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come on try a little. nothing is forever. there’s got to be something better than in the middle.

and there i go. crying. everytime i see you.
is that me? or is it you. are my tears from you?
or a reaction of everything you are. to me.
i love you like the day i woke up and found four new kittens at my feet.
i love you like the most intoxicated drunk i’ve ever felt without puking or blacking out.
i love you, because i don’t at all.
it doesn’t make sense in a world where everything must make sense.
me and you? no. i understand, you know. i understand why you fight it.
why it seems so wrong.
you’re like a mirror. a mirror of everthing i hate in myself.
i could paint your entire existence on a canvas. and it would be empty.
you think we’re both so empty. afraid.
because everything we have ever wanted has come crashing down around us.
how am i supposed to change the world, if the world runs my life?
i am not big enough. and you are afraid that it will bring you down.
it’s okay. i understand. i get it. but i still cry.
but right now, between love and life, and everything that flies around on little butterflies, that i am not capable of finding.
we are in the middle.
one day we will get out. you might be closer than i.
but you are also more afraid than i am.
but if you go your way.
i’ll go mine.
and if we both find the way out, who’s to say it’s not the same?
i guess we’ll find out.
i guess it doesn’t matter.
i’ve got a few years left to discover.
meet me in five.

she might have born too soon. she might have wondered what that even means.  had there been less time to touch her and more times learning on older girls. she might have been saved.  she might have stayed happy.  but things change when life is thrown at you. things change, and you begin to feel it’s your fault.

had she been born in a different family.  or maybe had a brother that would one day be a man.  maybe things would have been better for her. but they weren’t. and her mother didn’t care. didn’t know.  it wasn’t her mother’s deal. and she was alone.

when she grew up, she found herself weary of most. but still wondering what her body might be like if she didn’t feel the need to exploit it herself.  maybe she would never have dated the married man.  maybe she would never have hurt the baby inside of her. now she regrets it.  and they say it’s not a big deal. but she knows it is. because that’s how she feels.

and maybe they should lower the age of consent too. because then maybe she could stop feeling sorry for what was brought upon her, and just have to deal with the fact that they had the right to touch her. 

they didn’t. but she had the right to destroy what she brought upon herself.  and she is confused.

she meets a man. and he is strong. handsome. funny.  and she wonders if he could save her.  and he thinks she is pretty.  and for twenty years she finds herself lost.  

she learns that only she is capable of saving herself.

don’t forget your clothes my friend.
they’re lying there at the end of the bed.
pick up the pieces you’ve left with your head,
i wasn’t lying, but i’m staying instead.
was it a thought?
you wondered what it might be like to keep me.
so you held me close.
don’t you lie to me.
now we’re gone.
now it’s done.
because you are.
hold my hand close to your face. coffins of gold can’t motion for change.
we’ve got this. we’re not going away.
but somehow maybe this time you know me.
i? no, you. honey.
please stop what is there, ignore what you hear.
life isn’t funny, nor blood on your face.
and maybe it was your payment. for all my disgrace.
don’t forget that i’m born for this place.
the one that you want, i’m not on your case.
follow me home so i can tell you a tale,
i’ve got one for the road,
i’ll send you the mail.
take a picture. how does it look?
erase this crime, wasn’t worth our time.
i might cry. but it’s worth it to you.
so do what you do,
i’m not stopping you.
it might be 3am. i might be lonely. and you got me. you took me.
but can we forget who took this first?
you were him in better clothes.
better face. better face?
better back.
i’ll hit erase. i’ll hit erase. i’ll hit erase.
rinse and repeat. relate.
when does it end?
when you’re dead my friend.

 (I wrote this about a year ago for no reason. Thought it was kinda interesting. So now you can read it.  Half the names are changed to protect the people I no longer associate with.)

   

I have a hard time reading. 

Don’t let me lie, I mean, I am an expert reader.  I read fast, I retain everything, and I can comprehend at a twelfth grade level, or even higher. it’s good considering I’m twenty-one.

But reading.  I like to read. I love to read. I love to write. I love talking about books.  But if the book in my hand does not pick me up and drop like I’m a fucking hot frying pan full of burning oils in the first paragraph, I will set it down, and never pick it up again. 

