am i the only one who routinely checks to see if you've come back
to see if perhaps that was all a two year long nightmare and everything is okay?
i hope not but i know so.

She sat. And she waited.
The crowds were about to roar themselves into existence within the thin blue air next to her, but that did not cause her to fear.

show her all my words.
complain that i've really outdone myself this time, that i've officially broken you into a thousand pieces.
but you know that it isn't me and that as much as the past attributed to so much of the anxiety i feel on a daily basis in so many parts of my life that i feel defective and sometimes want to die because of, i bear you and no one else no ill will.
but i don't doubt that by now all my words and all my truth have been passed on to her screen, and that you feel i'm out to get you.
i'm doing what i should've done a long time ago, protecting myself and my happiness.
i won't let you, unable to let go of something that happened in the past and ended for good reason, tear me up over something that any unselfish person would let go of for the sake of the sanity of those others involved.
i won't let my anxiety and insecurities, half of which are caused by you, ruin my relationship.
i won't let this rule my life.
and you shouldn't either. it isn't healthy. and i'm nice enough to not feel the need to constantly be depressed and upset and blame you or myself about what happened. because i'm actively trying to fix things and move on in as healthy a way as i can.
so tell her, show her all my words if that will console your conscience. i don't care. i lost her because of you anyways, but unlike you, we ended on good, civil, and honestly heartwarming terms, and i still check in on her anonymously to make sure shes doing okay. because i know she's not toxic.
i had just hoped at this point you would care enough about you and your acquiantances to make your problems just that; yours, and yours alone.
but show her, if it brings you comfort.
and while you're at it, tell her i say hi, and good luck in college. i know she'll be massively successful, and i believe in her every step of her journey.
and the same goes to you.
just fix yourself.

I never lied as a kid.
I was the one everyone knew would take little to no disciplining, the one who was born mature.
How I let myself go, how I let myself change to accomodate someone in a negative way, I will never know.
And perhaps I'll never forgive myself.
I could never hate any of the people who illicited bad experiences in my life, simply because they've made me into a stronger person.
But complaining that I never did enough, that I've permeated your life in a negative way when we don't even talk, it makes no sense.
I'm not actively seeking to hurt anyone. I don't even talk to you anymore.
The difference is, I'm not a child anymore like I was when I knew you.
I don't care anymore.
People who can't get over the past, those who hold onto it and complain about it without actually trying to fix it, those are the people I will never give the time of day.
How could someone unwilling to make themself better for someone else's sake and for their own sake be appealing to speak to? To laugh with? To cry with?
They drag people down.
And I finally care about myself enough to root out the ones who need work. And I don't feel guilty.
I'm growing self esteem.
And the lies have expired.
For good.

Blaming someone for addictions doesn't just do nothing, have no effect.
I have always disdained the idea of cigarettes, drugs, and lies. Always. I will never know how you lowered my standards forcibly enough to tell me it was my fault for not helping to get you off them and when I tried that it was my fault for making you anxious.
Anyone could have helped you. You could have helped you.
But you leaned solely on me and bit me when I tried to give you what you needed.
My mom always told me cigarettes were bad, that they stunted your lifespan, that drugs got you into legal trouble, and lies lost you those closest to you.
How did I somehow acquit you of all three of those charges...and blame myself when you refused to face it, how did I poison myself into thinking your choices were my fault?
My roommate likened it to her ****** abuse she faced when she was younger. She blamed herself for not saying no enough. I feel like I didn't tell you emphatically enough, but every time I told you it was bad that you were doing it again, immediately I was the villain and you cajoled me into apologizing by saying that it made you too anxious to think about or try to resolve.
But that you would be better.
You never were.
Being in college, that holy trinity of sorts is what stems all my fears. Cigarettes, drugs, and lies run my anxiety, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for letting you make me think it was my fault you couldn't fix yourself.
The difference between us is, I'm going to fix the impression you had on me.
But it seems you'll never fix the hole those three left in you.
If you had, perhaps the past would be different.

I wanted to visit the Alamo.
I wanted to see the cracked down walls, I wanted to walk where they had walked.
Christmas still vaguely lingered in the air, and they said they would take me there since they hadn't been and history is such a large portion of my interests.
I wanted to visit the Alamo.
I made excuses to not go. "I'm sick" or "I was going to hang out with my sister" or "You live here now, I'll go with you next visit". Somehow those tided them over until my plane ride back home.
I wanted to visit the Alamo.
They knew I had great plans of pictures and acquisition of knowledge and that this trip would only add to those if we had just gotten in the car and driven the hour to go, but I was too scared.
I wanted to visit the Alamo.
But you were too close. And you scared me away.

