It's Gone

I touched it.

The stage, the lights, the rush.

In my dream.

And when I woke up, I got to my knees and prayed.

I clasped on to that meaningless piggy bank and prayed.

When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part.

Some day.

Pro Tempore

I have never felt so replaceable in my life.

Why does everything around this place feel so temporary?

Maybe it's the smell of lavender linen spray,

or the fact that my face wash smells like hotel soap.

The fact that I fold my towels on top of my toilet, or that I hang a robe on the back of my bathroom door.

A cup by the sink.

Hotel-esque.

Yet my drawers are packed with things, my closet is so full that I don't have room for Narnia.

If I can feel so temporary in a stable environment, does that make me replaceable?

Will this room go out for rent once I leave?

I've already been replaced in one, two, three ways.

Three ways already.

So soon.

Oh well.

I guess this will teach me to live for the moment.

Scrunch my toes in the carpet every once in a while,

and realize I'm not leaving anytime in the near future.

I'll see that same view out that same window with that same dream catcher for the next almost 2 years.

That's fine by me.

Life is irreplaceable,

life is pro tempore.

Recognize/Realize

It's me!

I just can't tell you. Yet, ever...

You'll read these and think I'm sick.

But everyone is.

I just can't say.

It's me...

It's me...

It's me.

Breakthrough

I mean break through the haze that covers your personality like a foggy mirror.

Because I know you're in there somewhere.

And I know the pills stop the pain and they stop the hurt and the bad emotion.

But they stop the good stuff too.

It hurts me, you know? To know that your smile won't stay in your heart.

But that little pill will, it'll keep running through your system.

Just dulling your emotions.

Just enough to make the pain disappear.

Just enough to prevent the excitement, the happiness, the rush.

I know you may still cry.

Everyone does.

And I can't fix you, I'm sorry. I already said that.

Take your best friend responsibly. It can help you and I can't.

Responsibly, responsibly.

Don't go all 'million little pieces' on me, please.

Just enough to make the pain disappear.

Just enough not to cry every night.

Just enough to feel something rather than nothing.

Just enough, and no more.

No more.

Mistake

'Promise me that if I cave in and break, and leave myself open, that I won't be making a mistake.'

You promised.

I let you in.

Let you see me, hear me, feel me cry.

Let you feel my pain, like I've never let anyone feel before.

Maybe it was too much.

I've told you a lot of things I've never told anyone.

Nobody.

Things that have made me who I am, but that nobody knows about.

And now I'm afraid you could tell them to the world.

This hurts.

I made a mistake.

I caved in.

I broke.

I left myself open.

And it hurts.

And I don't like it.

I'm sorry for the thing I said before I hung up.

I didn't mean it.

I'm sorry if you're hurting.

I just can't tell you, because I'm hurting too much.

Give me a while to piece back together my pride.

I'm sorry, sorry sorry sorry, hurt.

I'm hurt.

But we both made mistakes.

Both of us.

Superficial

Today, I discovered something disturbing.

That would be this photo...

Now look here. They all have something in common, yes?

Oh, why yes they all are wearing high heels.

Yes, all are in black and white as well.

Oh well yes they are all either black or white...

One more thing you're missing though!

Want to know the similiarity that makes them all Candidates for

AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL 2010?

Well the fact that I could wrap my thumb and forefinger around their thighs is pretty prominent to me.

Since when did skinny become synonymous with beautiful?I know for a fact that fat (as it is now commonly known) used to mean beauty, power, wisdom.

It meant you had enough food to survive and were therefore rich and powerful.

Take yourself as you are.

I don't care if you're 6'6", 95 lbs and wear a size 000

or if you're 3'0", 800 lbs and wear a size 62,

or if you're 5'5", 156 lbs and wear a tight size 7.

But how did you get here?

Where do you want to be?

I'll tell you where the media wants you to be: skinny.

They want you to eat McDonalds and Pizza Hut and Taco Bell and KFC and Tim Hortons until you feel like you may burst.
Then they want you to go home and feel horrible about yourself and get rid of it all

by any means possible

by any way logical.

And be just like them.

Wanna know what I say?

Ew.

I'd rather grab my chubby love handles than not be able to sit in a chair for half an hour because my bones ached.

So you know what?

Get at me.

All 5'5.5, 150 lbs of me.

Twisted

I'm starting to think that I like the pain.
And it scares me.
Not the deliberate pain but the bruises and scrapes, I'm proud of them and I don't know why and it really really scares me.

But it makes me feel alive, so alive, because I know that I'm real and I know that I'm not invincible and I can be broken.

