the only thing i truly seek,
is a way to be
my own kind of unique.
the things i think,
the way i speak,
all contribute,
to being unique.
my own style,
my own technique,
my own way,
to be
unique.

(in)sensitive.
which one am i?
both.
or maybe neither.
senses, sensing, emotion.
sometimes, i shut myself off from that.
i don't want to cry,
get upset,
be bothered.
i don't want to be angry,
misunderstood,
apathetic.
too much of one,
too little of another.
i guess i can't be both.
i just don't want to be,
(in)sensitive.

when i was little,
i used to read those books,
you know,
by shel silverstein?
where the sidewalk ends,
and
a light in the attic?
there was a poem in one,
and it went like this:
"Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!"
and that poem sticks in my head,
a lot.
because,
really,
"whatif's" control my every thought.
my "whatif's" keep me,
all in check,
when they breathe their "whatif's",
on my neck.
they keep me waiting,
watching,
and wary,
"whatif" life, wasn't so scary?
"whatif" i could live,
and not be so afraid,
"whatif" i was sure,
of the choices i've made?
i guess i'll find out soon,
but "whatif" i don't.
to be honest i'm scared,
that maybe i won't.

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.

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.

The words, they whirl
    The thoughts, they swirl,
  Inside a chaotic mind.
   Do you have the time,
    To read between the lines,
And try to define,
The twisted thoughts, of a complex mind?
              Take a leaf of paper,
       Write it all down,
Don’t lead them straight in,
      But explore the pathways around
What hides in your mind.
    Accused of much,
               Guilty of more,
Your lies blow up in my face,
         Like it’s a never ending war.
   You walked out, slammed the door,
Said you needed me,
         Then became unsure.
You stormed out,
     Threw me away.
What could I do, what could I say?
     Open minds, open mine.
Buff it up, and make it shine.
       Take your thoughts, and take your time.
Leave me here, fighting for rhymes,
        To explain,
In words,
        What you’ve done.

i really don't care,
                 as you sit here and tell me,
about the number votes,
        or when i keep thinking about,
                          the ache in my throat,
          when i think about how
   you leave me thousands of notes,
    telling me i'm your world,
and you love me and need me so dear,
                           i know you aren't lying,
that much is clear.
                but the words had no meaning,
even though i know that they should,
                    and you always tell me,
you'd marry me now if you could.
        and i feel like you mean it,
and it makes me sad,
        when you say i'm the best thing,
that you've ever had.
        you deserve so much more,
then me by your side,
                          but you stay here and hold me,
through all the rollings of the tide.
                      and that makes me wonder,
what's wrong with me?
                       you love me,
                  and need me,
that i can see.
        and i once read something,
that stung like a smack,
                     "you always love the person,
       who can't love you back."
and another thing,
        that runs through my mind like a train,
     goes:
    "the person who you love, and the person that loves you,
                       well,
                       they are never, ever, the same."
i do my best
     to love you,
            and give you my heart,
but i know in truth,
              you only hold
a small part.

when i was younger,
my mother called me "grace".
she called me grace,
because that was exactly the thing that i lacked.
thinking about it now,
it occurs to me..
that that is a very sad thing:
to be named after something you lack.
if someone wanted to call me
a name
based on something
i can't do,
or don't have,
or am not,
maybe they would call me..
clear. for i am never quite clear on what i want.
maybe they would call me..
pure. for i have sinned a thousand times.
maybe they would call me..
shame. for i have no shame about the life i have chosen.
maybe they would call me..
beautiful. for many things about me are not quite beautiful.
maybe they would call me..
honesty. for i'm supremely good at spouting lies.
maybe they would call me..
found. for i have never, ever, been so lost.

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.

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.

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.

knowledge is power,
or at least that's what they tell me.
in my case,
knowledge is more like a weakness.
i know how you how you feel,
about her,
that is.
and that breaks me down.
you love her.
they say your first love
can't compare
to any other love.
i wish i could.
i wish i would have been your,
first love.
i wish i could have been your,
first love.
but i wasn't.
i wish i could compare
to the feeling in the air
when you hear her name
and remember
all the times
that you shared.
but i can't,
and i never will,
and it kills me,
that you care for her still.
she's giving you all you ever wanted.
a new beginning,
a second chance.
why don't you take it?
we could break this off,
right now.
because i can tell
by how you act
that there are feelings for her
that you can't take back.
and i'm sorry for that.
i love you
i need you
but i won't keep you
from
the love
of
your
life.

