untitled

i saw you
spent time with you
fuck, that was hard
it takes me back to being a kid.
LOOK WITH YOUR EYES, NOT YOUR HANDS
i can't touch you
can't reach out to you
i can't even tell you what i've been up to
(if you ask)
because you know what i've been up to?
hating everything
wanting to die
thinking of ways
to rid the world
of me
and i can't even tell you any of this
because i won't let myself
and the last thing i could stand
is living with myself
if you thought i was weak
or i upset you in any way

untitled

so i'm home
it's not as bad as i thought it'd be
as long as i take
certain...
precautionary measures
i guess that's what you could call them
good thing too
because you showed up today
unexpectedly
good thing i was prepped for that
bleeding myself out
all the anger and sadness
not gone
but numbed
just long enough for you to be here

untitled

i'm going home today
ohmigawhd
i've felt sick all day
and anxious
can i do this?
am i strong enough?
back to
not eating
not sleeping
wanting to be sick
all day
shitshitshit
i will do this
it's just a matter of whether i can or not
i'm getting better at surviving without you
it's the living part that's not so easy

untitled

aaah
what the fuck do i do
if i give you space
you might think i'm not interested
if i get involved
you might think i'm pressuring you
is there some way i can win?
i feel like i never can
and i never do

untitled

what a day
what the fuck
wake up
panic attack
coffee
dry toast
which i forgot to leave dry
and buttered
fuck me
researching and math
for two hours or more
reading
internet
msn
infuriating email
furious response
satisfaction
lunch
shower
went for a walk
came back
calm
then
furious
sick to my stomach
because of it
this is the most mundane poem
i've written so far
FUCK ME

untitled

i really have nothing to say
i don't know why i'm writing
but somehow its making me calm
calm enough
to not contact you
you'd better be fucking thankful

you fucking prick

just as i was on the brink
that final edge
YOU COME IN
did you say some kind words?
no.
did you tell me something to make me feel better?
no.
you fucking PISSED ME OFF
now part of me hopes
you get hit by a bus.
this had all better be a misunderstanding.
i've got better things
i could be doing right now
like not living
breathing
sleeping
anything like that
i could be fucking DEAD
and none of this would be happening
but NOOOOOOO
you just needed to piss me off.
congrats.
you finally get to see me furious.

this is it. well, almost

i'm almost there
you know what i mean
that point where
you go from just saying
I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE
to actually not being able to anymore
i can't live anymore
i can't breathe
or sleep
or eat
or do anything right
and i just can't handle it
i don't want to handle it
if i'm not handling it with you
so like i said.
i'm almost there
this is almost it.
the straw that breaks the camel's back
will soon be laid to rest.

untitled

three
days
of
solid
cartoons
and
counting
WTF

untitled

it almost makes me cry.
every time i see you
a photo of you
a memory of you
a flashback of you
a dream of you
that's all it takes
and i get butterflies
and i feel sick because of it
and every time i talk to you there's
this sense of hopelessness
you seem so comfortable with
just being friends
i'm worried
that you'll never want to be anything more
ever again

untitled

i wrote you a letter last night
and whether you ever see it or not
i can breathe now
i can eat
i did sleep
i still feel upset
sick to my stomach
and worried
oh my god, am i ever worried
but i can breathe
which is nice
i have come to terms
with whatever may or may not happen

untitled

worry-come-true
you left
FUCK
you left
you're gone
gone gone gone gone gone
wish you weren't
wish i was dead
wish i could sleep
eat
live
without you
it doesn't look like you're coming back

untitled

wtf
you're gone
i'm lost
confused
upset
what do i do?
can't sleep
can't eat
can't function
all i can do
is hope you get better
and come back
please, god
i hope you come back
your voice, well
it's the most painful sedative i've ever had
just...
please.
don't leave me.
please.
just come back.
i'll always be waiting
and i'm always here for you

untitled

with our anchor
of inflatable lead
we sail
to the ends of nowhere
hand in hand
we begin our quest
to debt
to loss
to life
and death

untitled

looking back on apologies
i wish
my voice were a little clearer
a little stronger
and that my intentions
were a little more honest
maybe even heart-felt
i'm sorry
for all my i'm-sorries
especially the ones
that weren't delivered the right way
i'm sorry i hurt you
i'm sorry i'm still here
and i'm most sorry
for forcing you to be with me

untitled

i'm
broken
and
sometimes
i
think
you'd
be
better
off
without
me

i'm sorry

i am so sorry
that you had to see me like that
that i treated you like that
i promised i never would
i would never get angry with you
which entails never treating you like crap
and i did it anyway
you have every right to leave
to say FUCK YOU
and leave
my biggest worry is that you will
despite that fact
that i treated you like crap
i really hope you stay
you're my novocaine
allowing me to roll down the rocky cliffs of life
unharmed
if you ever see this
i hope you get my robot chicken reference

untitled

what is it
about the intimacy
of trading spit?
i don't understand
why it means something
yet i still feel it
growing in intensity
every time you touch me
until that moment
when you finally give me
what i want
what i yearn for
pressing me closer
draw in a breath
then catch on fire
blazing our way
to dissatisfaction
you pull away
you always pull away too soon

untitled

a lot of my poems
are about hate
and they often include the phrase
"i hate (insert noun here)"
but i mean it
i really hate
this distance
where you're gone all the time
and all i do is think about you
all day
never sure if it's making things better or worse
easier or harder
the discomfort
of knowing i won't see you again today
is almost unbearable
the aimless wandering
the hope that you'll show up
the disappointment when you never do
if this weren't you we're talking about
i don't think i could take it

untitled

i wish i was so numb
i couldn't feel you
so you can't hurt me
god knows you don't mean it
but it happens anyway
i can barely take it
this pain
this discomfort
this desperation
numbness
although a sad state of being
is ok.
no pain
i can handle the lack of happiness
it's not like i feel it often anyway

untitled

you weren't so sure
that i cared for you
as much as you cared for me
so i'm here to say
that this isn't a pissing contest
neither of us can be sure
that one of us cares more
so let's just call it even?
and both do what we can?
you're so cute sometimes it
makes me sick
and you're so pushy sometimes it
makes me want you more
is that wrong?

