Just cranked this out. I feel better.

Fire used to dance between our lips
but now it spouts from your fingertips
holding my hand yet letting it go
not bothering to hide, with no emotions to show
you smell of rushed thought and haggard feelings
showing things that leave me reeling
in your eyes you show me how you saw us
a big tall you, and me, just out of touch
but did you reach? Did you fight?
Did you think of me when you slept at night?
Did I haunt you as you did me?
Did you ever see yourself upon one knee?
Or was that all your fantasy?

My hands itch to slap and my lips long to kiss
the love sick face I've learned to miss
When blood shot eyes became blood clad arms,
did you reach to save me from harm?
The answer is no, we both know that
you claimed it was more of an issue of “can't”
and I'd bow my head, comfortable with yielding
not seeing the steep slope down which I was heading
your murmurings used to comfort me
but now I'm beginning to see
we were living in a fantasy

I cannot hate you, because the fault is shared;
it's not a question of either of us having cared
A simple glance could show that it was true
You loved me, and I loved you
But we were both idealistic and stupid, you know.
I thought you'd change, and you let go
assuming that we'd ok with no work at all
regardless of when I would try to call
and tell you, bluntly, we needed to talk
“Not now love,” you'd say, “I need to take a walk.”
And I'd recede, as is my habit
Not raising a fuss for a fear of...well, this.
And now you've had your say, as I can see
Now there's you, and now there's me,
And I'm sick of living in a fantasy.

2:37 am 11-10-09

I wish I could be one of those people
who says they've looked into the eyes of the devil
and spat into them
But I am not.
I cowered and panicked
Where others before have risen up
I let myself stay beaten down.
I have taken responsibility for things not of my doing
I have lied.
To others, yes. But mostly myself.
The worst sin of all
For when all others leave you, who else do you have?
I became a slave of my depression
I am a slave of my depression
No longer.
These cuts on my flesh will be the last done by me
I will be empowered when power seems lost
I will be the master of my own destination
That thin piece of metal will not control me
I will not let it control me.
For I am a beautiful person with love worth sharing
And I will not stay in this darkness any longer.
I will remember that I did nothing to deserve what has happened to me
I WILL NOT LET IT CHANGE WHO I AM

2 entries, because I'm too lazy to load the posting screen twice.

1.: 8-26-09

My mother was practicing alcoholic until I was halfway to my 16th birthday. A damned fine job she did of it, too. I could count on my hands the number of times I kissed her good night through those years. Even less were the time I did but couldn't smell the vodka saturating her very being.
A lot changed that year. I got my first boyfriend in February; I got my brother back (then lost him again) after his escapade to jail beginning in November. My self destructive patterns sped up then slowed again. I lost weight then gained my loss plus more back. I learned what it feels like to lays in the arms of some you love and know they love you back.
--Unfinished.

2.: 8-31-09

Books have a way of overplaying a person's eyes, giving them descriptions only plausible in Japanese cartoons. For example, I for one have never met e person with steel gray eyes. I don't think they exist.
However, saying his were red would have been spot on. From far away, they could have easily been mistaken for brown. Close up, the color of autumn leaves that I would loved to jump into right then and there. Crimson around the pupil, bleeding into a forest green, Framed with the longest and thickest eyelashes I have ever seen on a man who was not wearing makeup, they were beautiful. He was also the only person I had ever seen whose eyes actually smiled. Books always seem to say that, too. Maybe that's just what happens when you fall in love with someone. You see things that no one else could; the ghost of a laugh on their lips, the way their body is always turned slightly towards you no matter what the setting, even the future gleam of gold on their ring finger.

Sort of unfinished, I guess. I doubt I'll go back to that.
Trying to keep up with my writing. Just most of it lately is all emo and has nothing to do with my book and it pisses me off.

6-23-09 "Religious Experience"

All of this
hate
and the only explanation
is that I don't deserve
love
15 years
operating
under that mindset
has the power to
make or
break a person
but I was broken from the beginning
then you came
and taught me
that just because it hadn't been proven
didn't mean it didn't exist
love
this
love
you showed me
make me feel for you
swam against the current of
hate
a difficult, painful process
old habits are hard to break
you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink
I'm sipping
love
I'm timid, left scared and battered from
hate
frightened, that as soon as I attempt to quench my thisrt
you'll leave and take your
love
with you. And I
hate
this mistrust I feel. I
hate
my part for leaving me so suspicious. But I
love
you for showing me the way.

7-29-09

I have a cockroach in a jar
And I love to watch him struggle
Trying to find his freedom
His wings extend but he won't get far

He squirms and runs and flips about
This glass prison confuses him
Almost depressing to watch his little legs
Yet I know I'll never let him out

Call me sociopathic
Call me fucking deranged
But there's something soothing to my soul
to watch something else be frantic

He'll slowly starve, asphyxiate
And I will watch in wonder
As I see something die like I have inside
As the hunger to see pain I satiate

A thought occurs as I watch him try
There's enough pain in the world without my contributing
This small bug had done nothing wrong
His life is something I have no right to deny

I had a cockroach in a jar
Yesterday I smiled as he flew away
I returned his freedom I had wrongfully stolen
And hoped his wings would take him far.

7-28-09

I've died, and no one knows
I lay in tatters, a pile of ruin
And everyone looks on
My mortal shell remains in tact
But me and my ka have been
corrupted, disrupted
by the environment and society I was born into
No longer does a neighbor lend a hand
Fences are erected to protect what is ours
No longer do we care about the world around us
The bitter beast of apathy has swallowed compassion and left darkness of hearts in its' wake.

No longer are we free, loving people.
We are chained by the ropes of hate and ignorance.

And so I've died.
Because the world moved on.
And I chose swim.


-Inspired in part by The Dark Tower series by Stephen King, and Weeds.

5-27-09 I plan on reading the final version of this at the summer coffee shop.

thoughts
thoughts nagging
tugging pulling stretching
pinching at my brain
for its' undivided attention
telling me to look back
back
back
to before
wand what is was like then
before
before lighting struck the world in two
and released the evils that had been
repressed
oppressed
this repression of depression
when released, brings you to
your knees
shaking knocking knees
something has pulled the rug out
from underneath you now skinned
feet
feet
feet away from what you know to be the truth
you can taste it
so different from the taste of lies
metallic
rusty
pristine beautiful glass lies
force fed, spoon fed lies
but you know
no, you don't know
it knows
the small voice in the your head
that diagnoses these truths as lies
that lies
dormant
cozy
in the back of your skull
until your conscience calls upon it
for it's professional opinion
opinions
gossiping opinions
spread
like wildfire
spread
like warm butter
over your unsuspecting
blissfully ignorant
"truths"
opinions
which introduce the acidic seed
of doubt
which burns through your white picket fence
fantasies
and reveals the
horrible
beautiful
truth