I've changed, I've grown.
I've come to realize that words in and of themselves do not, in fact, mean what the dictionary pleads. Oh no, for those of us brave enough to venture out and discover our true selves on our own, it is easy enough to divine the truth of the situation.
Promises, yes, those; as a child they meant so much. I promised I wouldn't walk on the stone bridge by myself because I knew my mother wouldn't want me getting hurt, and I promised never to be there after dark. But I've grown. I've changed. I've made a conscious effort to become mature in ways other children I played with never cared for, because it took work and wanting to mature instead of a foolish desire to ignorantly play for the rest of their days.
So I can now walk to the bridge, and after dark too. I can enjoy the moon drifting over the river water, and I can appreciate the lull of the quiet night air. I promised to be good and not go or do what my word meant I couldn't.
I'm older now. Situations have changed. I'm strong enough to swim without my father's hands, and tall enough to stand in the water on my own.
Why would a mother hold her daughter to a promise made in a situation that no longer holds true? To do so is to be confining and cause stress and pain.
A daughter should be able to swim if she wants to.
If not allowed, how will she ever learn to fly?

sometimes I wonder why i bother because sometimes it's so easy to just hold it all in, you know, like a tidal wave that pulls back so far that the power it finally unleashes is more pent up and crazy, but that's the thing see i don't want to unleash i don't want to destroy i want to create i want to feel i want to be i want to hold in my hands the way to keep myself whole my identity my very being that i keep trying so hard to find in other people and realizing i have to make myself but it just pulls me down when i know who i am finally and realize that i want to give part of that away but i cant i cant i just want to slice off a piece for you to keep safe and away from my impulses and fears but somehow that's too hard because if you saw how repulsive the real me really is i think you'd honestly run and hide and i don't know if i could take that not here not now and maybe not even ever just simply because you're too far in now you're too huge a part of my life to just up and leave and since the decision lies in my hands i'm so torn because i want you and i want you to stay but inside is all the tearing which i thought had been let go you said you had let me go like i had let you go it wasn't a matter of being able to but rather of giving the other person the leave to begin again, to not be selfish and let them start over and she took it from me and i don't know how to keep going because i'm still ******* in the past and trying to lasso the future and how does the correspondence even work when i just want to live but can't because i see it every day and think of that every night and the two just don't mix like oil and water they pool away from each other and that's frankly the only reason that i can't claim right now that i am or ever will be whole.

it used to be so easy to just
sling whatever emotions i had
onto a blank page.

now it seems there are too many
for me to possibly try to push them
into a sentence or two.

It's like walking on clouds, he said.
It takes all your insecurities and spins them into whipped cream.
whether whipped into sugar or whipped into submission, we will never know.
but that blanket isolation-where will I go when it's swallowed?
it's necessary for people like me.
We alight on hydrangea petals like a sprinkling of ash
and suddenly disappear into shattered glass.
They say feelings such as mine will wreck minds,
put a wrench in the construction that is happening between two people.
One figment ventures to peep about my own development plans, but I bite my tongue and swallow the thought.
Does the whipped topping permeating my words pass your lips still disguised?
Or can you divine why it's there to begin with?
I hope you know, he pleads. *I hope you know you're my biggest insecurity.

I know i said I wouldn't.
but i did.
am i sorry?

waterfalls crash onto youngsters below, but somehow have the audacity to keep flowing. somehow the trickle of feelings i'm letting loose isn't exactly comparable.

how, then? is there a a way to define the traitorous leakage defining my being at this moment, in others?

no. perhaps not.

so maybe it would be better
to just let this waterfall
crash

everyone says to have virtues
but how can i
when everyone's are different

i suppose i'll just bang my head on the keys
and become a composer instead

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that can see my black, oil slicked feathers.
They are the reason I don't like getting wet, the reason I fit better in the shadows than in the direct sunlight.
I'm not colorful on the outside, though the glossy yet demure rainbow sheen of my midnight mane may say otherwise.
They say it's what's on the inside that counts; if you cut me open, I'd bleed opal.
Opal, shimmering liquid pearl, luminescent moonshine filling every crevice of my heart, every crack and corner that are not filled with emotions that threaten to overturn the barriers preventing floods over and over and yet over again.
I'd forgotten- funny isn't it?- how easily words can flow and glow from my mouth if I would only open it. But as quickly as I do, the contents that spill out are black as tar, black as my coverings, my feathers, my thoughts.
What else is there to say but that I wish the black and the rainbow would coexists?
Oil slicks and opals are both beautiful.
You can see the rainbow in each, but sometimes you have to take the time to look closer.