But still, I will tell people I read it.  Because who’s too say that I didn’t?  I read the first paragraph.  And where you may not be able to judge a book by its cover.  You can by all means judge a book by its first paragraph. 

So I am sorry, young reader, if you are not compelled to keep reading.  I did not do my job as a writer, and for that I will be an adult, and I will apologize. 

I should have probably started out with a fast paced story line. Or maybe I should have described my first sexual experience in graphic detail.  After all, that is what keeps us interested.

I’m already losing you.  I can tell.  The problem is that I don’t know where to begin.  It’s been a year.  And if I don’t start writing now, I may never fully remember what I am trying to get across. But where to start?

Wait. I got it.  Sorry.

December thirty-first, two-thousand and five.

Imagine a parking lot.  Enough spaces for a couple thousand cars to be parked on a Sunday afternoon.  Street lamps.  Snow.  Some falling, some already stuck to the ground.  I am wearing a pink coat from Banana Republic.  It’s classy.  My hair is cropped short, because my sister wanted it to be that way. It is dark brown.  I have a Grande White Mocha from Starbucks in my hand.  I’m sitting in a parking space, alone inside my free, 1993 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo.  I am waiting for Amanda.

She gets there late.  As usual. Amanda is always late.  Amanda is never on time.  This is Amanda.  Five foot.  White teeth.  Green Eyes.  Long blonde hair.  I hand her a Grande Soy Chai. 

We talk.  About nothing. About everything. We talk about Dana.  Dana is a useless concept to go into right now.  I do not care to talk about Dana. 

The night before this, Brandon asked me to be his girlfriend.  I want to talk about that.  No one has ever asked me to be their girlfriend before. 

I guess Brandon even made me a Christmas CD for my car.  All that has been playing in my car for the past month has been Depeche Mode, “Violator.”  I guess I shouldn’t listen to Depeche Mode during the holidays or something.  So Brandon made me a mix, a nice gesture… He gave it to Dana to hand off to me.  Dana has never given it to me. 

I’ll never know what he put on that CD for me.  I think Dana destroyed it.  Or she listens to it.  Either or.  It doesn’t exist to me.

Amanda and I sit in my car in the parking lot, there is black unlit building behind us.  We are facing the trees that divide the corporation from the residential area. The Corporation behind me is my home away from home.  The corporation is my church.

We sit and talk.  I don’t know where to go tonight, because I don’t want to go to Brandon’s house.  Because he asked me to be his girl, and I want to say no.  Because he never asked me out on a date, he just jumped straight to boyfriend/girlfriend status.  And he is kind of creepy.  Because his favorite Depeche Mode song, he tells me, reminds him of a child molester that never gets caught. 

“Amanda,” I say, “The only reason Brandon is having a party is because no one else wants underagers at their home, and I am twenty.  He wants me there.  So he is willing to not go elsewhere, if only to have me there.”

“Don’t be crazy, Alyssa.”

I’m not lying. I’m not crazy.  Because on Christmas Eve he stared me down inside the church lobby.  Then he walked up to me and told me that he was having a party.  And that I had to come.

“If I go, I don’t want to kiss him at midnight. And he’ll expect that.”  The party is in my honor.

I have been kissed four times before.  My first kiss I was eighteen.  I was drunk.  My second kiss was at nineteen.  I was loaded.  My third kiss was at twenty- I was roached.  My fourth kiss was with Matt. A nice, cute boy with goals and morals, he took my shirt off, but he asked nicely, even when intoxicated.  I told Matt we should just be friends.  He bored me, and hung on to every word I said.

I can’t imagine kissing Brandon.  He is a skinny boy.  About 5’9”, he likes Elliott Smith and Beck, which is fine, just an observation.  He enjoys Kevin Smith movies as well as the type that make you think, like Magnolia and American Beauty.   He spends a lot of his time bashing Christians and conservatives.  I fight him, because he never has a good argument and I am good at knowing both sides to every argument, so I am good at fighting.  He likes that about me.  He has an appreciation for young girls that speak their minds.  Innocent yet mature. 

He wants me to be his girl, because I speak my mind.  Because I am eight years younger than him, and he’s known me since I was thirteen?  I guess he likes that, the party tonight, is for me.

