I long for those days
When we had something to treasure
Outside the sheets.

When we were in love
When "we are in love",
Were we actually?
Are we now?

Because
Even those kisses
And nights full of *******
Feel unrequited.

I ache
For your love
Not your lust,
which is all I've been seeing.

You won't hear me complaining
That it's raining.

You won't hear me sigh
Because of something canceled
Due to the weather.

Rain is
Rejuvenating,
Relaxing,
and Enlightening.
At least for me.

Rain allows me to
Relax
with a nice cup of tea.
Or,
rain allows me,
to think
about all the things
normally looked over
every day.

Rain also allows me to appreciate
more of what's around me,
it's lulling, pulsing rhythm
beating against the drum
called Earth.

I am a walking hypocrite.
I criticize, yet do not take criticism.
I have a sharp tongue,
But I don't like it from others.
I'm tired,
But I still sleep late.
I want excitement,
Yet I always push the opportunities away.

We're a lot like books, you know?
We have an outside cover people will judge us on,
And we all have quite the story to tell.

When one looks out a window
What do they see?
Birds,
The Sun,
clouds,
trees?

Well, when I look out the window,
I see
Freedom.
Everything is outside,
unrestricted,
open to
hurt,
love,
despair,
and hope.

You know me
But not behind closed doors.

Just like I know you
Although I don't really.

I can tell you're hiding something
Whenever you speak,
Whenever you gaze
Outwards to avoid my glance.

Am I the only one
That laughs to hide my sadness?

Why didn't you remind me
Of the things I should have never forgotten?
Because those things
Are now attacking me,
Killing me inside.

“I swear it to you,”
“He had you in this life...
...but during the next million you’ll be only mine.”

Is it too late to say sorry?
Well, ask yourself that, not me.
Do you think you're worth forgiving?

They say
'Fool me once
Shame on you.
'Fool me twice
Shame on me'

But what about more than that?
Ten
Twenty
Fifty
One hundred times?

And with every time came a "sorry"
"I promise not to do that again".

So before you ask me
And tell me yet another apology

Apologize to yourself first.
For putting yourself into this predicament.

When people criticize me,
I'm not sure if they realize
But I've already criticized myself
On the exact same things.

Dear World,
You say everyone's beautiful.
Everyone, meaning
The authentic photoshopped models on TV.
-Unsigned

Holiday.
Blurs of Red and Green.
The smell of peppermint and pine
lingering in the atmosphere.

Sounds of bells chiming
Ringing
And carolers singing
As churchgoers
also join together in their hymns.

Family
joining together.
Couples
under the mistletoe
and hearing
the crackle
of wood burning
in the fireplace
Enlightening everyone all around
With its warmth.

“Sooner or later, the pure white shall be dyed blood red.”*
Purity.
A word
used to describe things
only from people who do not know the truth
about what they are describing.
For even the purest,
white souls,
are stained
with drops of red.
Even the purest roses
That grow on the valley
Are stained with red
Until they are unrecognizable
from what they once were
or seemed to be.

I am a mirror.
I show myself
Things
That couldn't possibly be true.
I point out all my imperfections,
And succumb to
worrying about
What's on the outside,
Even though,
it's what on the inside,
that counts.

I am a mirror.
I can be clear,
But over time,
Like an antique
I've become dusty,
cracked,
Gripping
just barely
To the frame
The cracks
are not always visible
on the surface
But over time
They add up
Until the glass
*Shatters.

The leaves fall from the trees
As they flew along
The bittersweet breeze
Away to make anew.

I sat on the floor, my face buried in my hands
Slowly I watched her shadow fade-
Never coming back.
As those words rang in my ears,
Deafening, refining-
Slowly but beautifully killing me.

Never coming back.
I slowly drone her voice piercing me all over
As if a pin kept pricking my body
With enough force to cause an eternal agony-
But not enough to ****,
To put me out of my misery.

My soul, slowly breaking-
Alive, but dead inside.
Her voice, deafening, beautiful-
Never coming back.

sometimes i wish i didn't exist
other times i wish you didn't exist
all the other times in between im in a weird void thats oddly pretty fulfilling and i really couldnt give less of a ****

I know what to say
Just not how to say it.

Let's play a game,
Where all the stakes
are high
And the result
Is never
In our favor.

Here are the cards,
For this fun game.
Do you have any
Aces?
Kings?
Queens?

Or are they out of your grasp
Like everything else in this world?

No, don't give up just yet.
Play with the cards you're dealt.

Oh, look at that,
We've made progress!
We still have a few cards left.
Let's keep playing!

Now, let's show our cards,
That decide our fate
In this godforsaken game.

Did you win?

...*Or lose?

"On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur."*
Mais, à mon avis, quand j'ai vu quelquechose avec mon cœur,
Quand j'ai décidé
ou j'ai entendu
Les choses devinnent malheureux pour moi.
Pourquoi je choisirais quelquechose
ou quelqu'un
que voulait me blesser?

I've accepted it all.
And I'll give in to you.
Only you.
Because,
You've become a part of me.
You complete me.