Another day older, another day bolder.
But they never mentioned
it'd be this much colder.

We are terribly sorry to inconvenience the public in this way for yet a third time. Due to multiple setbacks in emotional distress, lengthy loneliness, and suicidal overdose ridden thoughts, we are still not ready to welcome the public into our new edifice. As you all know, the most recent Hurricane Heartache undid some of the work we take so much pride in. We ask humbly for your forgiveness and are still unable to give a completion date as of now.

I know just looking at me makes your lips twitch.
Don't you wish you could remember how they felt on mine...

I hope you know I trusted you.
That I told you things I couldn't trust my own mother with.
That i bared my soul to you because I felt like no one else understood but you.
How wrong was I....
It may be low to do some of the things I've done, but I'll admit I've done them and own up to it.
But to put up a front and a pretense of friendship just to get information to someone trying to hurt me...
saying you wanted to wait till later to tell me how much of a ***** i was?
That's just an excuse for wanting to learn more about me to hurt me later.
If you had truly been my friend, you would have told me what was bothering you/
wow.
now that is low.

Everyone calls me a hurtful, deceitful manipulator.
The problem is, it's really hard to fix a problem with roots unknown to your own mind.
I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. And everyone else is too ******* and vengeful to help me understand.
So fine.
Manipulate me in return for my unrecognized "manipulation".
It doesn't count if it's revenge, does it?

reaching out and realizing no one is there
realizing the one thing you're running from
is your own mother

You flatter yourself by thinking those harsh words were about you.
You don't mean enough to me for me to set aside time to write about you, let alone think about you.

You said you loved me.
But I took that mask off a long time ago.

Do not detain my whimsy, do not deny my thoughts their flying rampages on the wings of dandelion fluff long past its' prime.
Do the roiling waters stop for rocks in their path?
No. They brush over them.
Yet my feelings grow rockier and rockier yet and brushing over them has proven hard....and futile.

You have to realize that your convictions and desires to work toward being a better person and not regretting your past mistakes apply to others. Trying to move past problems you've created with others within your history but putting others down for trying to move past theirs doesn't make any sense.....what do you really believe in?

The words that dropped from my lips were laced with glamour. An unseen mist but breathed in by my beloved was all that I could emanate with what few syllables I could utter. What joy is there in isolation?

Their words were the briefest perfume I ever chanced to smell; brief, but honest. You can never hide your inner breadths and the breaths that keep you held together like a foggy glue.

Blue raspberry and then fifteens and suddenly my whole being is enamored of a scent that is not my own, swirling wisps of a greater, higher being. Alone, yet conformed to a blue caterpillar's wanting to leave his wall-less house yet too afraid to step one toe into greener grasses.

What beauty is there in smoke that infiltrates the mind and bares the soul? Reader, I'll tell you. It is the minimum of affections we are bound as beings to release, the inner crevices of the mind breaking free into a form more beautiful yet formless, more intricate yet dispersed than the mind itself. How is one to define this glory?

Inhaling these words as they are increases my inevitable downfall, and I can more clearly visualize my ideals crashing on the shore of my rising chest like bombs on a beach. Yet words, words, flavored words.....everyone believes them.

You're not displaying sentiments of sadness and deepened emotion simply because you wish that I, through hearing them, may feel a sense of calm and clarity over what has been done.
No.
You're speaking this ******* so that you feel less guilty, that you lessen the pain on yourself, knowing that you've said I'm sorry to the person who calls themself victim.
You ease your conscience whichever way you see fit.
And I'll ease mine.

To define the ever changing facets of love is to pin a crashing wave upon a rock. In the same way, to tie you down by your wildly streaming mane to a gold ring; how on earth would you survive?

Your soul’s sustenance is the freedom which comes at the cost of only the deepest and most committed type of love which rarely chooses to show its face to the world. Your racer’s tan marks all you do, your love for being out in the open permeates the very fabric of your being, stains it with an irreplaceable scent of the grass blades rustling in an open field, uninhibited by the struggles and chains of this modern world.

