I can already tell that this is going to wear me out... I want to help you but it's draining me. You've set on me but you are not the sun, and you will not listen. I wish I had fallen asleep in your arms, but who am I to ask you of anything? I'm following you with eyes wide open, trying to hold you up before you fall apart. Preventative measures. You say it comes and goes, but for me the feeling of loneliness stays. It's so hot and heavy, thick air caught in my throat, the solitude almost makes me choke. Everything seems frozen, time has stopped yet my eyes still gloss over. I am alone, even broken out of contact with time. This unending feeling and all I want is someone to share it with. What does it mean to be alone, together? It's you that I wish to fall asleep to.

She lay in an over abundance of blankets, a tiny, warm center of her universe, the nucleus of her thoughts and dreams, this was what she had burrowed herself into. Rich purples and pinks, soft comforters and scattered pillows, she sunk so deeply into the bed she almost disappeared. But he did not disappear, no. He giggled in the back of her head and stayed imprinted on her heart. He was the peanut butter she kept tonguing, stuck at the roof of her mouth. He was the feeling that reached all the way to the tips of her body, the tingling she got in her elbows. He was the way the waves can never leave the sand, he pulled her strings the way the moon makes music with the sea. He had a specific smile and a way with words, the image of him with his glasses on would cause her head to wander off in a daze. He was the constant reason for her biting her bottom lip and clenching her muscles. All he has to do is ask and she will fling herself into his arms.
There was one night she forced her banner into the relentless earth and took a stand. She said "no... another time," pretending it was due to self respect, she hid the fact that she really just felt ugly and worthless. In that moment she knew what she was worth and it wasn't his time. To him, she was nothing more than a body to caress and a soul to entice. His gentle kisses were laced with something sickly, and the words that he whispered were always too sweet, syruped. She wanted to be worth more so she turned him down. Maybe if she did, maybe if she took control and made it clear she didn't want the moments they stole from the moon to be meaningless, maybe then he'd want her as more than just a body. Maybe then he'd want her as she wanted him. So that one night, she decided to postpone even the littlest kiss. (God, she missed the way he'd smirk when they pulled apart to take a breath and stare off into each others' eyes. He always knew what she was thinking, often before she even did.)

She never stopped regretting saying no to the boy she may have...

Something I rarely ever say...

I think I deserve better. Hell, I know I deserve better. I'm sick of everyone treating me like shit. Or not even, people don't necessarily treat me badly, they're not outwardly mean to me. But I can genuinely say that no one really respects me or is very considerate about my feelings. And you know what, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of my roommate turning on the light when I'm already in bed, and then climbing into bed herself, so I have to climb out and turn it off. I'm sick of the people who go to get a meal with me, then eat before my omelette is ready and leave so I have to eat alone. I'm sick of the supposed friends that promise to always be there for me, but never make any kind of effort, never even bother to return my text message. I'm sick of feeling worthless because that's how I feel treated. Like I'm not worth the effort. But you know what, I am worth the effort! So I'm not going to make an effort to be in anyone's life if they're not going to make an effort to be in mine. And if you're nasty to me, if you boss me around, I'm just going to point it out. I won't necessarily even bitch to you, unless you make me. I'll just straight up tell you how it is. I'm taking control. Me. Because I'm sick of everyone else taking advantage of how nice I am and then fucking me over when I need a friend. I'm sick of relying on people for any of that shit. I deserve so much more. So much more. And I will prove the world that I'm better than this. I'm better than this.

I hope the next girl that you kiss has something terrible contagious on her lips.

This is my double entendre. A way of saying I both love and hate you, my head is hot and clouded, a lone ship caught in your reckless tempest (or am I the eye of the storm?). I am the way you slowly shut your eyes right before you fall asleep. I like the stories that slither out of your lips, escaping your grip and enticing me, an albatross hung swift around my neck. Do you ever think that there could be something left? (between) (us). Fuck this and you. This is my way of saying that you're the worst thing that ever happened to me, the plague that struck me heart and brought me to my knees. I want to be the next girl to kiss you, for I have something terribly contagious on my lips. It was once the way I said your name, but it has since changed to a series of tethered necks trying to fight back screams about you. Oh the lashes and the ways I'd hurt you, if only I knew how. I want to be the next girl that you kiss, for I want you to like me, somehow.