I don’t like him because he’s a liberal scumbag.  I think extreme liberals are stupid, if only because they are cocky and always think they’re right.  Liberal’s don’t know how to win debates, they only argue to hear themselves talk.   They don’t ever have valid points.  They just lead everyone around in circles and then raise taxes.

I don’t like Brandon, because he is a dumb, skinny asshole that will fight me about the Native American’s when I obviously have no knowledge on the subject.  But he likes me, for that reason, and invited me over.  “So maybe we should make an appearance?”

“Let’s stop at Tim’s first, and then we can go over there.  Then we can go to Kristine’s or something.”

   Amanda needs to do something.  It’s New Year’s Eve.  We need to be out “partying like rock stars.”  I. personally, would not mind spending the evening with my parents, eating Chinese food, and passing out before midnight.  But then again, that sounds lame on a social resume. 

“So let’s go to Tim’s then.”

Tim has been my friend since we were both fifteen.   His friend Sky was my first kiss.  Sky was ugly.  But his name was cool and reminded me of Marlon Brando from Guys and Dolls. Sky played Radiohead and Collective Soul on his guitar.  He was a sloppy kisser, as was he a sloppy guitar player.  Tim was five feet away, passed out on the floor, when this happened.  When my first kiss happened.  I’ve never really talked to Sky again.

Tim is a “nice guy.”  Tim loves me when there is no one else better around.  That is why I love Tim.  Because I know where I fall.  He’ll have my back, unless I fuck with someone that he cares more about.  I know who they are, so Tim will always have my back. 

He has a big house.  I spend a lot of time there because I am his sister’s small group leader for church, she is a senior in high school, and you might call me her spiritual “mentor.”  She and a few other girls will be at his house.  They will be drinking from the keg in the bathroom that I will never go to see.   I will come, stay for twenty minutes, and leave without drinking.  But I will be seen by a lot of underage church kids.  I will be seen by Tim’s parents who are upstairs wondering if it was smart to purchase their son a keg. 

Tim’s dad is on the board at church.  My life pretty much revolves around church. 

Let me run through this again.  I know there is a keg in the bathroom.  I do not go in the bathroom, because I don’t want to drink their beer, and I never have to pee.  I never see the keg.  But I am seen by a lot of underage church kids.  I am not fazed.  I never see the keg.  It does not exist. I am about to leave and go somewhere else to get trashed.

I walk in.  I am greeted with joy.  Jacey, Amanda and Dana are by my side.  My brother gives me a hug.  I run to the kitchen with Jace’s hand in my hand.  Lets get fucked up.

Everyone is already wasted.  Everyone except for them.  Sara, Stephanie, Sarah.  I wish I made those names up. 

Sara is pissed because she is crazy.  Stephanie is sad because she is pregnant and cannot get drunk.  Sarah is a depressed suicidal that should kill herself.  They are all mad that I am getting myself an amaretto stone sour from Keel.  They are mad because I am twenty.  I don’t care.  Brandon wants me here.  It’s his house.  I am the guest of honor, they just don’t know it yet…  They just won’t know it ever.

I see Brandon. This is what I say:

“Are you drunk? You’re not?  Why not? Oh… you want to be responsible. You haven’t drunk since when?  3 hours ago.  Sober.  I see.  Well, I want you to know that I don’t want to date you.  I don’t want to date anyone.  I need to be single.  I like it.  And Brandon?  When I get drunk tonight, don’t try and kiss me.  Why? Because bad things happen when I get drunk.”

I cannot comprehend anything.  I do not know what is going on.  I don’t know what I drank but it was 10:00 and now it is midnight, and I missed the countdown, so we do it again.  Then we sing our own bad version of Auld Lang Syne.  Brandon comes up to me. 

“Kiss on the mouth?”

I peck him.  I do not like his taste.  He is still sober.  He might have had some of Dana’s Champagne though.

I black out.

Sometimes I look at her from afar. She is curvy, not angular like what is beautiful now. Her body is not extraordinary. Her body is a little peculiar. maybe unproprtioned. She is afraid to be seen naked. She is never naked, but she walks as though she feels that way. That everyone sees her naked.