And as much as that thrills me, it scares me.
I am breakable, not just physically, but obviously mentally, because I am broken already there.
That doesn't hurt, it doesn't scare me.
But I'm proud of my scars because as much as it means I can be broken it means I can survive a whole lot, and it means I am strong.

Strong, stronger than I could ever feel.
The pain is just temporary and the accidental scars are forever and they show my journies through life.
I've been close to hell and I've touched deliberacy and I like it better when things are accidental.
Because as much as I can't control it when it's accidental, it means that I'm not that twisted after all.

I enjoy it, but not enough to take it in my hands and create it.

I am

breakable,
breaking,
broken.

I am twistable,
twisting,
twisted.

And I

really

do

enjoy

(really

enjoy)

every

every

single

minute.

De-Stress

Arizona Iced Tea sits atop my piano ledge as I type this to you;

piano and arizona. 2 de-stressers.

Tea for the obvious reasons, piano for a not-so-obvious reason:

piano is the only thing I can do right in a day of wrong-doings.

This Is How I Do

I'm going to give you little clips of a song that I enjoy when I am in like with someone. Not love, that's a huge word and a huge emotion with a lot of strings and huge baggage. Just like for now.

it's too late baby, there's no turnin around

i got my hands in my pockets and my head in the clouds

this is how i do, when i think about you

i never thought that you could break me a p a r t

i keep a sinister smile and a hold on my ♥

you wanna get inside? then you can get in line

but not this time

cause you caught me off guard

now i'm runnin and screamin...

But people tell me I 'can not' feel this way, I 'should not' feel this way. He's different than the last, I promise you!

... I hope.

Sorry, Who?

I will not bend over backwards for your approval, nor will I conform to your standards. See if you ever get a sideways glance again.

You don't deserve my cold shoulder.

Forgotten? Yup.

Daily Dose Of CLUTZ.

Hi.

I just dropped my curling iron on my stomach while curling my hair whilst in a bikini.

I blame nobody but myself.

That is all.

See Me Fly

The university I wish to attend (located in another country, precisely) has an acceptance rate of 7.6%. I have had 99% of people I know tell me that it will be impossible for me to get in a) because of it's location in another country; b) because my grades are not up to par; c) because I'm simply not 'that talented'.

Well, forget you and your words of hatred and your disbelief.

Forget you and your non-support of my dreams.

Forget you and your sharp edges that are bound to cut my soul to smithereens.

Forget you and your harsh looks of disapproval.

I am the little engine that could, climbing up a metaphorically steep track that is essentially missing a few spikes and boards here and there.

But this little engine will make it all the way, until it gets over the hill and coasts into it's dream.

I'm getting into that school if it kills me.

Care and Compassion

Whatever happened to the days when people actually cared? Or when people who know what you're going through offered a tad bit of compassion? I'm not asking for your sympathy, your money, your tears, your words. I would just like a simple look that says 'I understand'.

It's Complicated

How am I supposed to feel when people say no and my heart can't choose between right and wrong,
when I feel like you're pulling me back in but I'm so unsure if you even feel the same?
When I just want to reach out and touch you like you used to touch me, soft and simple, perfection
although nothing was perfection; the lies were perfection and I guess I can't get past the fact that it was all a joke.
I look at it as if it was real and I never look at it like it was an act,
because it's so hard to believe that you're living a lie...
kind of like that guy on the Truman show,
I can't remember his reaction, but when he realized everything was a set, everything was scripted, he must have felt pretty betrayed.
I don't want you.
I want to push you away and run from you and scream at you,
I want to pull you close and kiss you like nothing changed,
I want to yell at you until you become someone i want you to be,
I want you here,
I want you disappear,
I want you everywhere and nowhere and beside me and across the world and in my heart and out of my head and on my mind and not anywhere at all.
I want to forget you.
I want to relive you.
I like you.
I hate you.
Please, choose for god's sake.
You've got me strung on a wire, just like I'm your marionette,
Cut me free, please.
I've wished on stars, my 11:11's, even my birthday candles,
wasted, so wasted.
To think of things I could've wished for, they'll never happen now.
I hate you so much. I don't want to see you online and I don't want you near me I don't want you to talk to me and I don't even want you around the places where I am.
Don't breathe the same air as me, I loathe you, I despise you.
But all it take is one look at me,
and I change.
I want you here, holding my hand with your arm around me, eyes locked with mine.
The way it was, so long ago.
dumb. dumb dumb dumb dumb.
They judge me. They should.
dumb.
Let go, I whisper.
I want to, I think.
Please.
Give me everything I've ever wanted,
and nothing at all.

Reverse

It is hard to look into someone's eyes and not see who they were years ago.