I love the way you breathe (with me)

I want an excuse to talk to you. I just really want to get to know you. In a way that I haven't ever really felt before. There's something about you that I'm drawn to. You seem very stable. Maybe that's it. I feel safe around you. And I want to spend as much time with you as possible. Am I being crazy? I want nothing more than to fall asleep next to you, again, in your arms, again, feel your lips, again. God, I loved the way you kissed me. There was something so delicate about it. It made me feel special. I love the way you breathe (with me).

Therein lay the fault of which I could not bring myself to say. My heart, it thumped like the rhythm of tears I left at bay. There you stood, just moments before the ground overtook the body I so badly longed to see. Swallowed by what was left of your words, the ones my lips pursed to hold back, I picked it up and flung it into the sea. A tiny flint, calloused and hard, with little bits that caught the light, like the high shining building I once met you on, those years ago. And with the wave of my arm, the picture of drowning, you sank beneath the muddied waves, an intoxicating tempest of inky indigo. Arms in the air, the thin line between waving and drowning, I estimated the seconds until impact, within moments my feet found themselves far above my head. My body stretched out, an acrobat lurching through the waves, greenish-blue skin, one might declare me dead. Hands relaxed and fingers elongated, any pebbles once held, now just tiny hearts sinking in a daze. I let my rock fall long before it left my fingers, for you were nothing but phase. 

Drowning, not waving.

(But I wanted you to think I was) leave you with a solid memory (of me). Waving, smiling, ecstatic. When really I'm (ataxic) drowning in my own fears and swallowed voice, my lack of ability to tell you (this is how I really feel). All I will ever be (to you) is waving. (No no no.) Drowning.

I let myself fall for a boy, and now I don't know what to do. Twice I fell asleep in his arms, two nights we snuggled together, two mornings I woke up to his blue eyes. His constant giggle and the fact that he kissed me everywhere. On the shoulders, on my forehead, on my lips and hips and cheeks. Now I just feel tired. Maybe I haven't slept well since I've slept alone. Some men die under the mountain just looking for gold, some die looking for a hand to hold. Is that what I'm looking for? I'm constantly distracted. Yes, I'm still sick and it's hard to focus when it hurts to breathe/swallow/cough/exist, but I'm distracted by something else too. A feeling in my gut. The causation of my corruption of goosebumps covering my skin. I close my eyes and feel cold and lonely and I can't help but want his presence, agin. Clearly, I am hopeless in all the wrong ways. All the ways you don't want to be if you don't want to get hurt. Maybe I need to build myself back up. Go back to the ignorance of mindless sex. The perfect prescription for my unwanted attachment to the boy I fell for. The way I fell for you. And to think of the words I wrote of you. Almost praising, somewhat cautious but mostly too busy being caught up in you. I like the way you breathe (with me). With me. The way you breathe with me. It was as though our breaths were tangled together as one, cold feet in between warm feet. Again, I am covered in goosebumps. And where are you?
And where are you?

God, I am so in your head, take me, take me, back to your bed. High and honey and sick again but figuring shit out. I probably will transfer, from the look of things. But for now I'm just fucking shit up and hoping for the best. Underneath the covers. I want someone to wear me out in all the best ways. Someone. Me. I want my long fingers grasping the air along with your voice. Can you feel me now? Feel me up and down. Feel the same as me. We are not alone. You will never be alone. I'm in your head.

Today I realized something... I never really write about my parents' divorce. I think it's a wall, it's clearly a Brick wall that I keep up. What happens when it comes down? There's some quote I've seen float around about how the more you see of someone, the more vulnerable they are, in all the little moments that no one else sees or notices, the more you love them. Would opening up be the catalyst I need? Some form of creative catharsis?
I read this short story, "In Dreams Begin Responsibilities" by Delmore Schwartz... In it the narrator goes to a silent film and ends up watching his parents' courting each other. He knows what a terrible thing their marriage will be and that they will produce monsters and yells at the film and tries to change the past, tries to prevent the relationship to happen, even if it means that he is never born...

I dunno what I'm saying. Maybe one day I'll figure it out and be able to actually articulate what I'm trying to say..

Gossamer (edited sestina)

I edited my sestina and even gave it a title, "Gossamer". Feel free to comment with any thoughts on the changes and such...

