew up and now nobody's there

if i expected change i definitely did not expect this

i was warned that growing up does things to people
now i'm starring in a horror film watching my life dissolve
in the hallowed halls where everyone else is thriving

being invisible is an amazing superpower
except when it's an accident

i think maybe we've forgotten how to smile
because we are creatures of habit and we learn by example
and in a time when everyone is sad and depression screams out like sirens in the night
it is easier to mimic the tears

i'm caught between wishing for two things
you
or the strength to wish for something else

i am turning fifteen in a month and i have never done anything worth writing a poem about
i am awake night after night crying about the same words
about 'alone' and 'him' and 'high school' and 'the future'
but none of those things can keep a story going, none of them can form thoughts that make people feel things
there are so many words, and so many combinations of them that make me want to fall in love
real love, not this ******* lust that i feel for ideas of people that i make up in my head
i want to leave a legacy but i don't even know how to live a life that anyone would ever care about
i want to make art but i don't know what to do because i care so much about what people think
so i settle for staying up late and sleeping in late and staying home every weekend
i want to eat chinese food in front of the tv and climb to the roof and kiss a boy
i want to bury my toes in the sand and blast the music in a car and spend the night in someone's arms
but i don't know how and i'm scared and i'm not pretty or skinny or outgoing enough
it comes down to not being good enough or talented enough or strong enough
i've spent almost fifteen years not being good enough but everyone has told me to be myself
so i guess i'll spend another fifteen the same way

If I can't even write poetry anymore,
what's the point of feeling this sad?

I joke a lot, but lately it seems like crying
is the only thing I'm good at.

tonight, alone in my bed, the music cannot be loud enough
nowhere can be far enough away
i am overwhelmed with wanderlust and the desire to kiss someone
i want to live a movie
i want to fall in love-
with someone, not at them.
i want to drive down the streets blasting music because i know that the lyrics will change people the way they change me when i apply them to you
and there is a feeling that i get sometimes on nights like these
i want to jump off rooftops, not to die but to live
to fly away and away and sweep you off your stupid, amazing feet
i want to write songs about you and paint your picture on every wall in this ******* town
and for every wish i make i turn up the music a little more, and close my eyes for a little longer

it's scary that someone you've known forever can suddenly like someone else more than you
and that you don't think twice about doing the same
how your six year best friend is now a chore
and how your three week acquaintance hugs you in the hall
how the people who loved you when you were a kid treat you like ****
and you don't know if you can tell your best friend what she is to you

it's scary that you used to have too many friends to count
and now you have no one to hang out with friday night
how just two years ago the tables were turned
and now your friends like each other and not you
the people that used to be your world avoid your eyes in the hall
and sometimes the people who are now do to

i'm not ok, and it's been a long time since i was
but the breaths still come, in and out and in and out
and there are some days when i do not cry.
i can still get A's on tests and bake cookies and cheer up my friends
the rain still falls and the leaves still fall and the night still falls
but the sun rises, even if it's not up when i wake and if it hurts my eyes,
it's always there
and i'm lonely, and it's been a long time since i wasn't
but i can still see tomorrow even if i don't like it
and even when it seems like nobody would talk to me if i was the last person alive,
i remember that i'm not
that i live in a world full of people and dogs and exotic cheeses and new words,
that there are countless places to go and books to read and dollars to earn,
that in a thousand years nobody will remember the time i embarrassed myself in the hall
so i may as well say hi
and so i breath, in and out and in and out,
and some days i do not cry

i cried about him today and nobody was sympathetic because they are tired of watching me cry
if only they knew how tired i am
of crying