inaccurately named

i never said i wanted rubies or jewels
or anything else for that matter
all I said I wanted was the price of a good set of gloves,
ones to hide and look at every once in a while in the glove compartment

(because no one puts gloves in the glove compartment anymore --
were there ever gloves in it? why was it called that?)

and I get tired of the same lines,
but it keeps you going so I don't really mind

not june

every aspect of my life hurts

but I tip back my head and laugh because when everything hurts you know that deep down you are alive.  when it's sunny outside, I want rain, even though the overcast will also kill me anyway.

in my heart of hearts (if there is such a thing -- what's with all the metaphorical language?  if THAT'S even a word), I know it will pass but it's a matter of when and how.

away away i'm gonna wash it all away

what a drag

I still think about you all the time.  it hurts, it stings, and the fact that you don't care about my existence hurts even more.

I'm reading into your signals.  are you happy now?

the sun comes up -- I think about you

all I do is think of you

and I hate it so, so, so much.

just know -- 

you drive me crazy, with or without being there.

woman like a man (just like virginia woolf)

when I can't sleep (want to, but can't, will force myself not to) I write.  Go me.

I wonder what it would be like if I had been born a genderless human.  Or more androgynous than I am.  Because no matter what I wake up as, how I see myself in my mind and on paper, when I look in the mirror I see the face of a girl -- heart face and round eyes, blue ice and strange October features on a December baby.  "you are mine" (michaelson 10).   I hate waking up a boy because I feel it in my bones and skin.  I dont' have boy pants, so I wear whatever pants I find and band T-shirts with a high neckline, black with sleeves past the armpits so people don't see the lack of shaving.  I wear jean jackets and sneakers and feel my vocal range become husky and low.  I see girls in the street.  Today I was a person.  I wore a skirt and a band T-shirt.  I felt like a foreigner in my own body.  

I don't know why this is happening to me, but I'll go with it.  who knows?  it might shape me as a person.  every other fucked up thing has, after all.

when I see couples down the street, I walk on by.

I'm all I've got to hold onto.

And of course i'm scared.

i'm scared of losing everything because of my selfishness or my independence

of my flakiness and I'm not willing to change a thing



"I, I'm a mascot for what you've become" (wentz 7).



because baby, I can't fight it,

and you, you can't fix a thing.



when you think about taking yourself out just so you can stop thinking, thinking about it all the time

and I'm a coward so I don't try a thing.

updating in hallways.



"It's horrid to see you again, so bored of being... alive, alive, alive" (molko at some point).

seventeen

three more years till i actually have to grow up

brittle breakable girls

always feel like shit on holidays

though the sound resonates through both ears
i don't feel anything from it
perhaps it's the meds that make me feel like this
or her, or anyone
because the world doesn't revolve around me
fuck your new year
and fuck your sunshine and open casket
I want a temporary death, so I can test it out
and get a refund if I'm not satisfied
guaranteed
ha ha ha, but nobody's laughing
and it's just me alone and the static
and your voice crooning in my ear. fuck your sunshine
fuck your glory days
these aren't mine
I won't peak
merry fucking christmas

and never have I ever

felt so bad about this
i'm so sorry
but not really
because i'm all tears and crocodile wishes
all loves and lonely heartbroken words
and ways and clocks and ticking ticking time
i fail to rhyme to change.
"and i literally broke the english language"
sorry to hear that. i'm starting to look like you
i hope you know
i dont think i'm brilliant enough for anyone
"just because you don't like a person"
no, more because a person told me i was an not-genuine failure
why thank you
i know you meant it well

maybe I would have been something you'd be good at.

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I never met you. If I didn't walk the streets without thinking about your hair, your clothes, and your eyes, because I wouldn't know them. I wouldn't know your scent. I wouldn't know your fingers or your hands. I wouldn't hear your voice or see your face even if we're estranged. I wouldn't know about it because we wouldn't know each other.

And I finally realize now that I don't care.

I don't regret you. Not in the slightest. I just regret that you thought that way about me. And that it ended so badly. Two different people in different phases of moving on. So yes, I had forgotten about needing you by the time you "broke it off". I had forgotten what it was like to have the longing, the stupid aching feeling in the chest. You hadn't become insignificant to me so much as I forgot how to love you, how to want to talk to you. I'm not sorry about it. I just regret that you couldn't acknowledge the inevitable. I wish you the best of luck, really. And I'm glad it's weird for you, because it's weird for me too.