“Gossamer”

A sudden, loss of her frozen, fractured breath A

glistening, as he hands her a rose-gold locket B

underneath the autumn's cool, crisp moon. C

She grows a spine D

and kisses his cheek, somehow managing not to choke E

on the excuse she makes up. F

She stands tall, perfectly powdered with make-up, F

her milky dress rippling behind her as she slaves away to keep her breath, A

saying those two simple words by swallowing the choke. E

And the deed is done, they've written it in the stars, locked it. B

Palms out and arms open, "there's no more need for a spine!" D

she cries, as she tosses it away, the only witness being the moon. C

A whisper from the moon C

as she makes up F

her spine D

he breathes a rigid breath A

rips the locket B

right off her throat, almost causing her to choke. E

Hands wrapped around her throat, he squeezes hard with intent to choke. E

In the light of the wolf's yellow moon C

he ties her up and hopes to lock it B

away for it always runs too soon. He makes up F

an excuse to excuse his heavy breath A

but instead only rips holes in her wispy spine D

She stands up straight, straight up and grows a spine. D

Her spine that shines and makes him choke E

on the way he taught himself to keep his breath. A

It doesn't work for he knows that the moon C

is on her side to help her make up F

the life she's losing as he tries to lock it. B

The judge said she had to give back the locket. B

She wanted to keep it, something in her spine D

told her that it was better than making up her face with make-up. F

Frigid. The judge's words made her choke E

and watching her as the judge spoke, the moon C

tried to give her back some breath. A

But the breath was tied to the locket. AB

And the moon couldn't stop the cobwebs from littering her spine. CD

He'd choke her till her eyes were dry of make-up. EF

ooh, baby, baby, it's a wild world

I am lost and confused. I don't know what to do with myself, who to go to. I just don't know. I miss my home and my friends from home. I always thought I felt out of place before, but now I realize just how out of place I am. Just how much I don't fit in. I just don't work here. I am the extra, unnecessary cog in this machine. I just want someone to come close enough to me that we can work together and create something. I just want to create something beautiful.
I want to be a muse.

really i just want a friend.

I feel like I try so hard to be a good friend and... Nothing. Today my roommate got into a fight with her boyfriend, so I went out and bought her candy and ice cream to surprise her with and make her feel better. And while she appreciated the gift, my reaching out to her did not bring us any bit closer. I feel so alone all the time. I feel like so many people at least get along with their roommate. My roommate and I hardly ever talk. And then everyone thinks that I had it easy making friends out here because one of my friends from high school is a sophomore out here. Well guess what! I honestly doubt she gives two fucks about me. There's all this stuff I wanted to talk to her about, to just have someone to confide in, but she's never there for me. I've been trying to see her so I could let her know that I'm considering transferring. I've been trying to do this for almost two weeks now. I'm always asking people to hang out and no one's ever asking me. I'm just sick of no one caring. I feel so fucking useless all the time. Everything seems so pointless. Am I pointless? Obviously. Since I have no friends and do not positively affect anyone's life at all. I feel like such an absolute failure. Right now I'm going absolutely no where. I don't feel intellectually challenged or inspired. I'm not making friends or growing as a person. I'm fucking sitting in my dorm room alone every night. I'm trying to make friends only to find myself still alone! I'm making friends with books. This is like middle school and high school all over again. This is so reminiscent of my parents' divorce when all I had was books.
Books are great. But I really just want a friend.

I want a friend.

ache

first glance. blonde hair. curly, messy, unruly. tired green eyes. exhausted, sometimes sad, weary. pursed lips. throat constantly swallowing. chin tilted down, gaze glued to the floor. arms hugging own body, stomach in a curl, breathing inconsistent. first glance, maybe shy. relatively normal.
second glance. bubbly, bouncing blonde hair. bright green eyes. beaming smile. boisterous laugh. arms hugging other people. second glance, loud and joyous. relatively normal.
what you don't see. me alone every night. wet eyes that get brighter with each tear drop. shaky hands, quivering heart. always a second thought. trying to reach out to others and never receiving a reply. me trying to take deep breaths to calm down. trying to trying to trying to think of something to do with myself.
me. alone. always. craving a hug or someone else's arms. but here i am closing my eyes as tight as possible, praying the tears don't come. sometimes i fool myself into thinking that people actually care. that i actually have friends. that every once and a while i do wander across someone's mind. but here i am. alone, alone, alone. always begging you to hang out and be my friend and you don't ever think of me. am i invisible? there's an ache in the center of my body, a darkness slowly spreading out, i am drifting away. i wish you cared, but i know you don't.



so instead of seeking your friendship, tonight i'll hide inside a book. also, fuck you.

