-------*

eight days without any
physical destruction
to document.
not because of a pact
or resolution or even
new decisions.
not because I feel
better. maybe because
I don't feel worse.

I don't know what I'm saying.

(note:::this is just a lot of me talking to myself. I need to word purge because I feel as if that is why my writing is suffering. read it if you please. but it's kind of just a lot of shit. okay.)


Before I move on with my life I think I need to just write. Prose. Yeah, strange. It feels wrong to let my words decide for themselves when they jump a line. But maybe I need this. Lately I have been writing about the same incidents many times over. Things that happened months, even years ago. Okay, last year. Regardless. I realized that part of the reason I keep using the same material is because I haven't had a satisfactory poem out of the entire bunch yet.

This is possibly because I haven't discussed so many things with my friends that all of the words are just bottled up inside, and before they become poetry they have to find freedom from my mind. But I can't talk to anyone. Not yet. It feels strange to not know what my friends are doing. My best friend called me the other day while he was at a gas station. We (he) talked for about three minutes and updated me on his great weekend and his almost girlfriend and other details he thought I should know. Although the conversation was cut short, I realized that I didn't have the capacity to make small talk with him. We don't share the same life anymore. He doesn't know what is happening with me. There are months of information that we haven't shared.

As disconcerting as this disconnect is, I'm finding that I don't even know the people I technically consider myself close to. It's as if we don't want to bother each other with our issues, our minor or major infractions that occur daily. I feel like the internet has ruined us. It gave us a place to scream and cry behind a facade of screen and pixels. It gave us a place to be more open, but in doing so reserve ourselves. Because posting something replaces talking about. Liking something replaces responding to someone else. These actions have replaced talking to the point that when we're together, all we do is say "I like what you posted __insert date____". Rather than talk about the content of what it was.

Part of this is that we recognize how personal, raw, and even fleeting some of these things are. They are not really to be discussed, only shared. But others of us are begging to be talked to. To have someone pay attention to us. I don't understand when this started, or if it's always been this way and I'm just now noticing.

I think that I have taken myself away from many people that could have been good for me. I push them away believing that I will corrupt their goodness with my darkness that is disguised and interesting yet misled teen girl. These people wander back into my life occasionally, but only long enough to briefly remind me how I made them leave. How even though when asked I will say "It didn't work" or "I messed it up" I know that it actually worked out just they way I knew it would, which in essence means that I did not mess up. I followed through with a pattern that I have been perpetuating since about 7th grade.

my past few days have been holding on to happiness if possible. three days straight I holed up in a room and watched movies via netflix. St. Elmo's Fire, Smart People, Were the World Mine... if I didn't have school I would do it for the rest of this week. But I need to be devoted to Into the Woods. Which is kicking my ass because, oh hey I have to sing and I just keep screwing that up despite my half-ass attempts to practice. When I'm with choir people and they bemoan those who cannot sing and just pick random notes that everyone else around them is singing all I can think is "Oh fuck, that's what I do..." But that's not really the biggest of my issues.

Mostly I need to not let other peoples emotions influence me so much. It's absurd. I have just realized that at present I have nothing else to say. And despite the fact that it is... I do not consider this a rant. It's just directionless thoughts that postponed my psych homework. Which is another topic of waning motivation for anything that takes any sort of effort. Alas.

I was never going to.

I understand each and every word of your
bad idea that says I should shut my mouth,
but the only dark alley I see is the hall I am
traveling through to get to the garage.
In search of a fix I hope to find in the
refrigerator. Walking through the door,
I freeze as a voice streaming through the radio
mounted to the wall suddenly asks me:::
When did you stop being happy?
When did your anxiety and nervousness
and depression start to get the best of you?
When did you stop being able to
"snap out of it"? You deserve to be happy.
My hand is clutching the door handle
as I just stare, tearing up a bit.
It tells me to call. Now. I don't call.

stream of consciousness.

I think and I think and I try to
make myself be quiet I try to
make myself quit and in my head
I am screaming NO, shut the FUCK UP
to myself but it doesn't work
it never works and I can't lie
to myself if I know that I'm lying.
can I?

and I thought this was special
I thought I was maybe special,
just this once. Once.
No. I hold nothing sacred.
but even that is a lie.
I live off of music and words,
the very things that bring me
to tears and tear me to pieces
because they're too true
they're too real they understand
and they don't even know me
like I want everyone else
to know me, like I want to
know me.

I have held back so much,
kept so many things in a
box of constraints, letting
through only the words that
fit into 160 characters,
words that fit only into
5:::7:::5, words that fit only
into what I think someone
will read and care and
maybe just maybe care
enough to make me
care enough.

but I am letting this out
but I am not really letting
this out because there are
so many things to say
that I can't say partly
because I'm afraid and
partly because I don't
know how to say them
and partly because I don't
even know what I am
feeling or if I feel at
all anymore and I am
just lost.

it was an accident that I found that picture.
and you, a random stranger said it was
"beautiful and eye opening and kinda depressing"
and all I could think was:::you have no fucking idea.
I cringed but didn't turn away, didn't navigate
elsewhere for a while because more thoughts started
dripping into my mind:::like:::
this is too familiar. why did you even capture this?
why is this on the internet? why is this being
passed around and talked about so openly with
everyone saying how sad it is when they really
don't know? but mostly I was thinking about how
I would do that. If I didn't have to hide,
I would do that.

two weeks of silence

and you return with

your typical torture:::

hello love.

two words that used

to fill me up tear me

apart make me blush:::

hello love.

too many times I tried

and lost and gave up

I am done with you, but

hello love.

to understand how I

feel you have to be here

you have to talk to me.

hello love.

to play these games again

is cruel. we're not running

away together, I know:::

hello love.

too much. this is too much

contact for my taste. you

are an annoyance now...but

hello love.

on the floor.
eating Christmas
Captain Crunch
wishing my
legs weren't
speckled with
hate.

there is
nothing I can
read or do
or listen to
that is
neutral.

each piece of
my world is
a reminder of
someone
somewhere
that I have
let down
somehow.