But then where am I?

I am scared of commitment,
but I have committed to being scared.

try to unsee the horrors you've dealt me, the crosses burnt into my thighs.
then ask yourself...
did you ever really care?

Thank you.
Thank you for leaving me when I needed you most.
Thank you for being disinterested in my scars.
Thank you for dropping me when all I needed was to breathe.
Thank you for letting me drown in her patronization and sitting aside.
Thank you.

What makes a good plot?
Is it the driving forces of a whirlwinded love, a mad minded passion, and a heedless fear?
Or is it the calm rolling thoughts that peep into your window every night begging for an audience that whisper to the genteel with the silence of a weeping willow?
You decide.
Reality?
Or empty-minded desire?

I hope you know it's your fault.
I know you don't give a ****
because when I fell you pushed me down
and then proceeded to stand.

saying you love me and then beating me

I am not an artist but art,
and from the world-- set apart;
in life and love, the push and shove
wreaks havoc on my painted heart.

i felt them sputter in and out of life
between my fingers
little tails twitched-twitc-twitched
then lay still and dormant as a bulb in winter.
fur glistened with blood and i wondered
what it means to have life
and why god has means to take it away.
lives are like candles,
blow on them too hard and they sputter out.
only those narcissistic enough to relight themselves
stay here on this earth and keep
burning away in pain until they're naught but
ashes on the ground. or in it.
so i'll light a light for the lights that died
in my hands last night,
the stench of afterbirth and sour blood
infiltrating every sense i have.
i will not soon forget that dismal dark.

(n); mistakes, broken hearts, emotions
(adj); overdone, drastic, desperate
(v); to cry, to please, to manipulate, to be a "victim"

You think you know every little crack, every crevice in my soul; yet there is so much of my life’s book that you haven’t read. My hair is a carefully styled mess, strategically placed static, and my lips are what they are- lonely. Sometimes I think you wonder about who I am, my origins; I can’t say that I don’t either. How’d I end up as such as mistake? You love me for what you say are perfections, yet you see not the real me, you see the front I put up, my acting. How can one be addicted to a person who doesn’t even know themself? Yet loving you makes me want to learn.

We both **** the life, the very being from each other; yet it is still not enough. I want to hook myself to you like an IV, to pull the gold running through your veins into my conciousness and let it light me. If there was a way to evaporate your essence and save it in a bottle for later, I’d be the scientist who discovered the way to do it. The very scent of you carried on the air from yards away is enough to register me for a few centuries in an asylum. You say you barely wearr cologne, and I understand it. You wear yourself, a fragrance I wish I could rub all over myself every second of every day, every time I curl up in a ball on my bed after you drive home at night, wondering why it is you can’t just stay.

You belong to the road, you’ve sold your soul to the feeling of the wind in your hair. I can’t break your contract with independence, but I can tag along for the ride. Seeing you so happy, getting your racer’s tan, blaring the radio until the speakers want to scream. Why can’t I partake in your happiness? I wish there was a way for us to share the love for the world that you have; in its’ place in my mind is loathing. The only reason for living I have is you- and all I ask of you is to answer this one question; how have you fallen for this fallen angel, the outcast of society, the girl whom everyone forgot to remember and who you didn’t remember to forget?

i just want my eyelashes against your cheeks.

To which demons it may concern;

You know me. I'm your worst enemy.
I'm the sunshine that breaks your attempts at drowning her.
I'm the flower petals that infiltrate the scent of your rot.

You wish me gone.
I understand.
But understand in turn that is what I wish of you.

You have no right to push her over any cliffs of your choosing.
You have no right to make her feel as worthless as she does.
You have no right to play upon her heartstrings like an overplayed violin.

And if you ever lay a single claw mark upon her skin again, you'll wish you were back in hell.

Because that's way nicer than where I'm gonna send you.