Sometime I hear them ask her why she covers her body in scarves and turtlenecks like an uptight, preppy bitch. Why she wears her hair long to cover her face. Why she is afraid of her sexuality. She says she knows she is not ugly. And you can see her. She is not ugly. She is beautiful. And you can see her look in the mirror, and on occasion be intimidated by what she sees.

Sometimes I can look at her for hours. Her face, younger and more abstract than her peers. She is not necessarily more beautiful than anyone, but she is prettier than she used to be. Some say she was that ugly duckling that became a swan. She says that she was never ugly, and she always kinda wondered what it would be like to be seen that way. Maybe be seen as a man, or an ugly old woman, only looked at for wisdom, and not for her beauty. But then again, ever since she was a little girl, she has respected beauty above anything else. And maybe she couldn’t handle not being somewhat attractive.

maybe.

when she says she’s tired, she means she’s afraid. when she says she’s lonely, it means she feels left out of the normal world. when she says she’s angry, it means she’s sad. when she say’s she’s afraid, it means she’s intimidated. when she tells you to leave her alone, it means she loves you. when she says she’s happy, she means that she wants to be happy, but doesn’t know what it means.

maybe.

i remember what she wore on new years. a maroon shirt up to her neck. a navy blue v-neck over that. a black bra from victoria’s secret that cost her forty-five dollars. jeans from abercrombie and fitch. white socks. she left the hospital in sweats, wearing less then she came in with. and she said, “i wonder why i didn’t just wear the purple dress, the one that came low in the front. i changed last minute, because i was not comfortable in barely nothing.”

some say she made up the whole thing. if you knew her, you saw it in her eyes. the pain was real.

i’m sure it doesn’t come up in conversation all the time, or even torture her like it used to. but i know she thinks about it at least once a day. changing her opinion on what it really was. on what it could have been. and what she thinks about her friends. the ones who left. who stayed. who gave. who took. she was not left with nothing, and has so much left, and so much is better. but she is still scared.

she is much different then she was ten years ago, or even two. but somehow when she is talking to you, she still feels like a twelve year old girl. and on occasion, she’ll look in the mirror to remember what she looks like, and acts surprised when she sees a woman. but whatever her reflection shows, she is convinced, she’ll always feel like a girl.

when she breaks down, and lets you down, i hope you know, she doesn’t mean you.

amanda told me that we’re all weak.

i think she’s right. but i might be the weakest.

i was thinking that maybe.
me. and you- we could get together.
weather. permitting.
sitting. close on pier.
there. we could stay.
way.
away. staring at chicago.
no. it don’t know me like you do.
too. soon we’ll be gone now.
how. time has come so fast.
last. it never does.
because. nothing is forever.

we’ll only let us down.

“i should drink less, cause lord knows i could use a warm kiss, instead of a cold goodbye.”
–the format

quitting love is like quitting smoking. as soon as you light back up again, tomorrow is day one.
i seem to try and quit both at the same time, everytime. it’s really fucking up my timing.
i need to hire a hit man. he can come after me or him. either way- it’s over.

there is no reason to be here right now.  not up here freezing my face off just because i need to write something profound and amusing that some people might read, and gain insight from.  i don’t really want to reread that sentence. it was probably a run-on.  but no one gets laid because their grammar is good.  and thats all were looking for these days, eh?

so as it goes, i’m probably not the brightest hammer in the screwbox. (btw. i said that to someone yesterday and they were like, “not brightest hammer, alyssa. it’s brightest lightbulb.” and i was like, “you don’t say?”) anyway, i should probably just drop any sorry ass that does not confuse me with the sea, or a rock, or god. but i keep thinking that one day he could. he will eventually come around. so i cant swear him off just yet. i also can’t end it, because i like him so much that it might be physically impossible to pry my hands from his beautiful back. i can’t let go. he has to let me go. and i know he will. they all do.

it’s a countdown of days…
eventually…

they stop calling. they stop talking. they lay off. because i am crazy. i might be beautiful. i might say funny, witty or intelligent things sometimes. i might be the fucking sea upon which they float. but i am insane. a little sociopathic. but mainly bi-polar. mainly an emotional wreck. i don’t trust most people. or anyone for that matter, but that’s normal for anyone these days… really, i’m just “psycho.”

