I get busy.

I have a hard work ethic, and while it may be a curse for people I care about, it's not for me.

Working makes me very happy...

...so do you. But Life likes being lived in quarantines, and I'm not going to break walls between regions just to let them collide.

Too messy.

good can always come from bad
call me a hypocrite, but drowning causes life
and thinking causes death
let the water fill your head and void your
recesses of any toxicity that resides there

better to drown in the new than
to stay stuck in the old
and while rain waters can convert to
toxic waste, sometimes a weekly purge
is more than necessary

does it bother you when my mind starts racing and one moment i'm thinking of what great friends were and the next it's all what-if-we-weren't and what-if-i-lose-you and all the **** that you say constantly that i should never worry about but i can't exactly help it and then i feel bad for feeling bad and wonder if you're annoyed but can't exactly stop worrying because that's just how i operate but i can just sit and hope that you understand...

...do you?

sometimes i just wanna watch the weeds in my mother's herb garden grow and not in a monotonous way like i have nothing better to do with my life cause i mean i don't but i just want to have the control of saying i could destroy you if i wanted but having even more control in never doing it don't you think it's sick and sadistic don't you think my mind is a poisonous **** itself wrapping itself around the places it doesn't belong and when it finally leaves like those summer breezes that blow leaves around then leaves them sad and despondent cause they can't fly once the breeze deserts the place and the branches and the feelings it ******* loved most and isn't it ******* ironic that a monster like the wind can feel it can destroy and destroy and destroy but it also has feelings and in the aftermath and all the torn up branches and weeping children's voices crying over look mommy my clubhouse got crushed by that falling tree and the wind was mad, honey, that's all and no i wasn't mad i was torn torn from myself and from feeling what i wanted to feel when i wanted to how i wanted to because my feelings can destroy you and me and everything else everyone else and when i look back over my shoulder those weeds have grown into a plant so spiky and forbidding that i feel helpless and know i had the control to **** it earlier but didnt and dont you wonder what it would have been like if i had just killed it at its source and just eradicated all this useless pain?

i'd really like to just take a moment and breathe because i mean it's hard to breathe inside a volcano but since it's of my own doing it's kind of nice to know that i'm the one killing myself i'm the one drowning in my own lava i'm the one who's going to die because of my mistakes and not you not you it was never your fault it was never your loss to bear so why did i let you why did i let you why did i let you think my falling was my fault and why didn't I save you because i was selfish that's why i was not who i am i wasn't me and i couldn't focus and listen to me coming up with excuses for my own actions but really how can you blame me for being human when the only person who blames me for that is myself constantly every day of my life and don't you think it's hilarious that i punish myself more than anyone else even has the capability of doing but they still do it and it just lays and lays on top of everything else and then there's me just little insignificant me who just likes to sit and watch herself have absence seizures and realize that she's not who she believed she was or even could be only because she holds herself back she holds herself back i hold myself back because why well I guess my emotions are just too strong they're too hot of a magma to keep others safe and it is my own personal protective bubble but it still scalds me and don't you think it's ironic?

isn't it just hilarious how I don't even know how mentally old I am like not in a haha i'm a kindergartner type way but more of a i still haven't found myself type way like the fact that i need a kind of alone version of hide and seek to find myself but i'm still not done counting off yet and i don't know when i will be because things keep changing and flurrying around my head like lost and gone and happy without me and happy before me and four years and seventeen hundred miles and razors and flowers and drip drip drip i don't know where i'm going i don't know where i'm steering and i told myself i wouldn't panic i won't panic I WONT PANIC I WONT PANIC but i do anyways and the culmination of all of this is just the beginning the beginning of the end and i can't even see past my own breath and even that escapes me and i just wish you were here you with your hugs and you with your whispers and you with your comfort but you three aren't and i'm stuck in the middle of a mud puddle a mile long and i don't think it's ever going to go away so maybe i should just resign myself to sinking

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.

i flatter myself, thinking every word you ever wrote was inspired by me
i know they weren't
but i can't stop rereading and wondering
hoping
i'm not crying

Read me
like you're under the sheets
holding a quivering flashlight
reading a book Mommy told you
not to but that you told yourself that
you could.

Read me
like the paper thin news
that you strain to hear every
morning but then **** back in
disgust at when you realize its
its contents.

Read me
like the person you wish
you knew how to read and
that you want to more than just
about anything but know that really
you shouldn't.

Read me
like the dictionary on your
paint-peeling kitchen bookshelf
that is boring yet holds truths about
life that you wish with all your might
weren't true.

Read me
like you have tried so
constantly to read your
fading falling self that I say
I care so much about but you
won't listen.

