and you go about.

you live your life. I live mine.

Yet somehow there's still this gaping hole feeling in my gut

and I find it hard to breathe without tears.

can't a girl joke back, however wrong the term is?

you really do take things seriously, the density of weighted words.

I don't know what to do with you.

I don't know what to do with myself on days like this.

all I really want is to run and scream until I spit blood.

because that's all I am, all the time, just bursting with feelings

so many things to say and so much emotion to spare.

if you want some, you can have it.  open here, take as you need, just leave enough so I can tell my mother I love her and mean it.  

itching fingers.

I want to write.
I want to write.
but something always holds me back
perhaps I don't have the curve of your neck memorized perfectly...

it's always something like that.

I need my obsession for my creation. I need the knowledge I really shouldn't have.isn't it funny how we have all these tools at our disposal? and we feel an expansion of lungs.

I don't need love.  It's a waste of my time.
But I'm jealous of those who can throw down and hook up
Not waste their time daydreaming of dogs and houses and tree lined streets.

Antithesis.  Clothes slipped on just to be tossed off.
Too sheer, doesn't cling to the figure enough
Yet you are who you are and I am jealous of this.

I am more lines than I ever knew possible, and at the time I could never want them.

"I love you and everything is beautiful."

[It hasn't been this bad since her.]

scruff. it's funny how much I like it.
you should shave, really, because it's homely
but come to think of it, it's so... you
I could wrestle with self doubt and say hello, how are you, how was your weekend
but my tongue forever exists in knots
and I feel the dryness in my throat before I can even get the words out
so I stop. because you're perfect. and I can't deny that.

okay, so no one is perfect. I lied in that respect.
but I'm torn between assumptions and resignations.
would you be interested? do you stare at younger men with longing?
it gets me hot under the collar and cold in my stomach, jealous and pleased.
I always get like this, reduced to this, because of my self doubt.
and you are none the wiser, self regarded oblivion as I hang on your every mistake

bitch, show me your body.

I still feel your face, against hands that have
never graced you. you burn
patterns in my cheeks, my twisted spine and
shirt collar white, contrasted with black
and I don't know you. and I don't know
you, with shadow tickling my palms and
feeling smoke fill my lungs, imaginary
seeing your static and unkempt, stupid stupid hair
(jesus christ do you ever wash it but that's cute)
(seriousness in clover and dust smoke, bicycles and
bags from other bags, from jeans frayed and torn with
same shirts with holes but I've grown to smile)

asides aside, you were never one to question but
how would I know that I just
assume, assume and remove myself from situations
imaginary, brutal, intensity soft and slow like piano keys
against my callused fingers, out of practice out of line
barre chords and nylon instead, uselessness
and kitsch, I'm eclipsing, something I despised but
would you like that. you wouldn't I guess, you
wouldn't. I guess. I don't know you. I don't
know you. imaginary, acerbic with shining dark
eyes, turbulent ocean and icy sky clash for fleeting moments
you ask me to repeat things and I comply, wanting you to
be satisfied with stripes. jeans with frays and tears, same
shirts, black with white.

blank.

filling in spaces, but of course.

i want.

something to make sense.

to not feel tension gripping at my throat, squeezing and slipping, kneading me.

to say hello.

to not feel like a fool, like I'm fat, like I don't deserve anything.

red.

I study your worry lines in peripherals
and try not to think about the times I've wanted your hands on me.
I feel as though it's been years, years and years
yet seconds since you last looked into my eyes.
jumping to conclusions just so you can find my glance.

our fingertips touched and there were no sparks
no quickened heartbeats, just a pressure from both ends.
it wasn't just me. I know it wasn't just me.

I feel so raw whenever you move the slightest inch
yet I'm not sure if I want to know you
because I understand I'll just be disappointed.

sinking feeling.

but no, no it's not that

i'm just lonely is all

and that's okay.

honestly, I'm only broken wings and cockle shells.

what I miss.

my ability to observe and act.

my tact and sense of timing.

a two step toward you.

goals.

not wanting anyone this bad.

where did all the chastity go?

strangely strange.

I'm bested by the pretty girl everyfuckingtime and while I say, yeah yeah it doesn't hurt, of course it's going to.  but I've gotta wear that smile because she deserves a nice boy.  she's my sister and I love her to no no no end.  and there are some things that aren't for me, but hell do I want them.

something one day will be reciprocal.  I just think I'll be alone for the rest of my life.  it's fine.  I'm just in the downness stage, yeah, but is there an up?  really now?  I don't know.  I fucking hate cycling, I fucking hate them.

ah well.  changing moods midstream.  college today.  couldn't be happier about that! :D

well yes but there's also that

one day I know I won't fault myself for loving you once

I feigned distance but now there is the real kind, distance from my emotions, and I can remember them fondly, letting go, throwing my head and hair back as I swung back and forth, back and forth, up and down, sun contorting my face into boys that weren't me and faces I hadn't even known yet

I think fondly and want that freedom back, that stupid reckless love
and now I talk to you like I don't know you even though I have for years and years now
I'm shut off from talking about it, I've talked enough but to myself I can talk about it always always never

it's an ache, all at once dull in my chest and sharp in my face, my eyes, my throat. I am too tired for all of this really. my wrists burn from wires and static heat. and I'd like to not feel like this, to not be in my head thinking and growing old with fear and feebleness, blooming in me like a cancer. do you even know me? do you even measure the distance with squinted eyes and pinched nerves, steady hands and a tilt of your head? no, no, I don't think so.

refreshed and refreshed and refreshed till I'm cramped, so solid, you're solid and I fell too hard too fast, never ever again do I want this at all, no never no never never