sestina

A - breath

B - lock it/locket

C - moon

D - spine

E - choke

F - makes up/make-up

A sudden, loss of her frozen, frigid breath A

glistening, as he hands her a rose-gold locket B

underneath the autumn's cool, crisp moon. C

She grows a spine D

and kisses his cheek, somehow managing not to choke E

on the excuse she makes up. F

She stands tall, perfectly powdered with make-up, F

her snowy dress rippling behind her as she slaves away to keep her breath, A

saying those two simple words by swallowing the choke. E

And the deed is done, they've written it in the stars, locked it. B

"There's no more need for a spine," D

she cries, as she tosses it away, the only witness being the moon. C

A whisper from the moon C

as she makes up F

her spine D

he breathes a rigid breath A

rips the locket B

right off her throat, almost causing her to choke. E

Hands wrapped around her throat, he squeezes hard with intent to choke. E

In the light of the wolf's yellow moon C

he ties her up and hopes to lock it B

away for it always runs too soon. He makes up F

an excuse to excuse his heavy breath A

but instead only rips holes in her gossamer spine D

She stands up straight, straight up and grows a spine. D

Her spine that shines and makes him choke E

on the way he taught himself to keep his breath. A

It doesn't work for he knows that the moon C

is on her side to help her make up F

the life she's losing as he tries to lock it. B

The judge said she had to give back the locket. B

She wanted to keep it, something in her spine D

told her that it was better than making up her face with make-up. F

The judge's words made her choke E

and watching her as the judge spoke, the moon C

tried to give her back some breath. A

But the breath was tied to the locket. AB

And the moon couldn't stop the creak in her spine. CD

He'd choke her till her eyes were dry of make-up. EF

blessed

I feel so lucky with so many of the people in my life. There's one girl in particular who has changed my life in ways that I'm sure she's never realized. Sometimes all you need in life is support, and I'm blessed with the support of a lovely girl who adores my writing. I don't know how I got so lucky. How many people have the support to continue doing what they love? That's how I feel. And I hope she realizes it. That every time she tells me she's read my blog and feels inspired, I FEEL INSPIRED. It's one of the things that genuinely keeps me writing. Feeling appreciated, feeling like my writing is appreciated. It makes me want to keep going. In fact it gives me the courage to. So thank you for fueling my fire, sweet tea, you know who you are.

am i under your skin yet?

eyes squeezed shut. tight. you and me and covers in-between. one arm, your arm, draped over me. another blanket to keep me warm. a book in my hands, your whispers in my ear. "come to bed," come to bed, come to bed. my heart pounding louder with each turn of a page. eyes darting back and forth and reading, trying to keep you out of my mind. engrossed in the layers of paper held so delicately between my fingertips. you, you who is coaxing me, trying trying to bring me to kiss you. sometimes i want to. but it's not me, it's not my job, it's not you. my job is to read and think and be. a heartbreaker. i am a heartbreaker, i am your heartbreaker. your tick tock. ticking clock. i am the wide-eyed owl as you try to sleep, i'm too busy with my nose in a book. sometimes i want to kiss your nose, eskimos, but mostly i'm too busy living that life out in books. it is there that i can open up and fall in love and have a heart. i close the book and my pounding heart seems to silence. can i only have a heart between the covers of a book? between the covers of your bed is not enough, will never be enough, to convince me to open my lips towards you. i left my heart in another's bed, in another's covers. now the closest i get to finding it is within these stories. if you kiss me, you'll be just another story. i know you love it when i grin. am i under your skin yet?

Count the number of ways your heart beats when pressed against mine

I'm terrified of getting close to people. I just can't let anyone in. I am a brick wall. I am Maggie the cat. I am the lost girl who is often simply pretending to be lost, sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Sometimes I'm too brutally honest. Is it self sabotage? To keep people away? To keep the wounds at bay? Never ever wear your heart on your sleeve. How to be a heartbreaker, lesson number three.
Am I under your skin yet?

Honestly not in the best place right now. Cat Stevens' Wild World is playing on repeat and I feel the need to paint my nails black, put on heavy layers of make up, and go kiss a bunch of boys. Kiss them and leave them wanting more. Because honestly, right now I'm wanting more. I'm still trying to catch up on the work I missed when I was in bed sick for four days. Plus, my lack of a sorority and genuine feeling of loneliness is really beginning to set in. Am I ever going to find a place where I feel like I belong?
Oh, baby, baby it's a wild world.