warning: contents fragilepieces of me are in this.please dont rip it up.you might cut me.
thief of minei'm the queen of thieves;and even so, you've stolen my heart.
we chose the tidewe were sick of the landso we shed our limbsfor gills and fins,we crawled to the seathat was crawling for usso we could swim,swim the ocean wide.open your mouth kid,let in the tide.we were just past theundertow whenthe sea blurred withthe sky.remember ?we died.
if you really knew meyou would know how ugly my truths areand how pretty my lies can be.you would have figured out that i'm a damn good story tellerand that i am a hypocrite because i hate lies. but isn't it funny how the world works ?you would know that i fill my time with writingbecause its my passion and i wouldn't know how tofunction properly without it.you'd know that i am a completely screwed up messand i don't know how to deal with my emotions.but don't you think i pull them off well ?and if you payed any attention at all you'd realizethat i'm sick of this state. of this city. this house.and most days i feel so fucking lost thati just want to run until i am truly exhaustedand rightly astray.
a man of the seashe is made ofgull wingsand gypsy mothsand vibrant greenlichen.hes got storiesin his marrow.and hes notafraid to show it.he'll splinter himselfjust to tell youhis name.his tales are saltyand poignant.or is that thesea that clingsto him.brace yourselfagainst his tides.they are hereto rock you.
let me gopresent me is looking atpast me-- old photographswhere i'm smiling but it neverever really reaches my eyes.pictures of seven year old meknew lots more than they should.when i look in the mirror,i'm someone completely differentthan i imagine myself to be.my eyes are sad and distant,my mouth is a frown, onlyupside down.so now i sit and twiddlemy thumbs and pretendnot to be afraid of how closepeople are getting to me,while seven year old mewatches and disapproves.
the spaceswhile he moves his mechanicalfingers in my rib cagei wonder if he feels howbrittle and crackedfrom overuse they are?from everyonereaching for my heartfrom between my ribs.
a fall affairits almost novemberand the leaves haveall but gone.the trees limbs rattleand break againsteach other.i'm so fragile,my bones clack againstmy muscle and sinewbeneath my frigid skin.i'd break if i bent wrong.the wind is rippingthe last of the leavesoff of frost bitten everything.uncovered rootsin their mooringsgroan from theprospect of winter.the storm is whippingmy clothes around me;bones are cracking;my heart is crashingthrough my ribs.i'm kind of enjoying this.
Perfect FlawYou say I'm perfect-I say perfection is buta flaw in itself.
comes natural as breathing [inhale] it only hurts the first time.after that, darling, it comesnatural as b r e a t h i n g.and yes, i really did cry,that first time, becausenot every one can be as strongas a marionettewith spider silk forstrings. [exhale] &we're both just accidentswaiting to happen, onemis-step, and our 8-ft-north-of-insanitytin can kingdom will comesmashing down, making up forthe lack of color that washere in the first place.[swallow hard] would you offer up yourthroat to the man withthe candy-coated insults, whoblows out the stars one-by-one, justto hear the children w e e p?i think i might, but only becausei'd rather a dead-me, than adead-you.
never leave me againi just want to kiss your lipswhile i stand on my tippytoes and i hold your broadshoulders and my eyes areopen, asking, pleading, foryou to never leave me again.i just want to run my fingertips over the veins that standout in your arms, and i wantto hold your hand close to myheart, and never, ever, let itgo, so you can never leave me.i just want to sway quietlyback and forth, to the musicour footsteps make and thesnow will be falling down ourspines, but i will never stop,and we will be encased in anever-ending waltz, and thatway you will never leave.i just want to hold your faceclose to mine and close myeyes and rub my nose withyours and be able to let go ofyour face and be able to stillrub my nose on yours, andi will know way you will neverleave me again, never ever.