i feel like i’ve gone through enough in my life to be a crazy. that’s the credit i give my mom at least. i deserve a little of it. i deserve you all to understand that everything i say or do may not have a real reason behind it, but it does make sense. and if that don’t make sense to you, lets not be friends. it’s up to you to drop me. i’ll just ignore you til you go away.

that’s what i do with most people.

i’m nicotine. a cash machine. the color green.

i’m money. it’s no big deal. i’m even cooler than the chick you ate lunch with today. but if you can’t see that, i can’t make you. i don’t want you to change your mind because of me. i just wish you’d wake up. open your eyes to what’s real, and what’s there, and stop jerking me around. but who’s fault is it that i get jerked around? it’s probably mine. but the blame looks better on you. because you are an asshole. and i’m a nice, psycho chick.

i don’t know what i really want. i think i just want you. i think that’s what all this is. just a game that i hate. just a prize if i win, you. but that would mean that you lose. and i would hate to be the reason you lose at anything. i care to much. i just want you. you. okay? that’s all. i want you. there i said it. or wrote it. or babbled my way to this end result. i want you. i may not love you. or even like you all the time. but what do i even love or like all that much? i want you. you know it. they all do. so what do i do with it, now that i figured it? nothing. because you don’t want me.

you say you wanted more, what are you waiting for? i’m not running from you. can’t break me down. bury me, i am finished with you. look in my eyes. you’re killing me. all i wanted was you.

it’s a little too dark and cold to run outside today. but i will have to eventually. my health is not up to me. it’s up to a girl sitting on the floor with pink shorts, a jungle-green tank top, and a grey zip up hoodie. she’s more devoted than i.

i’ve run the chicago marathon in 100 degree heat people!

there are a hundred songs that i love like they were in my top ten, but there are only two songs that i love above the rest. green eyes by coldplay, and babylon by david gray. coldplay and gray rhyme. nice.

i made coffee today that was too strong. coffee doesn’t wake me up, it just makes me happy. i’m happy enough. i slept til 3 o’clock.

‘and if you want it, come and get it, for crying outloud.
the love that i was giving you was never in doubt.
let go of your heart, let go of your head.
and feel it now.’

im glad you can be nice to me. even if you had to be completely humbled first. you don’t treat me all that great. but i like you. and thats all i know. what do i want from you? i want you to want me and just me. no big deal.

‘honey, you are a rock upon which i stand,
and i come here to talk, i hope you understand.’

“oh matt just bought me something! thats exciting…” says my lovely friend with pink shorts, as she checks her text messages.

good for you.

one time a boy bought me a pink wrigley field t-shirt down in wrigleyville. he wanted to make me happy. he found he could by buying me things. like buying me twenty-five dollar shirts that i only wear to sleep in. he grew resentful of me that i never turned down a drink offer, and that i never offered to buy HIM a drink. i figured that stuff was pointless, especially if i put out.

‘honey, you are the sea, upon which i float.’

my mom tells me that im too good for the boys i love. she don’t know me. how am i too good for someone as intelligent, beautiful, and witty as he is? i guess i just deserve someone who loves me. and thats what she’s saying.

it’s getting late, and i just woke up. i hate this winter sun setting thing.

‘green eyes, youre the one that i wanted to find.
and anyone that tries to deny you, must be out of their mind.’

it might be a year now.

this smile on my face is going to last 20 seconds. maybe 30. it’s no big deal. but lets count down together. 30, 29, 28, 27…

3, 2, 1… and you call.
hello? hello?
who’s out there?
you?
again?
why?
i’m not smiling.
oh wait.

i am.

so everybody, hold up your hands. say, “i don’t wanna be in love. i don’t wanna be in love.”

leave me alone. that way i can breathe. i might have bought an entire pack of marlboro lights just so i could stand outside in the ice rain and light them. i might have smoked them too.

i threw them out of my car window this morning. it’s cool. there were only two left.

i wish i didn’t throw them out. i want another.

a couple shots of tequila. just for, well just because… i like when my throat burns. i like when you light things on fire. i like when you yell at me in front of everyone, and then two seconds later mouth, “i’m sorry” to me so that no one can see. i like when you touch my arm. you might be my second favorite love of all time.

