Snap

"You're so thin, you look like you'd just snap," they say to me. But what these devastatingly arrogant souls don't understand is that I already have. I snapped at the moment I had to swallow my dignity, and choke back the tears. Their words snapped my legs and society snapped my neck. Now I just dangle here like a broken doll. I snapped the day I looked into his eyes and knew that he would never love me. I snapped when my heart was broken by the biggest player of them all; life. I snapped when I was eight years old and had been abruptly uprooted from the only thing I'd ever known. I fucking snapped the moment I realized that I had stopped loving myself, and just stopped loving all together. Maybe that's why I grew up so fast. Because everything I'd ever believed in just crumbled in the wind and I had been left to pick up the pieces. I have had my happy weeks, but this isn't one of them. I sure hope that the next time I'm told to stand with my legs together, that I hear applause. Because that's all I seem to be. A circus show freak. I hope that you're surely amused with the space between my thighs and I hope you find it funny that my hipbones jut out. I didn't choose this body and trust me if I had I would have made a much better choice. I wouldn't have chose to live my life out in a body that looks like it could snap. I didn't choose the comments about my weight or the words about my legs. I wonder if they know that every time I look in a mirror, I hear their voices calling my "anorexic", "too thin", and "fragile." Their voices haunt me. I hope one day, when I leave, my words will haunt them too.

I'm Just Alone Again

I think the worst part is that I let myself feel vulnerable. I let my heart feel exposed and I let its contents splay across the floor. I let my blood pump faster and my pulse quicken. I let myself go. I let someone in for just a little bit and I regret every second. Because look where I am now. I've got nothing left. I'm laying here exposed in the corner shivering and wishing I'd just kept my eyes on the floor. Wishing I'd kept the door to my heart locked. Every single day I look at him and just wish that I'd even have a chance. But then I remember; nobody wants me. That's why I'm standing on my own. I'm not the kind of pretty that people fall in love with. No matter how many times you call me beautiful, at the end of the day I'll still be alone and crying into my pillow case. The pain will come back swinging with full force and I'll be reminded why he didn't want me. Why he never will.

Twisted Thoughts

These days as the leaves begin falling, I'm starting to become stuck. Stuck between who I should be, who I am, and who I want to be. I can't look in a mirror anymore, without a chorus of malicious voices reminding me of my every flaw. My yearning to leave this place has grown to a level where it's almost unbearable. Because I was right. Now I'm stuck in a school with the same type of people I grew up with. I have no hope. In the hallway a cursory glance can turn into a longing stare. But I stared too long, and you saw the way my eyes lit up. You saw every vulnerability, every ounce of the person I've been trying so hard to conceal. I can't wait for the day that the world stops revolving around Homecoming and football games. Because lonely people need to breathe too and lately I've been suffocating. There's no air between the state of numbness and the state of freedom, yet I'm trapped exactly in the middle. But they don't get it, neither do you. How can we be on the "same boat", if we're not even sailing in the same sea? Your very being emanates glory. And you still expect me to believe that we're even in the same league? I can't even teach myself how to love, and you're out there crying the tears of young romance. Just tell me, exactly, what makes us so similar? Because everyday I look at you and wish I could be the way you are. With your purposefully delivered sentences and eloquent tongue. You're beautiful in every sense of the word. I am nothing but an outspoken girl with eternally chipped nail polish and grasping for the definition of l o v e. Hope is a four letter word and I'm tired of cussing. I'm just tired, tired, tired of everyday wishing for reprieve. Wishing for something greater than myself. But I'm just a stargazer, while everyone else is walking on the moon.

It's a Full Moon in My Mind

All I could hear was our footsteps on the ground and the crickets serenading us with their now seemingly melancholy chirps. And the sniffles. The constant sniffles of the mourners with their black shawled eyelids and red-rimmed noses. Because death screwed us over. It overlapped us. It overlaps fear, it overlaps happiness. Death overlaps everything that has been or will be. Death turns us into the people we thought we'd never see again. Suddenly that quiet girl that nobody thought much of was the "most beautiful girl who was always kind to everyone, and deserved to live a happy life." Death gives its victims attention, a quiet type of fame. So maybe that's why some people cop out early; to get the attention they could never receive if living.
So perhaps that's why I haven't abandoned the ship yet. Because although I fear no one will care, I know everybody will, and they'll care far too much. People who I've said maybe one word to my entire life will suddenly be giving speeches about my great personality and my stunning soul. The girl who trash mouthed me the other day would claim that she wanted me back and wished that I'd stayed so that we could grow closer. I would rather go unremembered than have people I don't even know pretend as though they care. Pretend that they knew who I was, and how I felt, and what I thought. Because nobody really knows me. Sure my friends know a big part of me, but only the part that I let them see. Nobody has seen the dark side of my moon. Nobody should even dare to go to such a godforsaken place, because they'd come out with something plaguing them that's worse than death. They'd come out of my darkness knowing all the thoughts that swirl in my head. And I would never wish that dreadful fate upon anybody.