All the risk,
I'll ignore.
It's all worth it for me.

My head is spinning.
These thoughts,
These sins I've committed.
Matter no more.
Only you.

Always you.

You are the one thing
I desire enough
To push away.

I hate that I am unable to express my feelings to you when they are at its peak.
And by the time I am eloquent enough it is too late and the moment had long since escaped my reach.

I don't love you.
I swear.
You need to trust me when I tell you
Don't trust me.

I don't love you.
I swear.
Even my presence is a mirage
There to say I'll never hurt you
Even though I aim a thousand arrows
At your blessed temple.

I don't love you.
I swear.
See through my white lies that spout from my mouth
Telling you I'll always be there for you
That I'll always help you in your times of need
That I'll always cherish you.

I don't love you.
I swear.
That gleam in my eyes
Is not adoration.

I don't love you.
I swear.
Even though I've managed to convince myself otherwise.

"I'm not pretty"
You say as someone compliments you.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you step on the scale.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you try on those new pants.
"I'm not pretty"
You say as you leave to go on that date.
"I'm not pretty..."

...Yes. You are.
My dear, you are wrong.
When was the last time you've really seen yourself
Past that *one pimple
and the stretch marks on your legs?

You seem to have overlooked
That sparkle in your eyes
When you talk about something you love.

Or how graceful your fingers are
as they skim the keys of the piano,
as they run down your arms
clasping your elbows
and your back arches forward when you're embarrassed.

Or your skin,
that could easily rival
the softness of your favorite cashmere sweater
which fits loosely over your torso,
bunching at your elbows
when you do chores with me
after saying I "don't do it right".

Or your feet
that trek across the creeks with me
when we sneak out every Saturday
so you don't have to go to your uncle's house
when your mom leaves to see her friends.

Do you not even see your lips?
Their rosy color,
their fullness?
The pair you bite when you're nervous or frustrated
that are usually a bit chapped
especially in this chilly weather.

My dear,
You are pretty.
You're beautiful.
Stunning.
Immaculate.
Ravishing.
Please don't say otherwise.

It's time to paint.
You pick up your paintbrush
Painting a deep
Crimson
Red.
The paint mixes with your tears.
Your pain,
Your grief
Until you go
Numb.

You paint in secret.
No one understands.
No one sees.
No one bothers to.

But...
I see.
I can see
Your tainted canvas
Your paint,
Your tears.
I can see
And feel
Your pain
And I'm truly
   Truly
       Sorry.
I hug you,
And kiss the canvas.
And toss the paintbrush
Away.
You don't need this.
You don't want this.
But you want an escape.
An escape from it all.

So you paint.
Or...you used to.

"He's just being attentive"
"He likes you"
"He doesn't mean it"
"He's only saying that because he's embarrassed"
Since when was verbal abuse ever an indicator of infatuation?
Since when was it deemed socially acceptable to call me a ***** behind my back?
Since when was I expected to accept mistreatment as a 'good' thing?

I know for a ******* fact that I'm no model.
But there's no need to degrade me because of that.
I mean, yeah.
I can't control what you say.
I'm not going to try to.
But it does hurt.
Please...
Just keep that in mind.

I'm in a constant state of being subtly nervous for no apparent reason.

Your words stab me
Killing me over and over again.
Why do I still give in?
Why do I still love you?

Do you love me?
Sure you do.
I'm lying, aren't I?
No, I'm not.
Of course not.

All those nights alone
don't mean a thing.
All those beer bottles
In the refrigerator
That are gone the next morning
Are worthless.
I have nothing to worry about.


*...I can't lie to myself anymore. It hurts too much.

What’s wrong with me? why can’t I learn?
Falling in love is so easy…. but then, why is it so hard to fall *out of love? I’ve hurt myself so many times, I’ve had my heart shattered to the point of no return….
And yet I still love.
Why? God, why must I do this to myself? I don’t want to. I don’t want to love anymore. I can’t love anymore.
But then… what is a life without love? Why do we all feel love as such a beautiful thing, if it’s just going to end up hurting us in the end?

