Shallow cuts and long sleeves.

Depression has become a slippery slope for me. The terrential rains come and send my firmly planted feet flying out from under me. I'm sliding down this mud caked hill and I can barely hold on. And when I finally gain my balance the quicksand takes me.

The knife takes me. The pain and the escape it gives me envelopes me. It is my bliss and my salvation and I am thankful for every drop that spills from my chaffed wrists. It gives me something else to think about besides the hole in my chest. The empty space that can never seem to be filled because it is a blackhole and they are never satisfied.

I'm in control. There is power that comes with gripping something so tight it becomes a part of you and for an instant I become God. Millimeter of flesh and vein and tendon and blood seperate me from life and death. Not too rough or sudden now. Just enough pressure there. Oh that ones still fresh let it be. Always across the street and not down the road. Safety first.

It sounds really bad and I'm sure I'll regret writing this down but sometimes in the back of my mind I hear a little voice praying I'll slip up. Just a little. Then I can finally find real salvation.

Games of pretend and makebelieve have to end sooner or later.

It's over. Whatever we were. Whatever this was, is done. Not because you or I decided, but simply that our time has run out. Like the expiration date on milk that you don't notice until you've poured yourself a nice glass.

I'm not ready to move on, but the scary fact is I have no choice in the matter. The sight of you makes me physically ill. Bringing the bitter taste of bile into my throat. Poison.

I don't want you out of my life. In fact, I don't think I could handle it. But I can't pretend I'm okay anymore. It's breaking me. It broke us. Now's not the time for makebelieve. Whatever we were/are/were becoming is over. I'm done.

Just give me something.

Give me intimacy. Not necissarily skin on skin but something that makes what we have unique. One of those glances over the top of your book. Smile at me with one corner of your mouth. Melt me with those eyes.

Give me a word. Soft and sweet. Filled with tenderness and devotion. Sing me your favourite song. Speak my name as if it's the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. Laugh true and bestow on me a small piece of your happiness.

Give me a touch. Let your fingers write poetry on my skin like pen to paper. Let our lips do what they should. Hold my hand like you're afraid to let go. Pull me into your warm embrace as if it'll be out last.

Give me everything. Give me anything. Anything of you. Anything from you to hold on to.

Sometimes "I love you" just isn't enough.

Walking along the edge of those wooden steps. Teetering back and forth on the guardless death traps I secretly hoped would take me. Arms spread wide like an airplane ready to take flight.

I wasn't your average case of "lost without a cause". Still concerned with my image on the 6 o'clock evening news. "Young girl's reamains found splattered across the pavement behind her highschool." No. A classier death would provide the proper escape. Now you see me, now you don't.

I considered killing myself aritsically. Putting on my prettiest dress or romper and taking a fist full of pills. Laying myself out in the middle of ECP. I dreamt of a dramatic suicide. Noose draped hastily around my neck with a goodbye letter tacked ironically to my "Bonjour" shirt just out of extra spite.

It was actually quite amusing until I rememebered the reason the thoughts had polluted my mind in the first place. Would I be missed? I hoped. Was I loved? I knew. I would be cried over and talked about fora couple of weeks maybe even months but like all lost things I would be forgotten. Thoughts of me would be put away and I would be replaced.

You said you loved me, and I believed you, I did. I could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. Kissed my cheek and said goodbye. Spoke it once more to make sure I hadn't forgotten. Yes, I believed you, but I love you isn't always enough.

I wrote a thousand love songs and sang them from my heart, but when I said they were all for you, you laughed and laughed and laughed.

I feigned hatred and disgust and anything else I could to keep you away from me. Not because I didn't want you, but because I wanted you too much. More than anything.

I'm afraid that I'll pour my heart out and instead of kisses I'll be hit hard with the harsh reality of rejection. I'm afraid that you'll love me too. I'm afraid that I'll hand you all of me and you'll see that I am broken. Damaged. I'm afraid you'll hand me all of you and I'll mess it up. I'm afraid you'll hurt me. I'm afraid I'll hurt you.