and i’d probably be better off if i never talked to you again. but then again, i would miss you. i would miss you so much, i might never be able to let it go. thats a lie. but i’d probably cry myself to sleep for a week. maybe.

is this too much information? none of it is true. i am a liar. all of it is true.

lets count down. you know, to a time when life was new and exciting. to before i saw your face. 3, 2, 1… no. you were the last good thing about this part of my life. sometimes i’d like you to be the first good thing in the next part.

as i said. there goes my hero. he’s gone. but you know? he wasn’t you. i don’t need a hero anymore, i need a friend.

the little one told me that the only things impossible in life are turning back time and death.

i told her that no matter where you are, who you meet, and what you do, your circumstances will only get better. you never reach the best. so be content in what you have, and be optimistic for what you will have.

i can’t turn back time, but is it too late to end up on purpose? with you? the boy who is not the best, but the best i’ve ever had?

i am weak, vulnerable and out of control. and i almost like it.

you humored me today. calling me out- to humble me.
i was trying to hold myself up so that you wouldn’t crumble me.
i can’t get mad. so i grow weary.
i don’t get mad- only so you don’t hear me.
(i used to cry. use tears to get my way.
i used to let them see me. it was a game i liked to play.)

and i’ve got friends.
they hate you.
i’ve got plans.
they don’t include you.
but i love you.
like no one else does.
i just wish you knew me.
the way i was.

you tortured me today. holding out a picture of a brighter face.
you gained momentum to help you win this power race.
i blame my dad. he never loved me.
i blame my mom. she forgot to tell me.
(i used to smile. brighten up everyone’s day.
i used to dance in my room. til hours past my way.)

and i’ve got dreams.
they’re beautiful.
i’ve got reasons.
you never have to know.
but i love you.
like no one else does.
i just wish you knew me.
the way i was.

before he shamed me. it’s seemed to be an endless fall.
not his fault that i lost so much, but it was his call.
i blame him. for my troubled past.
i blame myself. that i let it last.
(i used to fly. on clouds of fairy dust and golden hay.
i read for hours. to get deep inside an older day.)

now your here.
walking tall.
obsessed with me.
and my shameless crawl.
i know you love me.
like no one else does.

i just wish you knew me.
the way i used to be.

i’m a little afraid of going home.
i will sit outside my house, waiting in my car.
listening to music. counting the songs.
praying to god, wishing on stars.
i don’t want to go inside. i don’t need that in my life.
i wonder what it be like to live on my own.
my father wouldn’t ask if i took a drink.
i could build my own throne.
and sit on it. to think.
without all of the questions.
i have no answers. and no money.
sometimes i’d like to cry.
but everyone is there. questioning my sanity.
i guess you can’t be sad.
but bipolar is an option.
there are no stupid questions.
i’m done writing now.
i have nothing left to say.
there’s this boy with a nice back.
that i wish i could make go away.
the end.

it’s january and i am walking beside a pond. my reflection is barely pronounced, but walking beside me just the same. i throw a little stone as hard as i can to break the ice. it merely bounces and slides as it laughs in my face. my reflection is there still, blurry and unbroken. distressed and walking beside me. i take a stick. i put all my weight on it. i push it through the edge of weathered water and mud. i want to break this ice.  i lose control of the stick. it slips from my hands and falls underneath the still, untouched, frozen water. my reflection is there. blurry. walking beside me. but i am not defeated. not yet. i search for the biggest stone on the edge of this pond. i lift it above my head. i look at myself. i say death to what you have been made. and i slam it on the same frozen water that has just defeated me two times before. a little rumble. a little water splashes. and the rest goes unfazed.

i am a failure.

i am walking beside my reflection. i am raw from these tears of defeat. you do not choose this feeling. you do not wish this day on anyone. a couple moments into the new year. a couple steps deeper into my life. and i wonder why i am alone. so alone. why i am so unbelievable. a reflection of myself. a reflection that i cannot break. that i cannot disturb. it is not me! it is their idea of me. blurry and jagged as the ice that holds it captive. and i want to break the ice. and i belive that it should be easy to break this. to break me. to let go of what my reflection carries with it.

but i stop walking. i stand still.

on a clear day you will see forever.  hold on. wait. 