to you,
i always thought you were
the quiet type.
i have a problem, with things
like that.
i feel the strongest compulsion to talk
to the quiet ones.
they're the ones with the best stories.
that certainly was true,
with you.
i always was attracted to you,
in many different ways.
like i told you,
i saw a story in your eyes,
the very first day.
there were so many thoughts,
in my head at that time.
maybe this will be easier if i try to rhyme.
i wanted to get to know you,
and i never had a doubt,
that everything i thought,
we would talk about.
i knew i could be honest with you,
and always speak my mind,
and whenever i needed someone,
i could count on you every time.
and even when you seemed sad,
you always seemed to smile,
and eventually we started talking,
although it took awhile.
all those times in math class,
you laughed along with us,
and slowly but surely,
we gained each others trust.
back then i was scared,
of being what i was,
and i denied my feelings,
and hid them just because.
i didn't realize then,
exactly how i felt,
until the night you grabbed my hand,
and my heart began to melt.
there are a lot of things i cant explain,
about the things i said and did,
and when i realized how much i cared,
i simply ran and hid.
i was just so scared of it,
and how you made me feel,
so i called ******* on my hand of cards,
and tossed away the deal.
you deserved and explanation,
for things that couldn't be explained,
and when i dropped right out of your life,
hell is what you gained.
i watched for months,
as she treated you,
like you meant nothing to her,
and it really hurt my heart inside,
because i knew how sweet you were.
you treated her like she hung the stars,
in the sky above,
but she had blackness in her heart,
that couldn't be cleared by love.
so i sat on the sidelines,
and watched her break your heart,
while the idiot i fell for,
was also tearing me apart.
i can only imagine,
how it would be,
if things hadn't happened like they did,
how different things might be right now,
if i had never hid.
i really do care about you,
if thats something you don't realize,
and i'm still interested in hearing the rest,
of the stories in your eyes.
i want you to be in my life,
more then i can show,
but if you want me around at all,
thats something i don't know.
i want to know your stories,
the ones you have yet to tell,
i need you to know,
i miss the times,
when i knew your life so well.
don't be afraid to talk to me,
because i really, truly care,
and like i told you a thousand times,
i'll always be there.
don't ever think you're
a bother to me,
or that i don't want you around,
because a friendship like the one we have,
can never again be found.
so, chief, always remember,
that i remember our story too,
and i want to be a part of your life,
because i care about you.
always,
the captain.

so many things in my life have been a lie.
        i mean it's not really anyones fault but mine.
thats the thing though,
     the faults.
we all falter, and alter, and change how we are.
  but why?
        why do i always think its necessary to be someone else?
stories make me more interesting..
       but for how long?
my memory is so good because
   i got myself into a big mess and i have to keep all the lies i tell in line.
i did this with her
     (and she did this to me)
lies about telling the truth.
    what is the truth, really?
i'm not sure
    if i'll ever know.

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.

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.

you know what i hate,
more than i should?
i hate when you text me,
when i start feeling good.
i hate when i'm happy,
and i'm on a high,
and instead of hello,
you give me goodbye.
i hate how you look,
with your hair in your eyes,
and i hate how i get,
that moment of surprise.
when i see your name,
though situations have changed,
the feelings remain.
it all feels the same.

"i don't love her like that",
you told me,
sometime last summer.
and i didn't say anything.
i just sat there in the dark,
waiting for you to continue,
because i knew you would.
"i love her", you said,
"but i love you too."
i cringed at the words,
as they seemed in though my pores,
into my blood,
and coursed through my body.
even then,
they were a lie.
i knew how you felt,
about her.
what i didn't know was how hard it would be,
to accept it.

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.

"i'm not going anywhere, kid",
you told me,
more times then i can count.
so tell me please,
how you can walk past me now,
and not meet my eyes,
and not smile in my direction,
and not run over to me,
and throw your arms around me,
like you have so many times before.
tell me how,
you can walk straight past me,
and look the other way,
as i stand in stunned silence,
wondering how,
after every time i've let you come back,
it's so easy for you,
to walk away again.
but i'll keep standing here,
for you.

what do people get,
by being so ******* honest?
it's not like i ever do the right
thing,
i just fight
things,
and re-write
things,
until they become
haunt me at night,
things.
and i say
things,
and replay
things
that don't need to be replayed.
but the night
brings
all these out of sight
things,
that i can't seem to find during the day.

"i don't like eye contact",
you told me,
somewhere around the very first time we talked.
"what are you afraid of?" i asked you,
because that was my first thought.
you never really answered,
and i never really pushed you too,
but now..i wish i had.
i wish i had asked,
again and again,
the who,
the why,
the what,
the where,
the how.
but, i never did.
and maybe that was my first mistake.

it's only a scratch,
a scrape,
barely will bleed.
not something
you want,
but something
you need.
it's only a scratch,
a scrape,
barely will scar.
not something
you chose,
but something
you are.
it's only a scratch,
a scrape,
a cut,
refuse to break
skin,
just break
out of this rut.

"i don't like eye contact",
you told me,
somewhere around the very first time we talked.
"what are you afraid of?" i asked you,
because that was my first thought.
you never really answered,
and i never really pushed you too,
but now..i wish i had.
i wish i had asked,
again and again,
the who,
the why,
the what,
the where,
the how.
but, i never did.
and maybe that was my first mistake.