That's why I can't take us seriously. As soon as this gets serious, feels real even a little, you'll have all of me and I can't risk that. I couldn't take having my heart broken by you. It would destroy me. I can feel you trying so hard to get close to me, and I won't let you. Every night I go home and beat myself up, but I never change it. Never change me.

Instead of telling you this (like the brave person I pretend to be) I sit and think of you and I cry and cry and cry.

I Died Only to Find I was Never Living.

Death is a funny thing. Sad and tragic, but hilarious in a sense. To think that I've worked this whole life, the only one I'm given, to in the end give my body back to the earth, is a pretty ridiculous notion.

Thirteen fucking years of my life. For what? To get an official looking piece of paper that says I've accomplished something. I've accomplished nothing but heartache and headaches. No amount of math or history or science will teach me how to love or feel. And what's after? 8 years of college for a hug a pat on the back and a career I never really wanted? 

We spend so much time planning how we want to spend our lives and never actually do it. I convince myself that I'm going to be different. Live my life the way I want to even if it upsets everyone else.

But then I remember the way my parents looked at me with big doe eyes and said "we're counting on you."

Life is in the small things.

-Cogs-

It’s the sound of rain as hitting the roof when you’re inside

It’s the way he smiles more with one side of his mouth than the other

It’s the rabbit you only see for a second before it hides itself

It’s her hair, frizzy and wild and beautiful if only because it is hers

It’s the taste of cold pizza in the middle of the night

It’s an old toy that was never packed up or given away

It’s the scent of a day under the sweltering sun

It’s the way your breathing changes when you think about it

It’s the slightly off taste of non-sugar sweeteners

-Alicia-

It's the way the sun hits your face in just the right way so you feel like an angel

It's the way you hug someone a little longer trying to tell them you care

It's that one person absolutely anything, even if it's stupid

It's his voice, beautiful and tone deaf

It's the way the wind smells when there's nothing but sun in the sky

It's that person you can recognize by the back of their head in a crowd

It's that one chord on the piano that makes you shiver

It's the nights you stayed up past three AM just thinking

-Mr. D-

It's the laugh of every man, woman and child that feels completely your own.

It's the cry of the dying soldier and the newborn.

It's the sweet smell of a spring morning.

It's the bitter taste of a winter night.

It's the one kid who never gives up no matter how much he fails.

It's the perfectionist who fears failure but faces it nevertheless.

It's the misunderstood loser who can't seem to find her place in life.

It's the understanding friend who shows her where it truly is.

It's the memory of every life before this one.

It's the anticipation of all the lives we have left to live.

-Danielle-

It's the way we say good morning on summer days and mean it.

It's the way your kisses taste of rootbeer and juicyfruit.

It's the cringed faces after a war head.

It's the attempted recipes that are passed around in dsgust and with laugter.

It's the way you stare out the window at something beyond us on road trips.

It's the one inch of snow a year we get that sparks excitement in us all.

It's the way we rolled on the floor laughing at a joke that wasn't funny, which made it hilarious.

It's the way I lay my head in your lap while you spoke about your hopes and dreams.

It's the late afternoons going starry eyed.

It's the weekends we did nothing and absolutely everything

-Sana-

It's disbelief in the saying "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." It does kill you, but theres no one who noticed.

It's the way your heart wants to pop out of your chest when you think of someone.

It's the helplessness when the only two choices you have, are killing yourself or someone else.

It's being the girl who's always smiling to brighten up the days of people around her.

It's the sound of a heart tearing into pieces.

It's the satisfaction of writing about someone and you just can't stop.

It's the feeling of being guarded from the cruel world when you lie in your mother's lap.

It's the hope that I'm given by him which keeps me going.

It's the warmth of love from strangers.

It's when you lie to make them hate you.

So There's no Confusion.

When I say I love you, that's exactly what I mean. Don't take it as anything less, but rather everything more.

Take it as acceptance. Understanding. An "in spite of". As a forever and always. A better or worse.

Too often we over analyze things and lose track of the original. We stop listening to each other and hear what we want to. Things get lost in translation.

So to clear everything up, I love you. Just, I love you.

Money can't buy happiness, but it'll sure pay for that dress on display at H&M.

They say that this is the year that will define who you're going to be for the rest of your life. I guess that means I'm going to be a scared, confused, frivolous little girl forever. Not that I mind or anything.

