Sometimes, I feel (and act) like a shmuck.

Just so you know,

I was madly and completely in love with you. From the first moment I looked up. Even in that dark, sick hell hole I was in for so long. Every time you were uncomfortable when Abby asked if we were dating, it made me crazy. I sound insane. I sound stupid. I know it. I know. But, I need to say this. Because now I'm confused. Just ask someone out, for Chrissake. Just let me know. Because I am so confused. So confused. And, dear, because I think you might just like it when I call you that, I am afraid. Because your friendship means more than the heart you have no idea you are breaking.

Prologue.

Jerry was blessed. He wasn’t blessed with good looks or straight teeth. Wealth had never been associated with his name. No, Jerry was blessed with the chance to see a good story, or at least the end of it.

Entertainment was scarce for Jerry. He sat out on his cold bench, watching the people go by, but nothing interesting ever happened. Occasionally a pretty girl would break her heel. Once, a guy in a Spiderman costume had walked by in July. Sometimes Jerry contemplated moving over to another bench. That guy from across town always had the funniest stories, maybe he would move there. He never put that into action, however. Fears always snuck up on him. What if all the other benches were taken? What if he couldn’t find any food? No, it was much better for him just to stay where he was.

But back to this story. It happened in March, according to Jerry. A nice, warm spring day, it wasn’t even raining. The girl came first. She wasn’t even crying. Just walking along. And then, she fell. She just keeled over right there on the sidewalk. Jerry started to get up and help her, but he didn’t want to lose his bench. There was no reason to mess himself up, for weeks, maybe, just because some girl passed out. The boy came. He ran right up to her. Dropped down to his knees and all stroked her hair. And he was muttering something, but Jerry couldn’t hear that. But, Jerry had watched enough people in his day to know that reaction meant the girl was ill, or dead. Like they always do, people converged upon the scene of such a tragedy. They got in his way. So really, old Jerry only saw half of an end of a story. That was enough.

Jerry died three days later. Apparently, he had a heart attack, it is the silent killer, you know. I hate to start a story out so morose and everything, I just thought you should know the facts. I just thought you should know what happened to Jerry. Because, to be honest, you should know not to get to attached, because he doesn’t play a very big part at all in this story. He just told me about it. And I just know how to ask the right questions.

This story is really just about a girl named Layla. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. I hadn’t, anyway. But this boy had, and this story is kind of about him, too.

YEH? well fuck you too.

you know what? I am a very sick person.

Dying Sun

Another sun hidden
Behind perpetual scars
Streaks of blood dripping
Down legs, arms,
Thoughts
Hiding you
As you seek your farfetched relief
It never comes
It never saves
No hand appears
To stop
To save
Another sun
Another hope
Buried beneath these dark blots of insanity

I understand, and I wish I was eloquient enough to write this the way it should be written.

Yes, I am still thinking about.

Laugh as you ruin a life.
Anyone want to join in on the fun?
Oh come on, come on,
Stop being so goodie- goodie.
Shut the Fuck UP
You dont know
You cant see
I see
Sometimes I wish I didn't.
But it is there.
It is there.
You dont know.
Your doing this to her.
You dont know.
I know.
I know its like physical pain
Shut the Fuck UP.

Wavelengths

Wavelengths
They are the same, yours and mine
mine and yours
Reading them
As if you ripped pages out of my notebook
And I am still unaware.
Stealing my thoughts
Saying the things I scream
Saying them beautifully
Gracefully, with a passion
That scorns my indignation
Dammit, They are my thoughts!
Give them back!
Give them to me!
I thought them, I wrote them.
But you wavelength is my own
We travel the same circle
Two moons destined to crash.
As you say the thoughts I feel so eloquently
and I am once again reminded
Of my inferiority.
Dammit, Give me back
myself

Hide

Because you hide
And when I try to define
You aren't there
I dont know where
I can ever try to find you
How can the world hide you?

I am a idiot

Why should I care anymore? After all, I am just one more. One more glance, one more tease, one more smile thrown out at anyone who wants to see. I stand here, and I'll be damned if I am not hoping again. What gives? I certainly have not seen anything different in you than your usual manner. No one has said anything, quite the opposite in fact.

I see you with her, and it breaks my heart. But still the insatiable hope is trying to rise again. I am tired of this hot and cold fiasco. You are not even aware that you are doing it. I am pretty sure I know what that means. Dammit, I am such a fool. Over and Over and Over again. Every day of my life.

The answer is yes.
I miss you when you are gone.
My thoughts wander to you on the verge of sleep.
I do not know where I am going when I am around you.

Is that what you wanted? I am sorry I could not give it to you sooner. The worst part is you will never see this. Will never put the pieces together. Will never know.....

Dammit

The sounds of frustration
Overflowing from beyond the door
Anger at yourself
Released in the form of sound
When words
Refuse to come.

Varied

Ryhming like a madwoman
Speaking like a fool
I think I might I think I can
Be this varied person within
Hallelujah! Praise Jesus!
Who am I to judge?

Talent overriding love
Thoughts over emotion
Is there no passion within,
Maybe a hopeful person could stir...