it will with time.

it will be two years this january.

and i can finally feel the ice beginning to break.

i lit the world with a broken cigarette.
and my cracked eyes reminded you of a holiday.
that you have yet to take.
and a ride on my life would bring you home.
to something real.
and my eyes intimidate.
and you were not in love with me.
you were in love with love.
and everything i couldn’t be.
and we’ll all move on.
we’ll all move on.

lets be perfect. lets try to grip this reality.
that is unreal. hold on to my memory.
grasp my hand. and i’ll let you die tragically.
but we all die someday. and we all fade away.
and love is for fools.
and whoring is for those who don’t believe.
and i don’t believe.
but i am not a fool.
and thats why i must leave.
but we’ll all move on.
you’ll move on from me.

i look around. but my eyes are closed. because i am afraid of your face. please, let me ask you a question. let me ask you. your eyes might not be as blue as i thought, but they are sure not black. i remember the irony of those. i thought they’d match your soul. no. thats just what that bitch said. she believed in that bullshit. if your eyes matched your soul- they’d be as black as hell. but as i said, i wanna ask you a question.

don’t look behind you. you. i’m talking to you. i’ve got something to say. to ask. are you even listening? you fed me lies last night. or was that today? when i said you were an asshole did you believe me? because i lied. i know that you have potential. that isn’t real. i believed it. til you let me go. denied me to your friends. and i hate you. do you believe me? but thats not the question. i want to ask you a question. can you even look at me long enough for me to ask?

when you are alone do you think nice thoughts? is it only when i am around that you fake an asshole exterior to get me going. when you said you liked me, i did not believe you. but now i do, and you aren’t saying it. is that my fault? for being so immature and insecure that i read your truth as lies, and lies as, well you know. i hate you. come on. you believe me don’t you? thats not my question.

are you this way to them all? am i like everyone else? because i thought i was different. different enough to be conisdered weirder than the rest. you said it, not me. i liked you, but not enough to say. so now i have to go. i never wanted you to know that i like you.  i wanted to let that fade with time, like always. as you will. i am stupid to believe in you.  to believe in me. i am an idiot to think that you would care to know my question.  you don’t get to have me anymore. and i think thats only hard for one of us. and thats me.

i barely said anything of sense, but somehow i have nothing left to say.

and she asked me if i thought that she was easy.
she says she won’t and does it anyway.
and if that is way he doesn’t call.
because he’s sure already been there.

and she cried and asked if she was pretty.
not too many people take the time to say.
and if that is why he never calls.
because he’s met too many elsewhere.

and she fell on the ground and cried “save me”
can you help this girl find a way.
tell her why he’s never called.
she just wants someone to care.

and she stayed up all night to shoot a little breeze.
not with a man or the birds or a plan,
but with herself.
to help her understand.
it’s not that she wants him.
it’s not that she cares.
but for some reason.
she needs him to be there.

so that maybe…
she won’t feel so easy.

she was better then. but to you, no better than now. not really. you couldn’t see it in her smile. but her eyes. they stopped smiling. and if you looked closely. you might be able to see them crying. and we have all become a bunch of fools and whores. and we all have become. exactly what we never dreamed of becoming. we are less than our mothers and fathers.

we our liars like our dads. sluts like our moms. angry like our grandparents.

and i hope we all grow up. and she hopes she can break out of this. and she hopes something gives. and i hope we make a difference in this life.

and we hope we are all worth it.

worth something of importance.

and we. we might be worth it. if we wake up.

and become.





*you can breathe now*

she was closed off with nothing to do with you. there was nothing wrong with her. just no movement coming from her rail thin belief. nothing wrong with her. she just wasnt like you. and love comes from within. and she believed in herself. just not in her love.

she walked down the street that once was lit with christmas decor and preholiday thought. the thought of a tortured nation with no soul. just a hope to be better. better than you. better than her. be anything better than average. but we are all average.

i will be thin.
i will move on.
i will get him.
i will become.

nothing to believe in. she did not believe in thought. she believed in word. the word so freely spoken out of the drunk mouths of cocky failures, and the sober mouths of insecure men as they tried to hook up with trashed brunettes. she believed in what you said when you didn’t say anything.

