best friend

Thank you sweet pea, for believing in me, when I didn't believe in myself. I love you because you're legit pretty, actually beautiful- from the outside, duh, but your inside- diamonds and honey and dragons and fire and clouds and sugar and spice and everything nice.

shutup, you make no sense

Okay so, after reading a few more of you, I've realized that there is a line.
A fine, thin, delicate line between being just utter pretentious crap and being true, honest and feel-y.
So heres to staying on the right side.
If I wander off into no man's or- loser man's land, just let me know in the comments please.

bLack rOsEs

I want to write. And I want to write well. And I see so many people write and I think- I can do this. Yeah- dude, I can totally do this.
But really, can I?
I suppose in my heart of hearts, I know that they were all misguided.
I really am average.
Can I learn to be great? I want to be great. But really, can greatness be learnt?
That is, ze question.
You can change your personality, the very core of what it means to be you.
But how do I change naturally? By having an adventure.
But there are no adventures in my state.
There is just mild depression, suicidal thoughts and the heavy black fear of being judged and stabbed.

forever is over

Me and you, we can fit, if only you'd stop growing.
Because my puzzle piece remains uniform while yours is stretching.
Its healthy to grow I suppose, but what about our picturesque picture?
Remember the time we stole the whole day? And nobody knows it, we took it away.
You know there's nothing you could say, that would embarrass me.
I'll never forget how it feels to be young.
If you're reading this, hi. Don't talk to me about it.
I want to own the night again.

for you, my love.

I want to sit in the huge grounds of carefree and co. and talk with you about nothing and everything. We can point at the good looking dudes sitting across from us and daydream, or we can stare up at the clouds rolling by and play the guessing game.
We can hold hands, and laugh till our stomachs hurt and then we can cry about the sadness. But just for a minute. Because we have so much to do and so much to love.
You can braid my hair while I give you my opinions, even though you know what I'm going to say, and even though I don't really care for braids. And then you can point out why it wont work and I can roll my eyes.
We can sing high and sing low and make videos about our awkwardness all day long.
And then we can dream about being together, being free.

Bananas

The winds of change are blowing, sluggishly.
Or maybe its me that's so horribly sluggish.

I'm fine with staying in bed- the whole day. And people are worried.
I don't get it.
But I sort of do.
Okay.

Heres a collection of sad post break up shit that I've written in the past few months.

He promised.
He lied.

She laughed.
She cried.

He played.
With her.

She accepted,
And hurt.




xxx






Sometimes, like right now, they're sitting and talking and laughing.
I laugh along- but then a memory, small but powerful wriggles in and intense sadness threatens to drown.
I miss laughing with you, at you, at me, together.




xxx




I brush away my tears and pick up the knife lying
beside me.
The blade is sharp and could easily slice through
flesh. 
I use it to slice a cucumber. 
The irony of mutilating a phallic symbol is not lost on me, nope.
The perfectly round circles are a bright green colour. 
I place two on either eye. They will help with the swelling, and ease away the bloodshot redness.
 Lying back on the soft leather couch, I once and for all make up my mind. 
No more.
No more crying. 
No more aching. 
No more hurt.
 No more hoping or yearning or rejection. 
No more heartache and no more painful devastation. 
There shall be none of that, anymore. 
No more.




xxx




There are no tears.
There haven't been for a ling time now.
There is a desert and it is barren, like all Good Deserts are.




xxx




Me.