im so fucking tired
of other people making my decisions
of people deciding things for me.
of all this
whining
needy
its never my fault
bullshit.
im dont care anymore
because i have to mother you every single day
and im so
freaking tired of you
and your diplomatic
underhanded
dont think of other people but look like a martyr
ways.
im not happy with you.
will i ever tell you?
nope.

you don't love me like you used to do

hi remember me?
im the girl who's spent
three halves of forever
waiting waiting waiting for you.
and today was supposed to be that day.
and what did you do?
you forgot about me.
or worse,
you ignored me.
so i'm here
and it's raining inside and out.
because i wasn't important enough
have i ever been important enough?
has it ever matter at all to you?
enough to call?
to text?
to even drop a line so you're bailing on me and not just standing me up like some cunt faced ass licking cactus humping douche bag?
no.
the answer, evidently is
no

A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.  ~Charles Peguy

so, why don't you love me?

i admitt it, 

i sometimes think about our lives if we were together.

and i like how it looks in my mind.

and i even put in the fights.

so sue me

i like to sit in tims with my best friend

and smile at people.

so sue me.

i get angry easily,

i yell.

my heart breaks into a million pieces

i cry.

i feel too much always. nothing is half way. ever.

i hate you

 

 today, i painted my toenails flat pink.
they match the apology flowers you brought me.
this was not done on purpose.

you havent written back, and that breaks my heart.

i want to change my style. and who i am.

i often feel this way

but im finally doing something about it. 

watch for music videos feature little star and i! they'reacomin'! 

September 12th

There is an art to you and me.
You make promises, while I sit and wait.
Sound familiar dear?
It should, because it's happened so many times, I've lost count.

And today, I sat in the grass,
still wet and cold,
watching the planes take off.

One of them carries you away
into a world where I can only dream of.
Into a world I can barely touch.

I miss you.
I hate you.
I love you.

I'm back

I can't see why

everytime you fall
it's my job to catch.
When I fall
Where are you?

I'm seeing a pattern
as I shift through the ruins
of lovers past.

I want you to love me
when you're sober.
I want to be loved for
who I am, now how I make
you feel.

I can do the math
but math can't figure
what's in your heart, or mine.

Something inside me tells me
sober love is a different breed.
One who's contact has been limited.
One who I fear,
though loathe the alternative.

Which will win I wonder?
Fear or hate?
I can train the hate, the distaste from me.
But is that really

how it should be?

I'm a new soul- no.
No, I'm an old soul
with a new spirit.
I'm a young girl
I'm a small
to mid sized city girl
I'm a women with a left over lover history.
I've got big dreams
and I've got a heartbeat
so tell me why I stay here
in this state.
I'm an odd child, and I
have a strange sense of how to
live this life.

Pig Song - Margaret Atwood

This is what you changed me to
a greypink vegetable with slug

eyes, buttok

incarnate, speading like a slow turnip,

a skin you stuff so you may feed
in your turn, a stinking wart
of flesh, a large tuber
of blood which munches
and bloats. Very well then. Meanwhile

I have the sky, which is only half
caged, I have my weed corners,
I keep myself busy, singing
my song of roots and noses,

my sog of dung. Madame,
this song offendes you, these grunts
which you find oppressively sexual,
mistaking simple greed for lust.

I am yours. If you feed me garbage,
I will sing a song of garbage.
This is a hymn.

The burdick theater will always feel like home to me. The catwalks, the wings, backstage, basement. The musty smell mixing with the uncommon smell of cool air. The squeek of certain chairs, the movable walls

I watched your eyes
shift and sparkle and change
grean to grey to blue

with my words
and our stolen subtle touches.

Now I close my own and recall
the snowflake raindrops
dancing in time to our music,

resting finally, softly, on
your pink cheeks and my warm lips
before melting away

to something more pure.
Absorbed by our words.
I remember you lent me your gloves
though your hands shook as much as mine.

You smiled at me
and I smiled into my coffee.
You shifted green and closer, or must have,
because I could feel

the heat of your knee
through four layers of fake skin.

I know you are but what am I

1. Although you do not approve of my choices, and although I respect that, I appreciate you a) not talking about it in a rude manner and b) respecting me enough to let me make them, and not calling me [dumb bitch] over them. Good? Good.

2. I thought, when i saw you yesterday,






what did i think?
Not what happened, for certain.

As if seeing you wasn't enough of a shock.

Imagine my surprise to find that, like me, you had grown as a person.
I should have realized.
Thank you.
Thank you for giving me space yesterday.
Thank you for, if judging, keeping it to yourself.
Thank you for not condemning me, or joining as others did [dumb bitch]


3. I have a problem with that.
Peoples words.
What people say about me.
It's all very well and good to say
"Oh don't worry about it, they don't know me"
But
it's very well another thing entirely doing so.
[dumb bitch]
People's words hurt me. Way more than I show it.
That's why I'm so loud, so aggresive when it comes to these things.
I may be talked about, I may be watched and whispered about.
But I will not let it go without a fight.
Even when I walk home early
because I can't stand the idea of crying at school,
of breaking down in front of everyone.
[dumb bitch]