I don't feel right in these sheets, in this chair, in this skin until there's no fat at all. I don't care if I kill myself. I don't care, I don't. It's okay because I will finally be perfect, and everything you never wanted in a girl. I am doing this because I can. There is no other choice than to trust me. feel it in you to trust me love just this once now. and how now. I'll never say my love aloud.

null

but of course

yeah, I'm scared, what's it to you

i woke up from a dream involving him. i was at a restaurant with him and we were talking. i told him how i've been feeling lately, my identity crisis and all. we were in this dome like structure. he misinterpreted my words into a want for sexual contact with him, so the dome spun around. He started having sex with me and I kept giving him these half-assed nos, hoping he would get the point. it cut to me on a train. the train had no destination. i was the only passenger besides a homeless man sleeping in the corner of his seat.  

i don't know what it means but i just don't want it to ever happen.  at least not like that. 

another night without much sleep

i still think of you sometimes
but i'm not sure if it's in that way
would you want it? i don't know.

words hurt, they sting like nothing else, but I eventually have to let go. and it's getting easier certainly. there are still hurdles that i'm avoiding. am i giving it a go? i know others aren't. i get angry because you fell for the wrong fucking person. i don't want to be angry at you. i want this to be over.

who am i kidding, i'm a terrible selfish person, possessive, needy, almost always nauseous.

i need to occupy myself with something, but i must wait till it all ends, till this hour is up before i can even do a single thing. i'm lonely but it's fine. i just feel like i'm being punished for honesty. it's cool (but not really).

someday I'll appreciate sunlight.

do you see me? do you see what I've become? a shell of my former self (if I even had one)

last night my breathing was quick and unsteady as I felt every bit of paranoia sink in. I thought about cutting myself on my lower back until I was eased into sleep. the fact that I get comfort from the idea of bringing myself pain is... interesting to say the least. I'm not sure if I'm scared or frustrated. I thought of my boy, my bright eyed country boy and smiled. we'll lay in the grass together. maybe there will be sex, maybe there will be just be us together, existing. whatever the case may be I welcome it.

I'm changing. I'm back on my medication. I need consistency. It will be difficult. I can do this and get through it.

and the poetry may be gone, yes, but it'll return. I can't be coherent for more than an hour at a time.

thoughts on a sleepless night.

once upon a time I wanted things I couldn't have
and once upon once upon everything there was something
I recall days were spent dreaming away circumstance
and there's always this tune in my head, I mimic yours

I'm all over, I'm not over you, with everyone expecting me to
be someone I'm not, be the rhythm that carries you through
I'm sick of promises not kept and words unsaid, of comfort zones
and you wishing that I was her while I'm here on my own

throw me something I can comprehend, anything you send my way
I'm sure I can decipher, you're my last thread to a normal world
where my ears don't ring and my heart doesn't sink every time
they look past me to check for someone else

all that's left is me waiting by the telephone, I'm out and about
strung out on words that could be said as I listen to chatter-laughter
for those ten minutes I feel like I'm home until you have to go
and there's no way I'm hearing back from you again till I remind you

that I still exist
that I'm still yours
that we made an agreement
that I'm a different person

I know what you are to me but what have I ever been to you?
there's no such thing as both ways and I can fight all by myself
as tides change and cars rush by, I want to belong to you
and have you be my very own to look after at least for a while

but you belong to a girl long gone, your well wishes replaced
with harsh orders and gunshots, with boots and never knowing the time
will you go with what she says, although she wishes to wake up alone
halfway across the world, where you have never been and may never go?

I wish you could stay with me and feel my constancy, my soft words
though our love is young, I know we can make it through the distance
in miles, in time, in your voice, in your eyes when you look past me
like so many other people have done before you and some will do after

enough with my pretention.

but then again, I love it.

I love being cryptic and I don't think I'd be able to let that aspect of myself go.

I love you and I always will. This is a fact I cannot separate myself from. Your hair, your eyes, your imperfections. I still have the curve of your nose memorized. I know your number. I know your mother's turning fifty this year. I know your cats' names and appearances. I know what your room smells like. You inspire me like no other and I don't know why but I'm going to use it.

use it, use it, always abuse it.

let her go.

just let it and her go

I want to but I'm naturally selfish, you know that.

avoiding it at all costs, and I really don't want to go. I'll agree with whatever you say.

know that you brought this all onto yourself.

my brain is mush except for song lyrics, I suppose. I was spooked by my own reflection in a glass door earlier (maybe my brain is breaking down into a base creature -- I hope so). I feel songs filling my soul and rushing through me like broken wings and I want to cry, I really do. I cried myself to sleep last night for the first time in an extremely time and I felt like such a child, so low and small. my hair frames my face and almost clings to it. I feel older than I want to but younger than I ever have. Funny how that works out.

the blackening, original, frazzled intensity that bores holes in me.

oh man, was that just cute (the title, subject line, whatever you call that bullshit I just wrote)

my life is filled with rejection and unrequited little things, I suppose.  I'm a sigher but not a buyer, a stewer but never a doer (until now and what exactly has that gotten me?)  gearing myself up for endless rejection sucks, but I guess it's what I'm going to have to do.  put that armor on and try not to think about her eyes as you barrel through crowds and run without ever thinking.  I think about blood letting as an artform and that scares me.  I imagine diagonal cuts and blood pooling in my backward cupped hands, trailing and splattering as I flex my wrists.  I imagine a kid with bones poking out of zher/zir skin, and when I realize that person is me, I smile.  It's awful but I want to be thin so much.  my problems won't go away, but I at least will have my A-cups back and my gaunt jaw.  I want to be damaged.  

I want her to take care of me and want me but that's never gonna happen, is it?