You laugh and mock
But a light beneath the surface
Speaks of something willing to be woken

I am confused of your origins
If from man
Or devil spawn

But to be true,
I miss you when you are gone.


Is that what you wanted? I am sorry I could not give it to you. Even though it is true. You are back, But for some reason, I am still missing you. Come back, please.

Ashamed-

Cotton padding wrapped around your soul
Shielding you from the unknown
Laughing exteriors
Fine, Fine
The will to be normal
To think and to feel
To forgive and to Love
Unable to fulfill
What you know you should
Hatred inside, poisoning the good

Cotton padding blocking all noise
Holding inside
Everything felt
Saving it for ammunition
For when the glass finally breaks
And all the emotions
Finally
Come spilling out.

Cotton padding keeps you quiet
Sitting in the back
Trying to look sane
For the camera
Each of your peers holds
The image forever burned into their minds
Forgotten in a second
By all but one.


I am thinking of entering this one into the contest, what do you think?

Month of Joy.

I am fourteen.
I have aches, everywhere.
It is serious now people.
Deadly serious.
A Month?

On a snow day.

Baby breath,
On my face,
At six in the morning,
On a snow day.

Dog snuffling my ear,
Licking me,
At six in the morning,
On a snow day.

Mom calling my name,
Shaking me awake,
At six in the morning,
On a snow day.

Beatiful picture
Except for the obvious fact,
That it is six in the morning,
On a snow day.

I see you.

Stop playing games.
Because I see right through,
Right through.
All the tricks you thought, you knew
Would save you.
I see you.
Stop playing games,
Let yourself feel.
I can see you.
I can feel you.
Can you say the same?

Growing Up, my little "beatnik" poem

Damn Slut, what are you worth?
Am I cool now, now that I have said those words?
Have I finally grown into the highscooler you knew I could be?
Have these words let me flow and become one of you?
Have I grown up a set my childhood aside?
Yes and No.
These hateful, defiling, selfish words that fall from my lips do not make me grown.
They set me back and bind me in chains.
Because growing up is not saying these words.
Growing up is when you leave yourself behind. When you move away from everything you have known and felt and believed.
Growing up is seeing things you never thought possible before and regretting you didn’t see them sooner.
Growing up is when you are left no options and growth is your only choice.
Growing up is taking the experiences the cruel world throws on top of you, and making them something resembling a life.
Growing up is when you can see your friend on her knees. Crying “Please God Please. Don’t let him leave me!”
Growing up is when you see the scars. When you feel the pain behind each slice, each razor each wire.
Growing up is when you let her have him, for happiness. When you put yourself aside and just let things ride.
Growing up is when you go home and try not cry. When you will the tears not to spill and the hand not to wander to the scissors. When you live not to disappoint. When you live to save others not yourself.
Growing up is opening your ears to the cries that ring out year by year. When you recognize the pain in a mother’s eyes as she struggles to provide for her children, who go around school acting like their high and mighty while little brothers and sisters wait to be fed and they struggle to conceal what is really within their minds.
Growing up is when you look around you and swallow your tongue. Because you realize that sometimes the only escape is the act they put on for the crowd. When you realize that the words will destroy the image that sticks in their minds for a little while, the image of a happiness that does not exist.
Growing up is when you see the decision before you, and you think. When you consider the consequences before you act and you desperately try to find a way to stop the wrongs before they occur and blow up yet more lives.
Growing up is not learning the words that every high-schooler is supposed to say.Growing up is not rolling your eyes at every opportunity that arises. Growing up is knowing what is going on, and putting yourself aside.Or at least it has been for me.

UGH

ugh. ugh ugh ugh. UGH UGH UGH UGHUGHUGHGUGHUGH UGH!!!! What has gone wrong with this world?
Why was everything so seemingly perfect, and then...BAM.

So, laying it all on the table, something I have been having trouble with lately. I am worried.
Scary worried.
I have no idea what to do.
My friends are hurting or I can see the hurt coming.
What can I do?
What can I do?
I want to help them so much, but I have no idea where to start.

Cutting. I hate that word. It has affected so many of my friends, and not in a good way. No, that would be lying. It hasnt affected them, it has been their means of escape.

I hate to see them hurting and not know how to help.
I think I will be a psychiatrist. Being able to help other people. That is where I belong.

But, how can I help them when I am so messed up myself?

That is the way it goes.

Writing has always been my safe haven. The thing that grounds me, drives, and secures me to and on this earth. What can I say? My talent is average at best. I try, I fail. The momentum and the addiction are up, I can not stop. I will never stop. But, average at best is unsettling when you love something so much.
.....

High School is so fake. These girls, I see them prick and pry at each other. Looking for blood and many times finding it. Meaningless, all of it. They strike, We strike. Cycles and Cycles of hurt, anger, blood lust.

Gone with the Wind

Dead Silence
Rings in your ears
Telling stories
Of the way things have changed
Where is the energy
Of the days past
That held us together
One body
Different souls
Blown away in the wind
Something so solid
Gone