Sincerely,

Hers

Once you bade me fear not the brew,
but that lightning horse stole me from you.

you'd never think it'd be normal to be afraid of shoelaces but here i am like you have no idea how much desperation it takes to think you know i could totally use these as a noose, knot them there, tie them here... it's absolutely ridiculous and the morning after you've destroyed your thigh and then wondered why like what exactly is it that's going on in my head i know there's a six year old napping and coloring whom no one believes exists and i know i'm in there somewhere even though i have no idea who that is or where they came from i just know that they're buried in there somewhere and tighter tighter tighter tie me tighter i just wanna escape it all and i know it's just part of life to live through and it will make me stronger at least that's what I normally tell other people but how much of a hypocrite am i if i can't even control what goes on in my head or believe my own words how can i act how can i drink how can i sleep how can i live without some sort of control i mean i can control how deep i cut and how many times but I can't control a six year old's temper tantrums and sudden urges to color and I can't control the minds of people around me who matter but don't believe my words when I guess I haven't given them much reason to trust me in the first place but i mean haven't i given you enough in the first place by living and not dying when you leave me alone in my room at night with nothing but my headphones you trust me to not **** myself when i cannot talk to whom i need and get what i need from my very own parents because they won't even listen so how can i even begin here and now choke it's getting harder to breathe and i can't stop staring at my shoes and wondering if the starchy strands would make a good necklace and if a doorknob is high up enough and i know it seems like i wouldn't go through with this but i swear i would and it's not for attention it's an escape an escape from reality and what i'm facing i know i have no backbone and that i'm a total wimp and that there's no way to get through your problems other than to face them but i feel too weak too leechy too overdone i've been left in the oven too long i'm burnt and charred the light rememberance of a human being too cowardly and weak to stand and maybe the six year old part of me sputter is becoming me and i have no control over that either and all i can do is just sit here and breathe in and out and in and out but i don't really feel it and my heart isn't in it though my lungs are for the moment and i really just really want to die.

How come I always end up paying for wishes?
Aren't they supposed to be free?
Why is recompense part of the deal
when they're supposed to uplift little me?

Why does the brass lamp cost money?
Doesn't rubbing it mean luck?
Why must I pay a penny a day
If it won't guarantee I'm not stuck?

Peeling away layer by layer, I'm slowly becoming whole.
Wrapper after wrapper- will someone eat my candy heart when there's nothing left to hide it?
I'm so exposed, so open; the breeze wafts between layers, shaking them loose, and they waft to the ground like leaves.
Will this edifice be strong enough to stand on its own?
Built out of feeble candy cigarettes and held together by pink bubble gum, it's already been chewed up and spit out, more wrappings being formed to protect its' already collapsing structure.
Will it survive?
Will I survive?
**Chomp.

Dearest:

If I could touch you just once, then I'd be whole, I swear.
Sitting here letting youtube shuffle like the muddled thoughts within my mind, you're all that won't dissipate into thin air.
All Time Low, then church tomorrow morning, why won't you leave?
Are you lonely?
Do you need someplace to stay for a while?
Well, my arms and ears are open. Stay here a while.
Rest.
Everyone says "shes an invalid" and "she needs help", but I know it's not true.
Because if she feels half what I feel, all she needs is me.
And I need her more than the breaths I take, the words I write, and the ideas I spout.
One day, we'll be together again, angel, angel, angel. My angel.
My one and only angel.
And I can't wait for the day I can roll over in this same bed where we kissed and see your sleeping eyelashes fluttering admist your sleeping sighs.
I won't be doing much sleeping.
I promise.

I was the lock and she was the key.
She opened me up and beautified me.

How is it that living can so easily be mistaken for sleeping? Like, I could be dreaming all this right now and wake up to my words flying off the screen and into an oblivion lit with only the red of eyes of monsters ready to eat me up at a second glance. But maybe not. Maybe we're all living a digital life that we'll one day just digitize away from because we ran out of power. Sometimes I wish I knew how to pull the plug.

Harder than ice, I believe
Stricter than the Amish
Colder than the Artic, I say...

You can weave your best iron together but it takes
little but a rainbow glint from my eyes to see through it.

I know you, best not to say so. I know more than I let on.
I know, I know.

So weave your titanium shield and hope for the best,
and I'll sit here harvesting rainbows and waiting for a sign, a break.

Perhaps one will never come.

He's always there, pushing for a moment of his own.
Will he win, or will he get pushed under the covers again?
Her eyes are warm and wet, glistening, and he sighs with the grace of the unknown passing through a door of the darkest shade of yellow there is.
But what of his dreams, his philosophies? What of his passions?
Her heartbeat fills his own, controls it. What more can he do to be himself apart from her?
He can push for his own time, elbow his way into the spotlight.
Or he can let her take control.

I'm merely a mirror,
a two-sided fearer,
who walks with the grace of the dead.

I'm only an owner
of masks that make too sure
I don't let out what's in my head.