The Right Kind Of WrongYou're everything that I never wanted.You're the story I never wanted to read--You're the last one I ever would have thought of-,But you're the right kind of wrong----For me----.When I saw you,I immediately thought trouble.I promised myself I'd stay away.Who knew- I'd be fallen for you--In just a matter of days.You're everything that I never wanted.You're the story I never wanted to read--You're the last one I ever would have thought of-,But you're the right kind of wrong----For me----.You are so unreachable now,But I knew somehow, We'd always end this way.So it was no surprise--, when I looked in your eyes,And saw the words you didn't need to say.You're everything that I never wanted.You're the story I never wanted to read--You're the last one I ever would have thought of-,But you're the right kind of wrong----For me----.And I got everything, I never knew I wanted!And I loved the story I didn't want to read!I loved the thoughts, that I started thinking!But y
the cruelty of your smilesit's six-thirty a.m.and my ribcage isspas-spas-s p a smingwith every thought of you.i can see it clearly:the turned-up corners of a smiletrying to take control of your face,the wild wind-intensityof your sea-green pebble-eyesraking my hands as if you're dissecting me,the way your palm-lines molded to my spineas you pressed me close one last time...i can still feel your lipswhispering seductions,whispering me closer to you,drawing me out and down,and in the still of almost-sunrise,the backs of your hands look like clawsscrambling for purchase on my skin.but mostly,i can hear you.it's six-forty a.m.and i've got the radio blaring,but your halting breathstrokeshave me paralyzed,your heartbeatthe wings of a hummingbirdpulsing the air into mini-whirlwindsof your peaches-n-cream locks,the lotion on your legs.it's six-fifty a.m.and i'm lying half-awake in my bed.the pillow that used to be
Your Fading FrecklesI'm gliding across your red-head frecklesand grazing the oceans of your eyes with my fingers,dreaming of youin a duality of opalescent tear-streaksand translucent laughter.I've been trapping myself in your armsfor so long,I can't recallwhat living outside of your phantom ever meant.And you're no longer mine to hold on to,but my heart is stuck on you.I'm spending my dayskeeping track of my memories,but they've already forgotten me.You've already forgotten me.And if I had any choice,I'd let you fade into silence by yourselfinstead of screwing my eyes shut with your face in my mindand turning out all the lights.
Dear Out-of-Focus EyesYour face is out-of-focus,stranger,and maybe you're cryingunder the weight of your hair,maybe you're blushingbeet red under there...but I'll never know.I could make up stories about you all night.I imaginewhen you smile,dimples crease your cheeksand fireflies appear in your eyes,but traffic will never stop dead for you.I imagine you're one-of-a-kindcaught up in a sea of average.You'll laughwhen fingertips tickle your heelsand your heartbeats just the same as minebeneath your skin.You're a writeror a singerwho hasn't been discovered.You're a princesswhose bright crownhas yet to be uncovered.And maybe you have dreams the size of Texasand maybe,someday,I'll admire your life,but right now,your eyes are off-screenand I can't see into your soulany betterthan I can read your hidden mind.
NO REASON TO HIDEI have no reasonTo hide this feeling anymore.I love you.I need you;And these wordswere engravedWithin my heartAnd my soul.
Diary Entries of a Dead Girl"Wanted: One heart. It must be scarred along the edges, cracked...but only a little." She sets the pen down next to her, ink balled upon the tip in black, and glances at the diary. Torn and tear-stained pages clutter the space between the covers like tissues in a box, the clasp hanging off-kilter. Broken. A steak-knife and hammer lie near the tips of her left fingers. She picks up the pen."It must not age, but stay naive forever. It must be fitting for a girl of sixteen to still be able to dream with. It cannot shatter." The down-slanted scroll, learned over eleven years and many alterations, blares the thoughts of a young girl's life. Twelve pages from the end, the script begins to change, to mutate. The last entry is a mess of jumbled words and half-hearted pencil strokes. Despair."Wanted: One heart in mint-condition. I
Dictionary You know you're in LOVE when you go to the dictionary cross out "love" and put someone's name instead.