and at one time you believed that her unlit cigarette. the one half way out of her mouth. the one that was disgusting. set the world on fire. because she was the one. the one who was supposed to save you. but she never thought twice. and was too nice. so she let you down easy.

and she was sorry for your failure. because she hoped that you too, could save her. but again she knew. and her heart leaped at the thought. and died at the word. at the word you never knew. but you said without saying. and at once you were dismissed. and she said casually.

don’t give up on someone else.
give up on me.
stop tearing your eyes out at my bedroom door.
it hurts less when you don’t believe.
one day you’ll fly farther.
on wings that will never leave.

she stepped back from her stance. and turned away from your final glance. and her eyes were green as the long stem of the rose that was never meant for her. because you never knew if she liked roses. you like others were too afraid to ask. and her lips were pale as your heart. which only beat faster with every step you walked away. down the path of easy. of painful reflection. of heartfelt apology that you never meant to say. that never got said. that never needed to be said.

and she knew she got you bad. and she wished she never had. and she held out for a hope of a kiss for you at midnight. that belonged to you. that wasn’t her. instead she got two. and the number on your heart was one. and to her, you were already gone.

and she walked more. down a tragic tale of cirumstance and disastor. and became lonely. and found her only luck was the five dollars she found outside starbucks. and the five she found at ohare. and she wondered if her luck could be found in something real. in something that could help her breathe. in a belief in horses. and tall men with shiny outfits. and horoscopes that spoke truth.

and she’d give five for a belief in love. in a hope that wasn’t destined to fail. and her lips were sore with lust. and her mouth done with talking. and she wanted something real. and then he came. and as she turned him down she told him quite casually.

don’t give up on someone else.
give up on me.
stop tearing your eyes out at my bedroom door.
it hurts less when you don’t believe.
one day you’ll fly farther.
on wings that will never leave.

and maybe she would know how to take it. and maybe she could listen to a thought inside her heart. and maybe she’d believe in a miracle. but that day was not then. and that man was not him. and to believe in everything that comes your way, is not her way.

and this new year. she might have wanted more. but knew her own time. and it is never soon. and to be alone is a bitch. but to be tortured with him. wasn’t worth the itch.

so she danced her way away on a breeze of marvin gaye. and he said, lets get it on. and she said, maybe tomorrow. and he said lets get it on. and she boarded the last ship to see the world. and he said, let’s get it on. and she said maybe tomorrow i’ll find my way back home.

so ask me. take me to coffee. ask me the question on your heart. the quesion that you need the answer to. that you want to know so bad. and don’t pretend that if you could, you’d bleed for me. because i know that the only blood spilled for me that night was that of a bloody nose and blood stained hands. and my soul looked black in the night.

and your soul looked black all year.

don’t try to fix whats not broken. don’t hold me. don’t ask to be with me. you don’t want it. you never wanted it before, so now why? and this is what i take from you. your horrid gaze fixed upon my truth as if it were a lie. the rhetorical questions that you have to get out. that mean more to you than me. and let me tell you, i’ve learned one thing this year, and that is that you need to know nothing. unless i care. and i don’t care about you.

i did. i did when you shot me down. and i did. when you said you didn’t hate me. and i did. when you asked me if we were still cool. and i did. when i thought that maybe by holding onto the past, my future could be saved. but no. and i ran away. but i did not change who i was. and i figured out that i loved no one. except myself.

and if this is your question. you want to ask me to hurt me. or tell me your feelings. i don’t care. i don’t care that you were so frusturated with me. or that you were confused. i don’t care. because i was more frusturated than you. i was angry. i was more confused than you. i was fucked.

forgive my lack of propriety when i say that.

i don’t like you. i don’t have to. i don’t love you. because you don’t deserve it. so go on. ask me your questions. send me a survey in the mail. i will give you the answer you want. make you feel better about yourself. hold you close to me. it’s okay baby, i understand that you were so hurt by me. because i am liar. and i just wanted attention. and i just wanted to watch my whole life disapear. i like creating drama. it’s what i live for. and i am so fucking sorry.

fuck you.

ask me another question and i will tell you. i am so sick of words i could die.

if you want to see me, i will be gone. because i won’t spend new years with you. because i don’t repeat the same things twice.