I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Don't know where life will take me (or even if I want it to take me wherever. Not quite sure I'm ready. Not sure of what I really want.

Honestly the only thing I'm really sure of is that I'm broke and I need a job.

And there's not a well in sight.

There's so much to say but nothing will come out. Like when the fire alarm at school goes off and people are attempting to push their way through the doors every-man-for-himself style, so no one makes it. Instead of doing the intelligent thing and organizing, everything gets jumbled up and some things get trampled and left behind. Survival of the fitest.

The flood gates have opened and not one drop is seaping out, and this thirst, this dry tongue, is waiting for the words to come and wet these lips again with the crisp taste of creation. And I know that one drop will do the trick. One simple word or thought will bring the moisture back and give me the power to speak again.

But nothing comes. Nothing. So I'm left, lying in bed writing about the only thing I can at the moment. The thirst.

And all you said was, "Have a nice life. I mean it."

Fresh. New. Exciting. Everything you were. Not afraid to question my beliefs or call me out. I did the same for you. Our first conversation was a debate.

You tried to put the moves on me, and though I was clearly interested, I just kept telling you how wrong you were and how I could clearly prove it. Sneaking in grins between your glances elsewhere.

I told you I wasn't going to try to impress you. Lie one. You simply chuckled and said that I SHOULD be aiming to impress someone with your good looks. And they were good. But I was just myself, and it was easier not to try with strangers.

You weren't that for long though. It took all of one conversation before I was sold. Completely swooning. Caught in the charm. The attention. The heart-to-hearts. And you were too.

Swapping playlists and kisses. Saying that we'd always be there for each other. Lie two. Watching the clocks at school for completely different reasons. This time I actually had something worth while to wait for.

And I did wait. A long time. Until it became unbearable and our love-filled debates turned into arguments about how to fit each other in. And simple issues turned to WWIII. That was the death of us, I believe.

So we broke. Into a million pieces. I couldn't handle it and I was so hurt and confused and scared that the final words I spoke to you were "I don't love you." Lie three.




So this is my first poem in quite some time. I apologise if it's not up to par, but this is what I came up with. Tell me what you think.

My Kind of Summer

Dafodil days. Filled with laughter and ladybugs. Days spent ankle deep in the creeks at ECP. Days where we couldnt even remember if we had a thought. Only if we'd had fun.

We were minimalistic. Simplistic, on those summer days. Too easily entertained and we moaned and sighed when we had to gather our dafodil bracelets and dust the severed blades of grass from our shorts and summer camp tshirts. But we vowed to meet up again in "our spot".

And so thats how the summer continued. You sprawled beneath the willows and me tree climbing. Gazing down at you. Grinning as if I had just won an Olympic gold metal. I might as well have. And I'd hop down and let the blades of grass lick at my naked feet and we'd lay there.

Eyes closed, hearts open, and we spoke without saying a word. A silent understanding. And there were no uncomfortable silences. Just moments when we knew to just be. In each other's company. In the sunshine.

We were enjoying life. Every moment of it. We vowed to make sure we sucked everyday dry of happiness and we did. Without one regret. Even a scraped knee turned into a wonderous, hilarious experience. Because we were together. You and I. Crafting dafodil bracelets in the summer sun.

Running

Running. The muffled thud of my worn out sneakers on the asphalt. The most beautiful sound I've ever heard. Making sweet melodies with my breathing and treading and the passing cars. Acting as a blinder from the world.

That's all it is for me. An escape. Because when I take off down the sidewalk, thinking of nowhere, I feel as though I could run forever. I would. But eventually all the turns on my route lead me right back to the starting line and I'm sucked back into a tragic world where you can't even appreciate the stars because of the street lights.

But I could care less. Because I'm doing what I do best. Lungs burning legs tingling and it's the sweet sting of victory that I've come to love and yearn for. That I've out run them all. The entire city. Everyone who loves me and I'm getting away. Finally.

But I find myself trapped once more. In a life of Abercrombie and Fitch and where what's on the inside doesn't really count but it's part of the required curriculum so the teachers remind you in a condescending tone that really says that you'll never be anything. Just so kids like me feel like we matter.

