shivers, and shakes,
hearts are easy to break.
like mirror, showing me my flaws,
i look in your eyes,
i retract my claws.
i do not want to cause you hurt,
i do not want to make this worse.
i don't want to lie anymore.


so take this key.
lock the door.
what we had,
what you want,
isn't there

anymore.

I have yet to find the kind of love that I’ve been searching for.
I’ve found someone who loved my sadness, someone who loved my bitchiness, and someone who loved my happiness…but I need to find someone who can love all of those things that compose me.
I need more than just one or the other.
I need full, accepting, gut-wrenchingly deep love,
that knocks me over and pounds me against the rocks like an ocean wave, before bringing me to rest on the soft, warm sand.
I need the kind of love that rages like a summer storm, with torrential rain, gutsy winds, and booming thunder, that ends in a rainbow.

I need the kind of love that takes my breath away.


But I don’t know if I’ll ever find it.

my writing seems to only come easily,
when i'm writing things i want to say to you,
but i can't.
right now i'm sitting here thinking about all the things from you
that get caught up in the thickets of my mind
like a nagging piece of a splinter that can't seem to get out of my palm.
the pain, although less than it would be if the whole splinter had stuck,
is still noticeable if i poke it, **** it, try to find it again,
pin point exactly where i have to press to make it hurt.
and once i've found that spot,
i keep pressing.
not because i like the way it feels,
but it's comforting, to know that i know what makes it hurt.
it's comforting, to know that it's still there, a constant reminder that the splinter was never fully removed.
it seems cliche,
to say that i miss you, but not who you are now.
i miss who you used to be.
the person who wrote me word by word, line by line, letter by letter,
their entire thought process..
where is she now?
gone.
i think about you,
and that letter you wrote.
"do deep people just conform the shallow way of thinking?"
you did.
did i?
i suppose that's something that we'll never know.
so it will keep nagging me,
bothering me,
like that small piece of splinter,
until i find away to get it out.
or until it gets infected and eventually kills me.
whichever comes first.

when* did this happen again?
when did i start staying awake at night,
stuck inside my own thoughts?
when did i turn back into this person?
what happened to me?
what can i do?
who do i turn to?
no one
who can figure me out, if i can't?
no one
why
why does this keep happening.
why am i writing these words that no one will see,
no one will care.
nothing will change.
so,
how do i proceed?





with caution.
scratch that.
throw caution to the wind.

for once,
i just want to be me,
and have someone love me for it.
i want it to be okay that i like to eat m&m;'s at night,
and that i don't work out every day.
i want it to be okay that sometimes i want to just sleep,
and not do anything productive.
i want it to be okay that sometimes i want to have adventures,
and go act like a little kid.
i want it to be okay that i can be needy,
or ******,
or kind,
or funny,
or mean.
i want it to be okay that i'm not really who i say i am one-hundred percent of the time.
and when the time comes for me to be me,
i want someone who can deal with the difference.
someone who understands that underneath everything i try to be,
there are things that i just AM,
things that i can't help.
i want someone to take my hand,
and run in the rain with me,
and not care that in five minutes i might be crying,
or laughing,
or both.
i need someone.
i just need someone.

all i want to be is real.
it seems strange to think,
that i've never done anything substantial.
i've never had a dream that i chased,
until i caught it.
i have chased
and ran
until my finger tips
brushed the edge,
until i could almost grasp on,
to the kite tails..
and then
i give up.
i always give up.
and i wish
that i could be more than that.
i wish i was a dreamer,
a maker,
a creator.
but more than anything,
i wish i was a live-er.
i person who despite all else,
could remember each moment
of each day.
a person who could live.
and breath.
and feel.
a person who is real.

oh, hello there,
you can call me, the master of the **** ups.
the leader of the young bucks,
who strikes the streets with bad luck.
who's always up for a quick ****,
a little nip/tuck,
you feel like you belong?
welcome to the world,
now you're stuck.

you should have stayed home,
in your warm bed,
with the pillows cuddling,
your fragile head.
where in your dreams you can see,
whatever you want them to be,
trust me, kid,
you don't want to end up like me.

you can call me the spinner of dark rhymes,
on my down time,
i like to write lines,
that can help define,
the chaotic thoughts,
of a twisted mind.

i don't like this,
or where it's going,
my rhyme's don't seem,
to be flowing.


i guess i'll go now,
never knowing,
what'd it'd be like,
if i kept
g
o
i
n
g.