Star-Crossed Mourner

If you asked me why I'm sad, I'd ask you why I shouldn't be. Then I'd go on to explain that sad isn't really correct terminology. I'm more of unsad, yet still unhappy. Because I don't know who I am. All I know is that I never seem to get it right. I can never seem to please you. And I think that no matter how hard I try, this feeling will never go away. Actually more like unfeeling. Because I would give anything for my heart to beat again. Feel again. For my lungs to chug and chug, sending the dust flying. I'd give anything to be whole again. I'm that fucking jigsaw with the mysteriously missing piece. The puzzle that no one ever bothered to finish. I'm a mess. My completing part got sucked up in the vacuum or is hidden between couch cushions. But no one cares enough to find it. I'm nothing. I am a cold shoulder that turned into a snowy mountain top. A goodbye licked by frost. The last "I love you," frozen over. I'm unsad, yet still unhappy. But don't worry, no one will ever ask me why I'm sad, so I'll never have to tell.

Weeds

I let myself go. And now look what I've done. I let my heart beat and I let myself fall and now I've reached the bottom and I've shattered. There was no one there to catch me. I felt stupid, utterly so because I actually convinced myself that I'd have a chance this time. But who am I kidding? There's always going to be someone prettier. Someone kinder. Someone more charming. Someone better. Someone who could give him more reasons to love them, than I ever could. I felt the noose loosen, giving me a little space to breathe. To get my heart functioning again. I tried to let myself and my love go, but in the end, the voices will always grow too loud. So loud that nothing can be heard not my tears or my screams. I feel the callouses growing on my heart. Preventing it from feeling anything at all. Because all that boys seem to want is the easy girl. Not the complicated girl who cries herself to sleep and paints feelings into words. The one who has shed too many tears. The one who just wants to be loved so desperately. No. Not the girl who plays with her hair and bites her lip and clenches her fists when she gets too anxious. They will never love me because they will always have a better option. People say that they're just a dandelion while others are roses. Some people say that it's better to be a dandelion. It's not. Because I am one and nobody wants a fucking dandelion. Nobody gives a stupid weed to their lover. Nobody wants me. Maybe it's good to have those thorns, that gives people something to fight for. Me, I'm just open for the taking. But, people bring home bouquets of roses not little, ugly, yellow, worthless dandelions. No matter how many crowns are made out of us, they are always discarded. No matter how beautiful people make us out to be, we always wilt in the end. But now I'm turning gray. My yellow is fading and I'm dying. I've become a shell of my former self. Maybe one day I will make a child's wish come true. And when I make theirs come true, they'll grant my wish. They'll blow me away, sending me far from here. They'll huff and puff until I've become utter nothingness.

Neon Tears

Tonight was a night of blurred faces and strobe lights. The curves of bodies all becoming the same. And standing there, as the bass thumped in my chest and the lights flashed on my face, I couldn't help but feel out of place. There I am, in a sea of faces and a hoard of bodies, but I can't help but feel totally alone. I can't help but wonder how many people feel the same. Because if this is all there is to it, I'm done for. I can barely imagine next week passing, let alone another four years with these people. As I stood there and watched a boy who was standing all alone looking at the clock, waiting for the whole ordeal to be over, my eyes welled with tears. Because I know that he will be looking at that clock for a lot longer than the duration of one dance. He'll be waiting for these years to pass, glancing at the analog on the wall patiently. I know not all of them are like this, maybe their good inside. But we sure aren't the wonderful people we make ourselves out to be. You're not different. In the grand scheme of things you're all unconditionally the same. But like I said, I always get my hopes up. This time I thought, maybe just maybe, I wouldn't be disappointed. Boy, was I wrong.

Coke and Rum

I think I need to fall in love. Because I'm scared that if I don't, my old, rusty heart will crumble. That I'll stop feeling all together. Because the noose is now too tight and I don't think that I'll survive much longer. Or maybe my heart won't crumble, maybe it'll get an upgrade. I'll become a robot. Where feeling is an option but love isn't. Maybe my ideas of romance are a bit far fetched. Because I just want someone who genuinely likes me and I'm not sure that's possible nowadays. I'm not sure what there is to love, besides a shell of myself, but I want someone who can learn to love that. I want someone who can learn to love my dark, twisted mind and my shallow words. Who can learn to love my sad, longing eyes and my selfless touch. I know I'm not anything great, I know I'm not special. I'm not a diamond, not even in the rough. I've tried to fix my heart, but every time I pick up a piece I earn a new scar. I tried so hard, but I ended up with bloody hands and tears rolling down my cheeks. I ended up mending my heart only to have it shatter again. I'm terrified to fall in love because I have always been responsible for breaking my own heart. I'm scared to give that responsibility to someone else. No, I've never felt that kind of love. That electricity or heat in ones touch. I crave it so badly, like an alcoholic craves liquor. But I never even got a fucking taste.