Drops of Jupiter.

I laughed because
it's part of my
don't freak out
playlist.

I laughed because
it seemed so
out of place
in my calmness.

I laughed because
I guess I was
happy to be
driving around.

I laughed because
I am awkward
and can't always
find words.

I laughed because
I wondered when
the next time I'll
need this song will be.

Coward.
I hate that word.
It sounds so ugly.
So brash and it
doesn't flow with
anything.

But it's what I am
when I type words
asking or telling
and then watch them
disappear as I
delete them off
of the screen.

Would I hate myself
less if I just let
all of my words
flow out instead of
holding them back?
Or would that be worse?
To have everything
said, everything told.
Maybe not understood,
but out there.

a sunday afternoon:::
bare blue bulb
coloured cloth&a
desk above me.
everything eerily lit.
forts make me happy.
good:::this is good.
hello kitty pjs on.
in this place
january is suspended.
karma and
lust don't live here.
my safe place.
no cuts, bruises
or wounds here.
pandora playing
quietly through the
rest of the room.
sushi eaten, in the
trash bag now.
under paper&plastic.
very carelessly I perched
water on a
xerox knock off box.
yes. I could live here.
zero years have passed.

I am alone
in the house.
I could do it.
if I really
wanted to.
but I don't
know if it
will be worth
the effort or
if it will just
be another
feeble attempt
to dispell
these mixed
up so fucking
messed up
things that I
feel all the time.

Situational Irony.

I wish these weren't ripped

I said as I tore off small

pieces of my jeans.

I can't vocalize these things.

As we were sitting there,
I fell back into my Old Habit
of pointing out everything
around me and then
explaining why I am
looking at it.

I hate it when I do this.
I wonder if I will
always do this and
if I am boring you
but not in a sad
"woe is my life way"
but just an analytical way.

and also I wonder why
some people can tolerate
being around me doing
not a lot for a long time
but other people just
have to keepmoving
keepgoingfindsomethingelse
todo or somewhere else
to be that isn't me.

day two.

a glitch in the seat belt is
what caused the
Inevitable Meltdown
to begin.

I've been quiet lately.

I don't want to talk to anyone
but I want people to talk to me.
I'm done believing that
people want to listen
even though I have never
tried to make anyone listen.
In my moments of silence
people do not wonder
what I have to say.
Mostly because in my
moments of silence I
do not have anything to say.
If I'm going to speak
I want to make it
worthwhile, meaningful.
There is nothing I can say
that is close to being
worthwhile or meaningful.
...I've been quiet lately.

Today ended strangely.

I ate a brief meal with people I never

would have pictured myself with just

a few years ago, and held my own.

I was one of two, maybe three

in an unaltered state of being.

I wonder if they even know

how to be with each other

and just be with each other.

I never want to be like

any of you. Not ever.

"Don't lose yourself, don't let yourself be lost"

Sometimes I feel so empty
the only thing that can make me
feel better is adding a little number
next to the days date.
My little system of records.
No, I am not getting better.
In a sick way I hate the days
that get a slash through them.
When I ask what's wrong with me?
Everyone answers nothing, you're fine.
But I am lost. In what
other people make me feel
with words they don't say to me
out loud or specifically.
Please stop pacifying me.
Only say what you mean
so I will be less confused.
so I will be less lost.

the trip there haikus.

so close it's not that
much of a difference to drive
through Oklahoma.

grey sky. muted plains.
frozen water leaks from hills.
I'm in Kansas now.

we only passed through
the corner this time. see you
later, Missouri.

eight inches of snow.
twenty six degrees outside.
hello, Iowa.

A dream before Christmas.

I had a dream that I was dead.
But not in a sad way.
I was not being shown how
miserable or happy anyone would be
without me, or what I could change.
Mostly it was a chance to
look in at everyone elses lives.
I just watched my friends
go about their daily activities.

kansas city.

beat down buildings:::
brick worn off
barely there paint.
barren, cleared out.
big vast expanse.
Broadway St. up the road.
broken doors lead
below...a crash, a fall:::
bang. you'd hit the ground.
buried in the street
beneath the rubble
by whoever found you.

When we were at her house, months ago.

under a blacklight
you smoked a glowing cigarette.
poised&proper even with
all your makeup washed clean.
wearing clothes that weren't yours.
you aren't much different from them,
so why did I hold you in such high esteem?
because you gave me reason to
believe that I was worth something.

5:4:3:2:1

Right now my hair is a mess.
Right now I am not wearing makeup.
Right now my clothes do not fit.
Right now I am alone.
Right now I am happy
:::Smiling for no reason.
:::Laughing for no reason,
:::Jumping around as I move.
:::Dancing for no reason.
Maybe because of you.
Maybe because of the movie I watched.
Maybe because of new music.
I don't know why.
I don't know how long this will last.
But it's okay.