untitled

what the fuck is your problem
you go through all this
getting me where i am
and then you pull shit like you did today
and THEN you try and play it off
and act like i'm not mad
you've got a lot of guts, you bastard
i'm fucking furious
i'm tired
and i feel like dying
but you wouldn't notice
because you're too caught up in you
and don't get me wrong
i'm not saying you can't have a life
just don't forget me
don't leave me behind
i still need you
you're all i've got
who will pick up the pieces if you go?
i spend so much time
trying to keep you happy
so you don't snap
and leave me behind
but it worries me
when you can't appreciate that
almost everything i do
i do for you
to keep you happy
to get your attention
to create interest in me
most times it never works
but i keep trying anyway
hoping that
one day
you'll open your eyes
see what's in front of you
this broken little girl
the remnants of me
feast your eyes on that for once

untitled

most of these poems are untitled
because
how do you put a title on an emotion?
an expression of emotion
guilt, anger, sadness
what do you creatively call those things?
without creating misconceptions
of what they are supposed to be
what they mean
lack of title
creates no preconceived ideas of the piece
take from it what you want
take from me what you want
come and get it
we're almost souled out!

untitled

you turned to me and said
this isn't working
i don't want this
like i used to
and turned away and said nothing
what do you say to a statement like that?
body language
back away
don't come back when invited
if invited
rejection stings like a bitch
doesn't it?

untitled

today is the day
that i decide
make the decision
about
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE
it starts with this bottle
and the contents within
progresses to the gutter
where my mind can be found most days
when it isn't lost and wandering the streets alone
from the gutter to a prison cell
where i cannot think or do what i like
from there
we move to trust
the light of my life
who i cannot trust
because of the previous things
the gutter, the bottle, the prison cell
hardened
or softened?
consistently stepped on by others
looks like i'm on the right track so far.

untitled

wouldn't it be...
i can't pick a word
to explain how this would be
if there were other worlds
in the universe
and we all had the same things
just variations of the same things
like.
bands.
we all had the same bands
just with different names
and different lyrics
maybe
and different music
who knows?
it's possible, right?
do aliens exist?
do they know we exist?
do they choose to live in blissful ignorance
or do they not care?
or are they even less technologically advanced than us...
do they have music?
literature?
is it anything like ours?
or are they smarter
they don't clog up their societies
with technology
sure we've made advancements
but it's going to kill us all eventually.

untitled

i wish i could write music
and i just realized that my poetry is turning into more like
a journal entry
with irregular spacing
or something like that
i'll just hit enter
in the middle of a sentence
and that's what makes it poetry
what the hell
how does that even work?
meh
whatevs
no biggie.
biggie smalls.
what an oxymoron
i love that word
or sassafrass
or crustacean
so fun to say
ramble on cowboy
that's all this is
i'm rambling
get used to it
but i seriously wish i could write music

your square cell is a cubicle formation, duh.

are you happy
inside your little box?
pacing
left to right
right to left
back and forth
and do it again
if you rotate the box
it is the same
are you in the box?
do you know what's really happening out here?
or are you outside the box?
but so immersed in wishing you were in the box
that you forget what's happening outside the box?
the grass is always greener, i guess
well that seems to be what you think anyway
have you ever wanted to escape from your box?
start running
only to find walls
and corners?
is that why you are who you are now?
you won't leave the box
because you think you CAN'T leave the box?
escape is impossible
so you wallow
in the pit you've created while pacing
wallowwallowwallow
that's all you ever do
is whine and bitch and chew
about the world outside
as you see it
contorted
because you know what?
you can't see through your box.
you don't have a glass box
through which you can observe the world
you have a titanium box
shut off from everything, everyone
kept safe
but always missing out
pitypitypity
that's all you ever were
all you ever will be
until you find the box key
don't throw your junk in my backyard
my backyard's full.

ok so i lied

i don't always write when i feel
like i said
a lot of the best poems
were written when i was numb
numb as fuck
i guess numb is a feeling
so it's not a total lie
is it possible to not feel at all?
because when it comes down to it
youre always feeling
whether it's indifference
or annoyance
or just
whatever
so i guess i'm always writing when i'm feeling
because i'm always feeling
numbness only occurs
in death
and even then
maybe you feel?
how would you know?

it's hard to write a poem when you don't feel broken enough

better
things are better
goodgoodgood
you
are saving me
confessions of a mother
of a "horrible mother"
pft.
fuck that.
horrible mother my ass
i'll horrible your mother
dog chases cat
running
who's chasing who?
i'm chasing you.
lemme do what i want.
runrunrun
goodgoodgood
lemme do what i wanna do.
things you don't know i do.
so when i ask you
lemme do what i wanna do
REPETITION
am i crazy?
moving picture frame in my mind
image after image after image
the cycle begins again
gestation period,
one week.