Read me
like the anxious mess
that I am when I even hear
about the past I can't change
and the future I want so badly
to make better.

You are

wanted.

To see a heart as it really is-
A pumping mesh of blood and tissue-
And know that love,
The truest kind,
Is disconnected.

You can wipe the makeup off your overdrawn cheekbones, Barbie
But you're still plastic.
And you're still hollow.

sometimes i find it's easier to stop trying to find
that specific blueprint in the back
of a drawer

and create a completely new one based on the
pieces i'm working on and think
outside the box

four hours of sleep
three days of fluffy frills, lace, and cat ears
four days of flannels and dark eyeliner
five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes of good music

how to create a me
but you wont want to.

side effects include:
depression
anxiety
isolation
manipulation

is it worth it?

my cheeks
my eyes
my emotions
my life

RED. ALL RED.

my poems
my music
my stress
my fingers

But then there is another.
"read."

He read the RED of my soul that I bled out without a care, completely forgetting that he is but a click away from reading me like a bloodstained magazine.
How could I?

I suppose it's nothing of consequence.
I mean, I tell him, don't I?

I try, at least.

It's not easy to put it into words, the RED that I feel.

It's not adoration. NO. It's something much stronger, much more substantial.

But I don't think it's love, not quite yet. So what is this RED that he gives me in the form of words and kisses, of warmth and walls?

It's up for me to scribe my own description, yet I cannot even begin to tell myself what I am feeling, never mind telling him.

I can't embarrass myself and turn RED
As I try to explain my RED
To the RED
that makes my life
whole.

Not a girl, just a ghost in the mirror
a sad little being who can't be seen clearer
wisping and watching she quietly waits
for life beyond the rippled glass, oh

I don't recognize that girl in the mirror.

Eyes dark, shining with manipulative malice;
Lips red and ready for a deep, deep sin;
Hands twitching to unravel someone's mind;
Heart....wait, what?

Where her heart should be is a gaping hole.
Flies fly by, and breezes breeze through
the emptiness, craggy and grey
like her entire being.

ropes are stretched over her entire being,
worn, weary, strung tight

how much longer until she
-like this mirror-
begins to crack?

it has begun.

The brushes have long since been rinsed out,
the water now a dull grey.
Lifeless though it seems,
tired are its' dreams
yet awake it is
today.

But if you waited just one more second before
pouring it all out;
Just one second
would have shown you
the incorrigible beauty of
a streak
of neon green.

A streak.

One single, solitary stroke.

It has come back.

How can I tell someone how to feel
When sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten
How to feel anything myself?

Enlighten me.

The learning is with the entwining of fingertips
Of two pairs of hands that desperately need
To learn a lesson about who they are and
What it is they have to contribute to the world.

That, I believe, is the one and only magic
Remedy that even then can still fail...

It just makes you wonder
If the hands you wish to be holding
Are really even there.

Take mine for example-
Maybe I'm not as outward about my
Condition as I should be, but
How do you know that I'm not
Fading faster than you are?

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

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 don’t even wear 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?

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 don’t even wear 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?

You can fill the cracks in my mind
with as much compliment cement
as you wish

But there's only one type of glue
that can fix me
and it comes from you

happier than i can remember
sadder than i can remember being
as the sparrows sit on my windowsill
and sing in dirge
I'll cry with happiness
and mourn with joy

I have what she wants.
It's mine to enjoy.

Somehow I'll make it up to her.
Somehow, repay joy.

Has someone out there ever felt the need
to be part of something
bigger?

I'm not talking sports
music
school
or family

I'm talking character

Am I the only hollow being in this empty galaxy

who longs for an emotion to call their own?

If I asked politely,
or poetically, God forbid,
Would you write with me?

Write me a reply
in your own poetic guise

Correspondence within pentameter
means more than anyone will ever realize
even if it's faux

There are feelings I know my genes
have erased from the nerves
within myself

that I know may never awaken again...

...but then there's you.

you've worn my pages down so that i'll always open up to the same place unbidden
and that my book of 140 pages ends on page 39
everyone thinks that's how my story finishes
but in reality it's because you've ripped out the last chapters

I'm only whimpering
But I know you can hear me.

I don't want to hurt you

And I don't want my life to get in the way

of yours

Is it bad that I dance constantly
with dishes in my hands
and dubstep in my heart

but the only kind of dancing I want to do
is against your experienced hips?

Pardon my enthusiasm.

But I want to be rocked until the chair is broken
until the horses have run away
until our bodies are torn to pieces

with nothing left
but the beat

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.

