flying

the shyness of your breath, between rings on your chest. tell more then then this test.

between lines i evolve, like a puzzle on walls, but together i am nothing.

in front of your eyes, you watch a callapse and relapse into space.

you are my key, but ill never be free, from this touch.

the feel of your skin, the sent of a sin, im a slave.

like ticks on a clock, you've picked through my lock, i am open.

calls may break my silence. i cannot replace the imprint you left. i know that you have commited theft.

of course

À Bout de Soufflé

sixteen chances to collect yourself.

every breath surrounding your conscious like a piece of buttered bread.

tired.

can't seem to move away from this invisible clutch.

the glue that once held us so connected, now weaker.

now still remains.

Like the strings falling from an unwinding shirt.

No longer is it one with where it belongs.

But you can not say it does not exist.

Because even in pieces it is real.

christ.

I cannot see beyond this.

I can not move my mountain.

I tried to go around it.

But found my feet were broken.

I've considered tunneling under.

But learned I had no tools.

Ive tried to play the mountains game.

But i do not know the rules.

So alas, i sit here.

Pondering whats at hand.

I know ill have to climb this mountain.

Yet i question if i can.

cough medicine

The touch of a spoon to my mouth sends shivers beyond my spine.

And as the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand, i realize the grape flavored goop that just filled my esophagus is not leaving.

And the bitter cough medicine lingers in my throat like the night after breath.

I am thrown completely off balance and the only reaction i can manage is an epileptic fit of my mouth. squeezing and pursing my lips as if it will make it any better.

To make matters worse the fermented flavor reminds me of vodka and i am forced to relive nights even my diary doesn't know about. Until alas it is gone..

and i can breathe.

dear diary,

then i write.

when i write i feel as though words are pouring from the tips of my hands, not even giving my mind a moments breath.

i am not thinking but my mind is pouring thoughts as though it was a pitcher.

one day im scared my thoughts will end and like the emptiness that still controls me, that nothingness will control my pen. and it will swallow up my budding thoughts and devoir them before my own eyes.

and i will no longer be able to hold up my hand. no longer able to let words sing from my fingers, because on that day i will be a slave.

i will be oppressed by, well by nothing.

a supreme control of nothing.

waiting for that day, my mind wonders to things far beyond what is already known.

dwindling in greater good, restoring faith in regions of myself i once thought to be hopeless.

even still...

breathing, walking, talking, yes.

but alive, no.

gaga

2,500 miles away, we are laughing at the same joke.

out of touch:

I looked at a photograph.

But what I saw was not me.

I did not recognize the eyes or the smile.

The carelessness, the calm. or the innocent child.

wheres my voice?

a new kind of danger

Analyization: a form of terrorism.

picking away at the truest of trues,

the reddest of reds.

Until what is left but a vessel.

And what once filled this body?

those beautiful emotions?

Well those have been picked, pruned, and fertilized until nothing is left on my apple tree but a few bug bitten leaves and just when i think its all for the better, that i soon will forget the bittersweet flavor of an unripen apple,

a baby green one sprouts.

And immediately thousands of people are rushed to the scene to prude and destroy this little apple until it is no more.

Because what is an emotion until it is spoken?

What is a feeling until it is shared?

what i see:

now, looking in the mirror is a completely different experience.

i no longer look for signs of improvement of disappointment.

no blemish counting or makeup checking.

instead i stare blankly at an unattractive being that used to be me.

i look to this utter emptiness. this whole lack of faith, spirit and soul and i wonder where that girl went.

i wonder if anything is to ever become of me.

i wonder if i can ever appreciate myself like i once had.

i wonder if i again will ever be called pretty.

pray.

have i been scared into religion?

subconsciously forced into something i consciously do not trust nor believe...

have i hid from all reason and science?

Have i tried to explain something I should not?

One dream told me if i refuse to belive,

i will be punished.

Well i am being punished now, and if god is real he will send me a sign, of hope.

without that sign.

without the knowlege that someone cares for me.

i cannot continue this journey,

one this wrong path.

but i will keep searching for the right on.

Because as dead as i feel on the inside.

I know there is more.

are you there god its me.

please god, let me be free.

notebook.

I am doing homeschool now,

falling away from what little i was before.

I take laxadives everyday,

for what little food i can force into my body.

This vessel is so vulnerable,

just waiting to be broken down again.

I often cannot breathe.

I often cannot think.

My humble body walks around wishing for a purpose.

Endlessly for a reason to my exsistance.

brittle bones, break.

away

in this place i suffer.

i wake up mornings dead inside. 

in this place i suffocate, 

cannot mask, i cannot hide. 

its time i got up and left, 

its time i let the world see. 

its time i got away from this, 

its time i become me. 

tragedy with great timing.

today is a day to laugh,

to look life in the eyes and make a jest about how everyone is a joke. 

today is a day where i look at the world and make fun of its foolishness. 

today is a day where i feel beautiful after counting my pimples and not fitting into small jeans. today is a day where i feel like i could eat the world and never gain a pound. 

today is a day where i could go out and be whatever i want and no one would question me. 

today is a day i have moved on from all of your bull shit. 

today is a day to write stories to sing tunes, and to be heard. 

today is a day to be alive. 

swings

Speak.

I cannot hear you. 

Write. 

There are no words.

Sing. 

There is no music. 

Dance. 

There are no steps. 

Leave. 

I cannot walk. 

Climb. 

I have no hands. 

Try. 

I have no ambition. 

There is no reason, 

without love. 

italy

i never thought i could love anyone but myself. Now i know I can't love anyone else, but you. But you make me think maybe i wont die alone. 

september 16th, 2009

It was just last night i awoke from dreams of you. 

haunting dreams where you wouldn't sepak to me. 

wher you would just look away disappointed. 

It was just yesterday, i went to school dreading the feeling i would get when i had to see you. 

it was just today, you told me you love me. 

its just now, im scared you lied. 

i just want you to know, you belong with me. 

september 13th, 2009

another night lying in my bed wishing you never had to leave. 

whispering words no one else had ever heard. 

knowing we were best friends, 

but wishing for more. 

we talked, you held me. 

you told me you wished you could stay,

so do. 

you didn't even want to think about her, 

so dont. 

that night i woke up three times,

forgeting you have left. 

when i remembered, it stung.

and then  i smiled. 

you left me bruised. 

i woke up hurting. 

i loved it. 

"got pink and black and blue for you"