black sheep.

and not the kind that soothes you to sleep.

shitdamn. i am that angsty person. who felt like a lesbian because she asked a girl to qdoba and called someone that she didn't know well enough beautiful. who ate a burrito alone and then played some chopin after her steady chocolate heart sugar-buzz wore off on the closing of another valentine's day that really just needed to be over. because she broke up with her boyfriend two weeks before. yup. feelin sorry for myself. who a few nights before burst of self pity into spurratic tears and researched mood disorders. who needs her sister, but her sister is too busy with her boyfriend and important life to check if she is feeling better. im not, by the way. mostly lonely. realizing that no one is really in these shoes... i really wish i could explain it to you. i do. but i cant. and even that sounds angsty. but when i feel so alone who am i supposed to go to if the people that i want to cant understand? get over it. move on. push it down. i fucking cant okay? and its not about a goddamn boy. i am just the sarcastic instigator. not the lonely, hurt one. hurting. i am not my problems, but sometimes it feels like it. so i listen to bach as a i sit in my bed because i couldnt go to class today. because i couldnt care enough to walk over, to present myself. cancel all my appointments that ever happened. i am done. i want to write music. instead i have to write a fucking bibliography. leave me falling.

that illusion of middle ground.

i'll never do you wrong

no harm

i don't want this to be a stressful thing

its always the same.

another person takes up mental space

they or you grow tired

it ends

and they leave a dent

makes my brain smaller, its tiring really.

so i read my books,

and try to discover the reason i get up in the morning,

or who i am right before i wake up

or something

the list continues.

goodbye my almost lover

goodbye my almost friend

as another year rests on the pinnacle,

waiting to fall,

i reconsider what i knew

relish what i have

cry at what i hate about myself and the world

and smile at the love i see around me

my heart is doing that twisting thing again,

squeezing the eyedrops out of my eyes

this time not in front of

an audience,

but in the silence of the night in a house that doesn't feel like home tonight,

as i face realities i am putting off until the

next day, and the next

simplicity, dictation--where did you go?

assurance, conviction,

caught in my throat

we knew

we all knew

before it even began

as always

not meant to last

to flourish

to remain captivating for life

but that love lives on

but i wait in its ashes, caught in a storm of dust

i am so happy that you're happy

now i have a standard which to live by

my sisters i anguish in the days i have lost

live on a thread, because another hand will surely catch you if you find yourself falling

ignore me

i speak nonsense that only resonates in my own ears

epic of the Atlantic.

my brother and my sister don't speak to me; but i don't blame them.

as the grandfather descends into the faded, uncontrollable angles of his mind,

the granddaughter hums to the ocean.

winded, dark, dangerous--and the most comforting thing to be seen in a long time.

time swirls like paddled water, and the life circling around her finger freezes just long enough to catch her breath and hold onto the railing so as to not slip in the ocean, the same descent, the same loss. to be insane is to be dead.

where the snow falls, the man waits. for an answer; a whisper across the Atlantic. you cannot hear the flakes hit the ground, the sidewalk is too wet. no danger between the cracks and across its vast stretches and parking lots. only wet.

if there were no warmth in my hands, i would catch the snowflakes and make it a tower just so i could watch it fall and blow over.

resting, the boat's engines cease their turning, and the granddaughter catches her eye's desire. stealing her breath, squeezing her heart, squandering every good and sensible notion she has ever had. that look changed her. for the "deep," worser. and for the shallow [experience makes better superiors], better.

do i claim my words to speak for the ocean?

well, no one has ever seen the wave. all the waves in the ocean equate to a life of breaths, a story to be told, a narrative to be respected.

and all these words from a basement. who will remember? who will discover? or will they sink into the floor and become soil on the material?

help me find my way cause i've been lost since you've been gone.

we question the passes.

to be fair, you've never had your traveled feet in my trendy shoes

and i have not in yours

but when the glass cracks, and the water breaks, the

pressure is off

wheels stop turning

they spin on their own accord, madly

until the world freezes

who drew the line?

canyons spread apart slowly with time

waters carving out their ways at a malicious pace, slow but steady {wins the race}

i wait in its stones, underneath its rushing passes

aware of the storm

i became simple

because i let myself discover why

while you search i will wait with the waters

simple and cut

minimized to an issue

love for now.

the taste of someone new rests on my lips

as my heart twists into circles at the thought of every future, and

every moment to come

the beautiful, the

horrible

warm & cold

i fear my sense of true is flawed, and that i

prefer the ones with mug shots

but i cannot imagine a day without

so i will pursue the

together

until the next day

and the next

citrus.

the world turned orange, and the birds

sang kiri-kiri

my left hand wanted to be free of what it was holding

so i ran on to purple

till my stomach became a poisonous lining, and my body

shook till i burst into flame

the color orange took on my

skin