I could gaze into the muddled green that are yours, and remember the spry person you used to be. Since everything has happened, you have become slower. Sadder. Less like yourself.

But it's not like I can blame you.

Some days it's a blank look. Some days it's an act of rage, swinging violently around the room until you find an answer.

I want to be able to open you up, half-shell, like a clam, and take a look at your soul. Hit rewind on the record tape that is your mind, and watch you transform back into the person you used to be.

Laughing. Singing. Dancing. Playing.

The charm and wit you once had has been transformed into a blank canvas, an unusable one.

Torn, frayed, ripped to bits and pieces.

I want to put your canvas back together and give you paint brushes with thick, fresh paint. 'Start over.' I would say. Please, start over and become someone new.

Become someone more alive.

Because your body is simply a shell, your mind cowering in the corner, not sure what to do with itself.

You used to tell me stories, do you remember?

Of days of work, of days of nothing, of days of baking or cooking or simply just relaxing and doing nothing at all. Of gardens, of dogs, of anything and everything.

But now, you don't tell stories. You say nothing, nothing of baking or cooking or relaxing, nothing of nothing, nothing of gardens or dogs, or anything, or everything.

You can't tell me where you hurt,

you can't tell me where you are

or who I am

or who you are.

So I will continue to look in your green eyes

and I will tell you my stories, of baking and cooking and relaxing; of nothing; of gardens and dogs, of anything and everything.

I won't tell you where I hurt, because it would be hard for you to help.

But I can tell you where you are, where we are.

I can tell you who I am.

And I can tell you who you are.

As long as you're with me, kid, we'll be okay.

Material Matters

Who made things matter?

What clothes I wear, what I look like, how much I weigh, what my opinion is?

Who started that trend?

Please, find them.

And tell them to stop caring.

Planned Perfection

Perfection doesn't happen on its own. It is a meticulous process, slowly thought out and rethunk and processed through every corner of one's brain, hitting every cog and gear that churns the powerhouse that is one's mind.

Perfection could be laying under the stars with a loved one on a blanket as a bonfire rages ten feet away, while shooting stars cascade over your eyes and a serenade of summer sounds tickles your ears. Already, we have

- one blanket

- planning for a meteor shower night

- wood for bonfire ---> raining? no? ---> actual bonfire

- any wolves around?

- turn cellphones off

- wet grass?

- are you really... in love?

See? Your happily ever after is someone else's thought-driven nightmare.

Inch;Mile

Those who act kindly in this world will have kindness - Islam. Qur'an 39.10.

All things in life are not reciprocal, you do not necessarily receive once you do give. I have known souls that will pour their heart out, dedicate their lives to saving, giving, cherishing; what are they rewarded with but nothing. An empty soul, left dry and cold without the feeling of a reciprocal bound. How does one give without the expectation of receiving? This answer escapes me, as fates of answers I will never know pass me.

Before The Worst

Heartbreak is a pain that is miserable and dry, cold and abandoning. Heartbreak is a rainstorm underwater, a million white feathers scattered over black carpet, a Rubik's cube with no sides that match up, the equivalent of pounding your head against a wall for 3 hours.

Unnecessary and smothering; messy and complicated; unsolvable and frustrating; painful.

I've never truly been in love, but I've heard of what happens when you love and leave.

Some people claim to want to be heartbroken, just so they can feel something.

Masochists.

Lights Will Guide You Home

Have you ever tried fixing something, only to fail?

That's how I feel.

I'm sorry that I can not save your life, I'm sorry that I can not be there to dry your tears when you cry, or clean the blood from the floor when you slip up. I'm so sorry that I can't catch you when fall from grace, like a parachute wafting in the wind, detached from its jumper. I can not be your trampoline, I can not be your bed. I can not comfort you like the carpet that is beneath your very feet. I want so desperately to be able to hold you while you shake, to touch you gently and whisper in your ear hopes of a great, sunny future.

I would tell you, 'It might look bad now, but things will get better. Sure, it's storming, but it can't rain forever.'

Sometimes I think you don't want the comfort, sometimes I feel like you would only push me away. This scares me, because I only want the best for you. How do I tell you? I just want you as you; I want to see you smile with meaning, and laugh without putting on an act. How can I tell you that I know it phases you? How can I tell you that I know your insecurities eat you alive?

I would walk into your room and throw out every self-help book, I would tear up the thoughts of depression that hide in the very corner of your mind. I would gather you in my arms and send the harmful thoughts away, I would hold you as we both cried, as I healed you, as everything that never mattered disappeared, until it was only you and me.

I can't fix you;

but I can try.