Seeing flowers in the convenience store
Leading up to today
Made me so
Happy

But now just thinking of them
Starting from 5 PM
Makes me feel
Hopeless

and i'll never understand why you choose to give your homegrown roses to someone
who would let them die

he wanted an uptown girl
but she was from down home
country

that sugar shaker was just
too sweet for him to
handle

If I can't write this whole AP outline
I might die

But somehow, I can survive
months of your ignoring me

Funny, isn't it?

To be qualified as sacred
all you have to do
is open your eyes

they say more than your lips
ever will

...are you even reading this?
Rereading, even seeing this?
Do my words reach your ears
or get buried within the years
stretching between you and me?

You stopped picking up the phone
And starting picking up cigars

Ignorance filters through the air likened to a plague
as the screens fill the silence
with plasticized glowing.

What adventures are we missing?
Ivanhoe, Dunsinane, Middle Earth?

Between the pages of our very busy lives, we miss
the written out thought processes that inquire
after why exactly we are so hellbent on
radiating our only pair of eyes out of our skulls
with the futile use of nonrenewable energy.

How is it that something so natural, so ******
between the lines of our genetic makeup
can be filtered out all within the means
of a filtered lense and a shining
artificial light?

I digress.

Just because I barely know you
doesn't mean I can escape from your eyes

There are so many people I want to help.

But first, I have to focus on myself.

How can I help her if I can't help myself?

Hypocrisy.

Just because I listen
To digital cello music Monday's
Space rock Tuesday's
Country hoedown Wednesday's
Emotive rap Thursday's
Classical pieces Friday's
And metal on Saturdays
Doesn't mean Sunday
Has to be a day
Of rest

She was always cautious. Momma had always told her not to stray too far towards the edge, that the gold lining of the clouds would tempt her up and over what was well and good. And if she didn't look carefully enough, she'd fall instead of fly.

She was always waiting. Sometimes, she was lured near the edge by a cloud or two, but was able to catch herself before lunging off the amethyst cliff into the dark nothing in which she could either sink or soar.

She was always lonely. So many figures danced just along the edge, just out of her grasp, their blurred outlines shining brighten than molten sunshine, calling to her. pulling at her humble clothing.

She was never desperate. Although even the slightest murmur of her name was enough to get her up and running towards the edge, she always awoke from the nightmare...and would always regret not taking the risk.

Until she did.

She was always shy. But when the wisp of hope outlined by the shadows of the moon itself reached out its twilight fingertips to her and beckoned, promising a life beyond the farthest jump she could possibly muster, she heard. And she believed.

She was always meek. Not believing in herself but in the hands that held hers, she ventured to the edge, peering over into the lilac abyss and the stars above. And she jumped.

She was always forgettable. No sooner had her toes left the glossy surface of the biggest cliff she had ever faced in her life, her memory was wiped from the minds of those who knew her, to be replaced by something brighter, shinier, newer.

And then she was gone. But no one would miss her.

I just want to let go of everything, feelings, emotions.

"You've never had it together."

It was only a joke, but wasn't it true?

I'm so ridiculously easy, and I don't even realize it. Why not spare myself the hurt? Why not push for a life alone?

I'm better alone.

No one to hurt and no one to make feel guilty and no one to constantly ask me if I need anything and no one to love me.

It's better that way.

Excuse me while I go choke on my words and my thoughts in a bathroom stall and shake until I can't feel my fingers.

It's better this way.

Excuse my while I lean against the cold stall wall and wonder why I'm even here, why my heart and my head hurt me so much.

It's better this way.

Excuse me while I try and drown the emotions that have been drowning me since day one.

It's better this way.

For everyone. But for me?

No, it was never a question.

shaking, shaking-
did YOU know I was shaking-
quaking, quaking,
for my thoughts have run sharp.

I want to be with her
her hair falls in her eyes
her lips are so inviting
her heart is warmer than life

But I have to be with him
his eyes are warm and friendly
his hands are soft and comforting
his heart has the purest intentions

I don't deny the platonic intensity
but do you deny me my lust
which can't be satisfied
within he whom I
never thought
would be more
than a
friend?

Maybe if you throw broken glass at me
I'll finally understand what it feels like
to be shattered. Right?

I want to feel the tiny stabbing pains inlay
themselves in my face like diamonds until
I can't feel my lashes.

And why, you ask, do I want to learn this
pain more than I want to live myself, and yet
you forget I am more.

I am more that you'll ever be because I wish
unlike one I've ever known to feel the pain
that comes with life.

Because I know
we are lost
without it.

her eyes looked down at the broken glass
and the petals drooping between her toes
and knew what it was
to be alone