I'm not the bad guy here, you know? Don't make me out to be that. It takes two to fall apart.

i don't follow anything

because I don't know where it will lead me,
whatever it is.
you say you want things I could give you,
but I'm too shy to say
you're a wreck, just a soft, sweet wreck
and the conventions of this language can't
even begin to describe any of this
six months to this day and i would have gone for it
gone for you and the idea of you, I guess that's what I loved
and even after all of this, I cradle my head in my hands
and taste the same old regret, over and over again
just musky enough to let me know that it's weird for you
it's too normal for me. i can't say what I feel because I am blind
don't you even speak to me, because I am avoiding being an idiot and fool
and breaking off what could have been beautiful.
i'm sorry.

there is nothing here

and there is nothing less than nothing left

I'm writing a novel about a girl who has to save the world and is barely passing Precalc.

Her name is Molly Jane Fitzgerald and I love her to pieces.

As I have many times, I wonder if anyone reads this. Hmmm.

I can't wait to meet you either.

i'm still trapped between the end and the means

I wonder if anyone actually reads this thing, if anyone actually acknowledges my existence, hangs on every word.

I want to be you. I don't want this. i'm already gone in so many ways and it hurts to say, oh it hurts hurts hurts me to say this to you

"harsh but excruciatingly true" oh you would think that wouldn't you, tear me in two, oh my isn't this a funny little mess i've gotten myself into.

and it's only you who would expect so much of me. how kind. how generous. how considerate of you. I don't fucking care. This is a place for florid poetry and pretending I'm smarter than I actually am, but right now I'm just really fucking mad. I never realized that there was any color in the pture at all, I thought there was only dust and sepia. not even sure how to pronounce sepia. (see-pee-a? seh-pee-ah?) I don't know, and I can't be sure, and I can't say I want you because I don't know you . I don't know a lot of things. This is a surefire place for repetition and it's boring and I hate myself for things I don't even know about. What is my swing state? What is the color of my rain? Why does the sky listen, not listen, throw itself before my feet and laugh in my face?

why is there such laughably bad handwriting in this? It's not as though I haven't tried to fight it. I really have, honest/. I'm being good. I'm not even bothering to correct this and it's rife with grammatical errors and my fingers hurt and this is not even a grammatically correct sentence and i don't care what you think as long as it's about meeeeee... oh I love quoting horrid lyrics. I can't spell, but the thing is I really can.

I just want to be told pretty lies. I want you to treat me like I deserve to be treated. I want you to not tell me how a relationship should go, that I'm wrong when I know that I'm right and you're just being a bitch.

Love me, love me, say that you love me. Ha.

turpentine kisses and mistaken blows

I want you to be my heart, the lining of my coffin, casket, silver basket

and the ruins of my name be the father, the son, the holy spirit, and all that catholic bullshit they feed you under the frames.

take me down and make me whole again.

repeat me on and on

"lovely lovely lovely bones until I get my own"

but you wouldn't, would you?

cryptic city, no party for a sad sad soul.

it all came out of the blue and I tore after you
you can't recall, well neither can I
lying in this field of broken glass,
the moments passed and you said,
"you could be my boy if you only tried"

and how am I supposed to feel about that?
where am I to go when there's no holding back?
and what did I do to veer off the tracks
you said, "now that the world is something..."

girls will be boys all torn up inside
and boys will be girls with nothing to hide
and I'm in the middle, just 'cause I lied
and said, "I need to let it go"

love is

all relative

the poor and the wise all know the same tricks

and here I am
weaving charms through the hair of old wives,
gypsies, men of distortion/distinction

they wear converse and speak in tongues
beards and all, I love them and their urban smell
i still feel so unclean and tainted by their world

"as the statues cry
and the buildings crumble side by side
at least we'll know now who was left behind
shattered through the halls
with your arms spread wide to love it all
I'm not sure if I can break these walls

trip on icy stairs/stares
my whole world is burning, I don't care
because you're not here
breath on jaded glass
we all knew that this would come to pass
but will I disappear?"

life (spare) changes

I guess I really am losing you. is it bad that I don't feel bad?

i'm blue and floating, a different face in different water, time changes, fish slowly drying up on beaches and hurt life no other

(dreaful sentences, "you can't wirte you can't think anymore")

and every word I remember, because it's only you. hurt me and take me with you, but fuck all if you're taking my soul.

and all the hurt you call your own, you know, you know (nobody's ever you)

I still feel like killing myself all the time. And drinking myself half to death, chemical cocktails all in a stir.

don't wait up for me. let your mess and fairy wings fly you away. I can't find the words I want to express the image and the moment. I want your smile, your voice, your face, your eyes. I would make the perfect freak baby/child/woman.

want me I am all yours for the taking