But we don't. Not really. Maybe to our mommies and daddies but we quickly find that everyone else could give two fucks. But out there I'm somebody. Even if only to me. And that's why everyday I go to sleep and can't wait to take off the next day. Running.

Perfect Fit

No use. I've completely lost myself. and the person I was so confident in, so sure of, is now in a lifeless puddle at my feet.

Similar to a butterfly coming out of it's cocoon but I've been put in a time warp and have emerged as a larva. A helpless, tiny thing that can barely convince herself to get out of bed in the morning.

That's the girl I've become. Disgusting. And just glancing at myself brings the bitter taste of bile to my throat. Because this girl is a stranger. I am not her.

I am not weak. Pathetic. Worthless. Am I? I convinced myself that I wasn't at least. But you can convince yourself of anything if you're willing to commit.

And I was. Am. Because I'm still talking about how this is not me. About how this is all wrong and I'm scratching and clawing desperately at my puddle of skin trying to paste it back on.

But it's wrinkly. Stretched. Worn out. And it just doesn't fit right anymore. So I'm stuck naked. Forcing me to deal with this scared, grotesque, flaw covered girl before me. The unwanted freak that everyone likes but no one loves.

Yes. That's who I am. It may not be great but at least I know who I've been all along. So I try on this new outfit, and it seems to fit me perfectly.

Whirlpools

Campfire dancing. Bodies moving in undistinguishable patterns that seem to blend with the flames and color the night every type of beautiful. Your hair, the most beautiful shade of mud brown I’ve ever seen, creating whirlpools that seem to swallow me whole. We bare the tribal marks of the late greats before us and crouch to the ground like she wolfs, howling and singing and hi-yi-yahing, and I’m staring at you with big doe eyes because you are possibly the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. You smile at me and turn your head back to the starry night sky, drenched with shooting stars, and I use all of them to wish for you.

I get my hopes up when you reach over to hold my hand, but that’s normal with us because we are friends and it means nothing. I tell you I love you and you say it back, almost as reflex, but you don’t realise that I’m pouring my soul out, and if you’d just glance over you’d see that my tears are illuminated by our fire. But you don’t look at me. You just lift your head, and gaze to somewhere beyond us, and tell me that you just want to get out of here. Need to get out of here, and it takes everything to keep me from shouting that I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. And I want to.

But I don’t. I just stand. Nod. Wait. For you to say anything else, because you are my earth and I am your moon. Keeping me grounded, and from getting lost in myself, and humanity and you make sure that I know I’m important to you because I give you light in your darker moments, and I don’t tell you that my real purpose in life is to be yours entirely. So when you say that you want the dancing to commence I eagerly get to my feet to join you in the twirling and flailing, and once again get swallowed whole in the whirlpools.

Matrimony

What you were now helplessly caught in. It’s funny how a little piece of paper can tie you to someone so wholly. A tiny document that named you MRS. Collier. Which I honestly could have dealt with. Except for the fact that you were all wrong for each other.

You continued to swear that he was the one though. So instead of shooting you down completely we all said “maybe”. The kind of maybes parents tell their children to keep from crushing their hopes completely. That’s all you had to hang on to after all. And while you were clutching onto it so desperately, you forgot about us.

The people that loved you so entirely. Every disgusting, ungrateful inch of you. We loved it. But instead of stopping by to take us out (like you promised), or even to just sit around, you were with him. That’s what I get for getting my hopes up though, right? They say the higher you climb the harder you fall, and I just happened to be sky high with elation that my big sis was coming to pick me up. So I broke down completely.

Tears. Snot. Saliva. All coming at once. Could you blame me though? I felt betrayed. Hurt. Lied to. Tried to cover it up with half smiles and fake laughs. And then it all came.

It seemed like a lifetime of pain had been saving itself for this moment. Poor mother and sister subjected to looking at my ugly (and quite entertaining) crying face. Not just crying though. Sobbing and heaving. And because tears are as contagious as the flu they caught it too.

