"i can't box you"* he says to me
narrowing his firewood eyes
the silver air breathing spring
i get closer to the warmth of his body
and smile-

because i can box myself so ******* perfectly
it's the thing i hate the most
i'm your typical straight A
anghsty teenager
who never called herself a poet
but spends her days writing
to boys who never loved her
and a dad who was never there
i had a photography phase-
which girl hasn't?
took pictures of people
when they weren't looking
finding beauty in others
when what i needed most
was to find beauty in myself
went through an anorexic phase
i'm better now-
skinnier than before, but,
i eat a single 1200 calorie meal
but take my coffee without sugar
(saving the dime and spending the dollar)
tried finding myself by hurting myself
and even though the blades disappeared after a while
the pain kinda lasted
but you know, it's not all that bad
i mean, i eat, i sleep, i jog, i read
i sing in the shower
i live in a house with a mom who loves me
a sister who loves me so much that she hates me
i'm your typical kid
stuck between self-worship and self-loathing
loved taylor swift,
loved fallout boy
get the picture now?
thought that rebelling would give me fulfillment
cut my hair and dyed it orange
ran away to my best friend's house
watched her have *** with boys twice her age
sat alone in a corner away from their embraces
because the black eyeliner and leather jacket
still hadn't seeped their way into my heart
(don't touch me i'm afraid)
i had my first kiss at 16
i had *** at 17
i had my first pregnancy scare at 18
(don't worry we used protection)
i promised to marry him
but kept him a secret because my parents wouldn't approve
come on-
does it get more 'boxable' than that?

'you're so different.' he mumbles
between breaths tainted with the taste of my skin
i play with his fingers
(i think i'm in love with the birthmark on his knuckles)
he takes my silence for agreement
and i kiss him goodnight
driving back to my white-picket fence house
taking off my shoes before entering
my mom doesn't like ***** shoes on the carpet.

sitting here with a cup of coffee
and a beautiful view of the beach
watching all the idiots running by
(because in my opinion it's one of
the most touristy things you can do)
and I'm trying to sort things out
but it's not good enough, never is
and this fog rolls in, blocking my view
and it shows how little anything matters
we are all b sides standing on the edge of
nothingness

i guess i should lace up my running shoes.

I'll send a nice message
straight through the wires
with the bird outside my window.
I'll wrap the paper up
with a nice little bow
and a short piece of twine
for him to carry onward
to speak into your mind.
He'll make it in the morning,
I know he surely will
to be there when you wake up
to tell you how I feel.

Do you like your world of fantasy?
Where you live in twisted lies?
Your words are woven a shield of art,
behind which, you believe you'll never die.

You cry for help behind your brambles,
where thorns ***** and wolves cry.
Do you realize you tended to them yourself, dear?
You sentenced yourself to die.

Slats
Salts
I have Salt
Salt Salt Salt
Salty Salt
*for Chem

I've never felt so stupid as when I forced my hand into the fire and was surprised when I got burned.