When it is said and doneShe draws her paper heartover and over again.Maybe one day,she hopes,he will see itand she hopeshe realizes who it was drawn for.Her heart rips and tearswhen he looks her way.How can he not see?Oh, how her heart rips and tears.She will not cry today.When it is all said and donehis love is gone.And she's all alonewith no where to go.She drowns her sorrowswith doodles of hearts and starsher hopes and dreams are shattered.He's leaving her behindwith another girl on his arm.Her hearts are brokenand her stars are black.Her heart rips and tearswhen he looks her way.How can he not see?Oh, how her heart rips and tears.She's going to cry today.When it's all said and done,his love is gone.And she's all alonewith no where to go.He doesn't see the hurtthat lies in her eyes,he doesn't see the needof him to be by her side.He doesn't realizethat he'll never be lovedlike she loved him.Her heart rips and tearswhen he looks her way.How can he not see?Oh, how her
SmileYou want to know a secret?The secret of how to get little kids to eat out of your hand,To obey you, to want to see you,To love you, to cling to you?Sure you do.The secret of how to get older folks to like you,To be just a little happier, to enjoy life just a little more,To grin at you, to seem less half-alive?Sure you do.The secret of how to get someone to like you,To want to sit by you, to text you back,To hang out with you, to talk to?Sure you do.The secret of how to make your day a little brighter,To make yourself seem prettier, to glow a little,To be that much more proud of yourself?Get a mirror, look into it and . . .smile
Lost Never forget. When you lose me, I'm not in
I PromiseI promiseIt's not the rifle you holdOr the fatigues proudly wornIt's not the look in your eyesOr the hard set of your faceI promiseI would kiss your bloodied handsAnd brush the sand from your hairI'd put my face into your neckAnd breathe your gunmetal smellI promise
Open ArmsI'm not mad. I was never mad.I've been upset, confused, hopeful even.But never once have I been angry with you.Never once have I regretted what I did.I don't think I'll ever regret this.No matter what the outcome is.Be it good or bad- happy or sad,I'll always look back at this and smile.Know this- that if you ever change your mind.If you ever want to come back to me-Somehow, you decide to try-I'll be waiting here with open arms.So now you know- if you return youWon't face my vengance or wrath.You'll simply make me happy again.You'll find me waiting with open arms . . .
I'll Never ForgetI can't forget you.I went to pick up our little girl today, grandma says I've recovered enough to take care of her. I was driving in the car. It should have been normal, fine. But there was a song on the radio- possibly the most annoying one I've heard to date, you know I've never had patience for such things. I went to change it, took one of my two hands off the wheel to turn that little knob. But then I saw my empty hand, I looked at the single hand on the wheel, and I remembered.I remembered our last few hours together- though we didn't know they'd be our last. I remember the laughing and the way your eyes sparkled. I remember how your new glasses kept sliding down your nose, and how annoyed you looked when you pushed them back up. I remember the last words you spoke before it happened, Turn it up! That was it, as soon as my hand left the wheel it was over for us. I couldn't see that red pick-up. You know it was foggy that night.The headlights, that's what the
Question Me."You didn't bother to think." Your gaze, accusatory. It always is. Without fail."Since when did I think?" My gaze, avoiding. It always is. Without fail.You've wondered for a long time what the words hope and pain meant to me. Want a dictionary? Sure. Go ahead and read the definitions. They don't mean a thing to me. What about truth and lies? Let's see. I never bothered to look those up. Why not? Oh. Yes. Because they don't have definitions, love."That's the problem."I smile."Problem?"What's the thing that you call it? ...Oh, yes. Right and wrong. Rules. Definitions. Fences, borders. Whatever it is. Apparently I cross those too often. Apparently my head needs to be screwed on straight. Want some news? Maybe you're the one that's confused, love."You're always evasive."It's a statement."Always?"Logic, isn't it? That's what you depend on to tell you which way to go in this crazy maze, right? But didn't you forget-- mazes are
For The Love Of The WordsEven when she was small, she loved the words.They would swirl around on the page; making pretty pictures for her.She would watch and listen as the pictures formed tiny movies in her head;That only she could see.As time grew on, she loved the words more and more.She figured out how to bend them to her will,She could create and discover through them- and them through her.In her childhood they called her skilled-And watched her carefully.Time passed, and she found peace in the words.When she was hurt or afraid or alone- the words were there.Soon she became dependant on them.They could never leave or she would crumble and shudder until they came back.No longer did she love the words, she craved them.People would stare at her as she would walk around muttering to herself.She tried to rid herself of them-but she would slowly become more and more weak until she was forced to submit.Now they consume her, eat away at her.Now there is little left, she is gone, stored away- the
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i'll catch youtake the jump with your eyes closed,because its not faith if they're open.
because its not faith if they're open.