I wish you would have been there. To see how devastated I was. To see that this time you really out did yourself. Because this wasn't just a missed concert or a forgotten birthday card. This was an event. Something permanent. That couldn't just be brushed off. Something that actually mattered to me because it mattered to you.

Sure I forgave you. But we all know that forgiving isn't the same thing as forgetting and kisses and hugs and sorries don't fix all sorrows. We can never be the same. Because you hurt my feelings. And unluckily for you, there's no band-aid in the world for that.

For a Girl

God truly outdid himself when he created you. Not imperfect by any means. But perfect to me. Chocolate roots playing peek-a-boo with your auburn dyed hair. Eyes that inch out the sides of your colored contacts. Sure to sparkle every color of beautiful if you’d let them. Knobby knees and hands tinged with purple. Winter cold but warm with love. Perfect.

Exactly what you are. Sometimes I look at you and feel bad for the world. Pity them because not everyone gets a Sophia. A comforter. A hand holder. A giver of hugs that seem hold my world together when I feel like life isn’t worth it. Keep me from crumbling like autumn leaves beneath the feet of playful children.

Even with your many problems, you find time for laughter. For ice-skating. For drive-in theatres. For sunflower picking. For giggling. For escaping. For high school plays. For parking lot dancing. For me.

You inspire me. So much I wonder why we’re friends. How I got you. Me. You’re too good for me. For the world. Filled with life and love and joy. So much to give. And somehow I ended up getting just a fraction of it. Thank you Sophia Veitch. For being everything I needed. And making life more worth living.

Nut Up, or seriously, Shut the Fuck Up

Deep breaths. Remember. in. Out. Don't forget. Quit holding your breath. It makes you dizzy. Disoriented. Not think right.

Fingers trembling like a crack whore in need of another hit. Dancing frantically across those little black keys. Backspacing when the right words just wouldn't come out. Trapped behind these sealed lips. Ducking behind the screen of my computer as if it were an army blockade.

Of course I couldn't tell you in person. I'm a coward. Sure I was "brave" but not brave enough. Hiding behind humor and add-ins. Subconciouslly hoping to distract you from the actual subject at hand.

I'm guessing it didn't work. I'm sure you could see past my puns. Eyes scanning the screen. Probably thinking I was retarded or didnt have all of the marbles to my chinese checkers set. But it doesnt matter. I dont care what happens ftom here. Just the fact that I decided to nut up and tell you is good enough for me.

And, hey. I did get something out of it. You're the reason I'm writing now. What got me out of my literary funk. So if I can never thank you for anything else. I thank you for this.

Clean-Up on Aisle 3

You're the only person that can make my insides smile. Tingle and knot. Turn me into a giggling 5 year old again. Only you have the power to force my hand to turn this raw emotion into polished stanzas. Make me brave enough to give the world a backstage pass into my thoughts.

I used to laugh at those girls. You know. The one's that seem to move their fingers at lightning speed across their keyboards. Ending yet another text message with a cutesy emoticons. Trying desperately to gain approval of the opposite sex(or maybe the same). Now I'm the one frantically scribbling Mr. and Mrs. in my notebooks.

Pages devoted to your smile. Chapters to your eyes. Those glowing windows that seem to light up even when no one's home. Too busy daydreaming about life, and things too deep for me to even attempt to comprehend. Caught up in just appreciating life and the world. I can always tell with you because whenever we rejoice in the pleasure of just being alive your eyes sparkle like bulbs on a Christmas tree.

I squirm in my seat just waiting for the bell to ring so I can cheerfully say hello and see that big grin spread across your face like an infection. I swear you could start a pandemic with it. It's a struggle for me to even maintain eye contact because I feel like my heart will send you a secret message and I'll no longer be able to pretend these feelings are "all in my head".

I have good reason to assume this. My mind and heart seem have been in a civil war for quite some time. Keeping me in a constant tug of war, and both of my arms are soon to break off completely. Heart shouting to just jump. Let my emotions flow out like an undamned river. Mind telling me I'm lucky to have you at all. Both valid points. But I won't be able to go through another encounter without exploding with desire. I'm hoping you don't push me away, but I'm getting ready for this shit to hit the fan. Prepare for one hell of a clean-up.

Remeber When We Weren't?

