I don’t know why,

find myself,

Savoring, the way, 

The taste, 

The grace of your


Just, seven(lovely) letters.

I hope I don’t stay this way long. 

It’s a horrible cycle. One that tires quickly.

Stuck, on a man who

spoke so many sweet words.

Poison, with a honey aftertaste. 

Stuck, on a man

Who left me for 


Pubescent Drama Queen: Lost. For the Most Part


I’m tired of..

So many things.

Crying over a man who left me broken, & lost.

Having panic attacks over leaving high school, leaving all that I’ve known.

Becoming lost.

Or being. Is that right? Oh, fiddlesticks! I don’t know.


In a murky mind bog,

A wounded heart,

A shattered…

An Epitaph


When I die, for it will happen

Let my stone speak of the love, sunshine, beauty & happiness of life.

Let no one remember my sins, betrayals, mistakes, & flaws.

"Forget what happened, & live the day."

If only it were that simple.



I used to be somebody to someone. 

Not anymore.

I guess I was just passing through.

Pubescent Drama Queen: Sweater Weather


You stole my sweater darling,

My marching band one.

I didn’t mind.

"Trombone"emblazoned on your back;

The world would know that you were mine. At least,

That’s what I thought.

You wore it when you worked out, & gave it back to me last fall.

& it still hurts.

I got it back, & your smell…


I’m tired. Of feeling so unlike myself. I was a quirky teen who didn’t care about anything or anyone’s opinion. Now I find myself trying to be the norm. Trying to be less than ordinary. I’m tired of it though. I’m tired of being miserable, of going through the motions, f only enjoying small moments for what they are, I’m just damned tired. So I thought, and I wondered, what the faaaaaaaaaaaack do I do? First thought that came to mind : KILL YOURSELF.

I won’t, because the next thought was even better! “Change.” Because I’ve been in the same pattern for what feels like a hundred years. Sometimes I summon enough courage to do something extraordinary. But I always go back. To my fake face, my fake life, & when shit hits the fan in my fake life, I run & make a new one. Not this time though. I’m losing so much, I can’t afford to lose anymore. So in a way, this is a promise to you, darling, disgusting society. Well, a promise to everything & everyone.

I don’t fucking care & I never will again.

Sure, I’ll have moments when I will start to care, but I won’t fall into this again. Never again. I’m changing; for myself; for him; for her; for the darling little booger. For me. 

Fuck you world. I’m going to go crap all over your face.

Fuck what am I, suppose to be impressed?

Really? I expected better from you. Shit, maybe I expected too much from you. But having you treat me like dirt? Honestly, I know I give you shit for treating her like she’s a second-hand toy, & you don’t like it. Because, really, who the fuck am I to judge you & your decisions? I’m no one.   But the fact that you’re treating me like shit proves that my opinion matters to you. I know you’re waiting for me to snap so you have a legitimate reason to talk shit to me. Here’s the thing though. I think you’ve forgotten, all the shit you have on me is nothing, not so heart-breaking, not so humiliating as the shit I have on you. However, I know for a fact that we’re both too nice to do that. You’re acting like the world’s biggest prick, & yes you have valid reasons, but you’re still my brother. Closer than blood. So I’ll put up with it. But you know my line far better than anyone else. Don’t push me over; It won’t be pleasant for the either of us. 

Here’s an interesting thought. Maybe you treat me this way because my actions show you how much I disapprove. It reminds you of all the little things your mind whispers to you. “I’m a fuck up. I don’t deserve them. I am a failure.” I say this so I can let you in on a filthy secret. I know because that’s what haunts my conscious being every day. We’re too alike to ever leave each other’s lives. 

So by all means, keep treating my very existence as a great insult to your self. I’ll be waiting for your apology. I know you’ll apologize, because I know you almost better than I know myself. Just how you know me.