Just so you know.

a new valentines day
a new year.
you don't really
know me anymore.
I pierced my ear twice
and sang in a play
and kissed more girls
and kissed more boys
and did my hair different
and changed my clothes
and got new makeup
and slept less
and cared less
and talked to you less
so you don't really
know me anymore.
you weren't there for
any of those changes.

a new valentines day
a new year.
I read nothing today.
I did not sit in my closet.
I cried. But not much.
I sat on the computer.
I started five TV shows
three movies, one video game.
I finished none of them.
I put on a new dress.
I parted my hair differently.
I used nice make up.
It's not because today is
special. I don't really
care about today. But most
everyone else does. So I'm
forced to care just a bit.
Just a bit.

a new valentines day
a new year.
I really do not like
being left alone. Not when
I thought I had other options.
I want someone to care but
not out of pity or because
I asked them to. I need
something. Something to do.
I do not get bored. Why am
I getting bored with myself.
I do not get bored. But I am.
I'm pacing again. all around
the house. down the hallways.
room to room to room. no
direction or purpose. room
to room to room. just lost.
You don't know me anymore.

Pretentious.

I started to write
in the odd extra
time of after-test
environment typically
filled with naps and
glazed stares.
flipping through pages
looking for a blank
back to serve as
my canvas........
pen poised, eyes
focused and......
there are no words.
nothing. nothing.
My thoughts have
become too personal
for even me.

Suddenly I feel the
room staring and
judging and I am
pretentious for
writing in class and
pretentious for
having my angsty
neon painting in
open view through
the clear binder slip.
stop looking at me
(((if you are)))
I'm now too anxious
to glance around
and confirm my
suspicious of judgement.

so I sit and stare
and stare at nothing
and at the desk and
at the wall and the
ceiling and my hand
and Mr. Tabor cleaning
the white board and
the blank sheet of
paper in front of me.
I feel pretentious
for staring. I bury
my face in my arms
and pretend to sleep.
(((which is also
highly pretentious)))

Just taste it, not breathe it in.

you bought a tobacco pipe
so you could smoke
without getting lung cancer.
you just taste it,
not breathe it in, you said.

I imagine you sitting in a
high backed chair,
legs crossed and smoking with
the pipe jauntily hanging
from your soft fingers that I
never had the chance to hold,
golden eyes gleaming.
laughing and talking in your
typical hushed tones that
hold heavy ideas.

while I lay on a bed
in a house that's not mine,
silently passing far less
elegant activities around
the room. You seem to
have life figured out.
I am still childishly grasping
for my reasons and beliefs.
I wish I was bold enough
to get you back into
my world so you could
steady me like before.