I wanted you so badly it made me sick. The vomiting and cold sweats I could deal with, but not your face in every thought. Behind every word I spoke. Awkward glances towards you in hopes of catching your attention. Hoping maybe you were doing the same. Almost worshiping you. But I should have been because you were pretty much my god at the time.

You had me wrapped around your fingers (and every other part of your body) and you didn't even know it. Still don't actually. See, that's one of my few talents. Making sure those messy little emotions don't fuck things up. So you never caught on.

My fantasies of you became so realistic that I could feel your lips on mine. Skin heating and pulsing in anticipation. The cold hard metal of my squeeky old pick-up sticking to our shadow covered forms. Feel the gentle march of your fingers up to that place that had been yours for quite some time. You fit like a glove. Your perfectly moist lips on my neck and mine on yours. Bodies blurring together in a passionate heap. Sweat the only barrier keeping our bodies from becoming completely one. Painted on to each other like temporary tattoos.

Only dreams though. Creepy, I know. But it wasn't on purpose, let me assure you. I was an unwilling participant in this game of chase. Unrealistic, because this isn't a movie. Guys like you don't end up with girls like me.

So I just kept on pushing. Made a pact with myself that this was it. Stole one last look of you and closed the door on that thought. Because the truth is, even if you had liked me back we never would have worked out. Because you are you and I am I. The girl that likes you too much and the guy that likes me too little.

Old Yeller

You were too much a coward for even I. A girl that can't even form a sentence without horrifically tripping over her words. You were more moody and dramatic than a girl on the rag. Too much for even me to handle. I was not about to sit back and be your "little wolf cub friend."

You tried desperately to flirt with me. Unsuccessfully of course. Attempting to gently sweep the mess of hair from my eyes (like this was some cheesy fucking 1970s movie). Laughed and grazed my arm as if you had been shopping for tips in an issue of Seventeen. At moments like that I was sure my skin would fall off. Hoped actually.

I cleverly held you off with everything but a stick. Then you finally did it. Went in for a kill shot. Thankfully my reflexes were fast enough to catch the blow with my cheek. Hydrochloric acid. That's what the wet sticky feel of your lips felt like upon my face. That was when my manners seemed to grow legs and sprint off of the bus. It took everything not to castrate you. Instead I shot you down like Old Yeller. No getting up from that one bud.

For a Cancer Patient

You couldn't even make it to the bathroom door before the contents of your stomach spilled out upon the linoleum. I raced to your side to hold back your hair or rub your back or anything really. So I wouldn't feel completely useless. It was then between the "It's okay" and the "I love you"s that I noticed it. That crimson red that had so long been banished from our house spotted the floors.

I began to sob for what I knew was coming and you from embarrassment. We slumped to the floor and hopelessly held each other and cried. Probably for hours. And then you told me that everything was fine. That we were going to be fine. That you were going to be fine. Lying through your teeth. I could see right through you. But I forced myself to believe you because if not I would surely have fallen apart. Disintegrated. And you needed me.

That night as we lay in bed you thought I couldn't hear you. That I was asleep. Even your pillows couldn't cover your muffled sobs and silent prayers. I hope you couldn't hear mine. You then picked yourself up to go to the bathroom. I took that time to slam my fists into my pillow. Ask God why. We were good people. We were in love. Past tense.

That night you didn't come back to bed. I found you a few hours later hunched over the with those familiar crimson puddles around you. No emotion. I was empty. And I began to pinch myself because this had to be a dream. It wasn't. I began to think of all of the places I had gone terribly wrong. Where I could have helped you more. And then I stopped myself. To remember you. And where we had gone terribly right.



Okay this one is complete word vomit and I understand If you're like 'WHAT?!' cause I sort of am to. But yeah. This is it. This is what I was feeling and what I wrote down. Thoughts?

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This is the Mafia. There's no way out, but you can try your damndest.

My bags were packed. Neatly stacked by the door. I went over my checklist one last time and flipped the switch to our relationship. Our last goodbye.

It was the dead of winter and the stars and snowflakes and the hum of my car brought those salty droplets to my eyes. All reminders of the fresh memory I now had of you.