Tears roll down her eyes as she wrote the very words she is made of. The very words she’s feeling. It isn’t the heartbreak, although she has yet to get used to the pain. She’s been wounded; she doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be. She’s constantly beaten, and when she’s down, those closest to her make sure she never gets up.
Sighing, she looks around. Everything looks the same- the light green walls of her bedroom, her messy bed with mismatched sheets and gray-blue pillows. She turns to the right, catching glimpses of the trees and grass beneath. She’s looking, but not seeing. Her eyes are dull, as if they’ve never shone like in those pictures her mother has hanging along the walls of their too-cheery hallways.
She’s tired. Tired of being used, abused, and pretending it’s okay. She’s tired of having only words by her side- although they’ve always hurt more than they’ve healed.  She’s constantly being stabbed, the wounds visible to no one but those that have the blade.
She’s had friends- or so she thought. They had either left her, or added another scar to her collection. It seemed as if having evidence on her skin wasn’t enough for them. Or did they even know? Do they even know now? She knows people are aware; she knows how they see her. She hears the voices in her head, mocking her every single minute. Emo. Worthless. *****. Just some of many. She’s surrounded by these words, they’ve become who she is.
She’s had rare occasions when she saw light- light in her endless abyss. The light of people, people begging her, pleading for her to stay. To be someone she once was. They wanted her to be happy...Or so they said. They would say they cared, but did they really? They left, so they couldn’t possibly have.
She finally exits her thoughts for a moment to put her body in motion. She feels everything going slowly, smoothly as she walks out of her room. Her cage. Her haven. Her lifeless eyes stay glued to the floor as she barely thinks about where she’s going. She’s not wearing her sweater, or her jeans. She’s visible to everyone-to the criticism, the false sympathy. A weary sigh escapes her lips as her fingertips meet the wall, as her feet softly step on the varnished wood stairs. She feels herself slowly descending. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t want to hide anymore. She feels like she’s going to explode. She wants to explode.
*If they see…when they see… what will they say? Will they even say anything? Maybe they’ll finally care. Now that’s it’s too late. That always seems to be it. People always suddenly care, once it’s too late. Once the damage done is so irreversible, they can’t do anything but think in horror at what they see in front of them… Because I’m their target, just waiting to be aimed at again. I’m what’s been right in front of them, even though they’ve been too busy with their blades to notice.

Am I your real choice
Or just your plan B?
I can hear it in your voice
I don't think you want me.

I'm too scared to tell you
My feelings for you.
Because if I did,
You'd laugh.

You never needed me
As much as I needed you.

You were the reason I breathed,
But I only made you blue.

I thought we had something,
But it was an illusion
At best.

You were my king,
But I was only your test.

Now that you're gone,
I see my mistakes

I'll no longer look on
To a love that was fake.

I'm already past my limit
Yet people ask for so much more
And I can't give it to them.

I'm sorry if I can't help you,
I'm sorry if I fail.
I'll try to make things better,
But please note I'm human.
I can only do
So much.

So many decisions
Are hard to make.

From saying "yes",
or "no".

From staying you'll stay,
Or that you have to go.

I wish you said "no",
and that you didn't have to go.
Because,
Now I'll never see you again.

Dear World,
I can see my ribcage
And the space between my thighs.
Am I pretty now?
Or am I still not good enough?
-Unsigned

I open my heart to you today.
Why do I feel this way?
What makes me feel this way?

Whenever I'm around you,
Reality is finally better than my dreams.
Nothing else matters,
But you.

Your smile,
Your messy hair
Your gaze.
All of it.
All of you.
It pulls me in,
And I can't resist.

So please,
Now that I'm telling you this,
Answer me-
Why?
Why do you make my day
Just by sharing a few words with me?
How do you make me smile
Amidst all of my tears?


Is it really so?
Am I feeling this thing called
*Love?

I wear a smile
Too genuine to be real.

It's not feeling in general that people should be worried about.
It's those fleeting waves of extremity, the mortifying thoughts that finally burst out to convey
That people should fear.

I've read so many things to try to comprehend the way I'm feeling.
Years of research.
Decades of those prior to me.
This extraterrestrial rush of chemicals flowing from different parts of my brain
It doesn't feel right.
I hate it.
I am concrete.
Earth.
Grounded.
Why must these things keep trying to pull me away from the soil in which I was born from and will return to?
From dust to dust.
Ashes to ashes.
I can't fall down.

Everything is ephemeral.
Me.
These figments of my imagination that claw away at me.
These thoughts that keep whirring,
grinding the gears inside the factories polluting even the most miniscule crevices of my mind.
But this is slowly warping my earth
My dust
My ashes
To mud.
Water.
Air.
The molecules change.
Atoms vibrate sporadically.

Dust to dust.
Ashes to ashes.
Fall down.

This argument
gone over
countless times,
victimizing ourselves-
separating ourselves
and creating this
unnecessary drift
that soon turns into
unrequited feelings
as the darkness shadows
the light that once existed
in us.

                            "It's you".
"It's me."

It's us
you
me
we don't exist
we shan't.

But I suppose that doesn't really matter now
does it?

On a whim
One person
can become your world.
On a whim
One minute
Could seem like forever.
On a whim
One word
Can be someone's salvation
Or downfall.
On a whim,
one word,
one book,
Just one spark
Can fuel the fire
Of a thousand lifetimes.

People say that 'hate' is a strong word,
That it's thrown around
Too carelessly.

But what about 'love'?
Don't we
Throw that word around too,
And state feelings
That aren't really there?

I had a dream.
You lay in front of me.
Things were out of our hands.
You were gone.
I couldn't stop it.
You just...
Vanished.
Gone forever.

I wake up,
And claw
The silver space
On the bed where you usually are.
And when I feel nothing but the sheets,
That's when the tears start to fall.

Oh?
So you want to play that game?
Well.
Let me tell you dear,
I'm not as stupid as you might think.
Because I've been played before,
And I have no intentions of playing with
Or being played by
Someone as pathetic as you.