It was good. For awhile. Until your attention and affection began to smother me and I began to feel myself disappear. So lost in us that even with a flashlight I couldn't have found my way out.

I glance back once more. Open my car door and put one foot in. That was until your headlights caught me red handed. Those emermald eyes searching for an explanation. And once again your love trapped me. Like two little cement blocks on my feet.

Three Counts of Manslaughter

It was impossible to keep those three small words from pouring out and ruining everything. 8 little letters that pack enough punch to kill. I bit my tongue. Hard enough that blemishes began to coat the inside of my mouth. Scars that fit together like the pieces puzzle that told the story of us. Little reminders that you were really here. That you exist. Evidence that never left the morning after or whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

We played a game of hide and seek except my turn to hide never seemed to come. I stood, eyes covered, head bowed in the corner counting for what seemed like an eternity. Searching aimlessly hoping to hear you beckon me so this lost puppy look would remove itself and be replaced with the old me. The me you ruined.

All I could do was hope. But we both know how useless that is. So I screamed at the top of my lungs until no oxygen remained. Cried and moaned and mourned until the well of hurt had been sucked dry. And i said those three little words that murdered us over an over again. Because you were no longer there to hear them.

My first date. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same. No moonlit walk on the beach, or fancy dinner where they spoke an exotic language. Just you and I plus a pair of swings and the milkyway.

You whispered my name as if you were afraid you might break it. My fingers tingled and I swear it's because they longed for yours. But to my satisfaction it wasn't long before your hand picked itself up to incase mine. Metacarpals intertwined like the roots of an old oak tree. Those butterflies that had seemingly died off came out of hibernation with a vengeance to (unsubtly) prove their point. The young blush of love revealed itself in my cheeks and they became so hot I feared that even in the dead of night I'd be outed. A vacancy sign for your lips to rest themselves upon as long as they pleased.

After 74 minutes we picked ourselves up to return to the real world. 4 blocks. 4 blocks you had to cradle my head in your hands. To call be baby or even resume holding my hand but you didn't. You just spoke. Smiled. Laughed. When we got to my door I waited. Fondled my keys in hopes if buying some time. I felt defeated. Confused. Angry. Relieved. If you did kiss me what was I to do? How do I tilt my head? Do I use tongue? And as I was thinking these things it happened. I almost missed it. My first kiss. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same.

T&J

From the outside looking in and from every other angle this relationship is falling apart. our pride and our hearts on the line for a jury of peers to decide whether we belong together. After all isn't that what love has become these days. An open forum where anyone and everyone is entitled to their two-cents. Millions of viewers tuning in to watch relationships crumble. Change the channel and fill their popcorn bowls to become avid watchers of our sadistic game of cat and mouse. One always on the run while the other treads behind hoping against hope that they'll one day catch up. A real life Tom and Jerry you and I, but unfortunately there will be an end to this story. Choose our fate, heads or tales? Death or heartache? Neither sound too fantastic, but you choose the latter. For you know who the real cat in this equation is. So you decide you'd rather be a depressed pussy than a deceased one.

Growing Old Fast

You know how they say time flies when you’re having fun? What if you’ve become so heavy with the weight of the world, you’ve developed your own gravity? Does time cease to exist? Pause for a moment so you can frantically wipe the mascara streaks from your face? You sit. Curled into a ball as if you were an infant, whimpering from the pain, and the could haves, and the wish weres. Heaving breaths, trying to shake loose the words that have been plastered to the tip of your tongue for years.

Do you remember when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt? You say no, that light-years separate you from the good-ole days. Days filled with bubble tape and high tides. Days where our biggest worries were how many cookies we could steal without getting caught. Days when love was simple. Now even empty cartons of milk remind me of your empty promises. Never again. Never again, you said to me with such certainty that I almost dropped to my knees to thank the heavens for finally answering my prayers. Almost. Until that same familiar grin began to curl up at the ends of your mouth. The grin that’s made of deceit and screams liar.

If I try hard enough I can remember them. The oh happy days. Days when all we needed was each other and our pinky promises and secret handshakes were like lock and key swearing you to me. Their memories fading so quickly all I can do is desperately reach my fingers out in hopes of grazing them.