When Your Mom Gives You An Oil That Helped With Her Scars

I am made of flesh I am made of bone

most of which is my very own

I am made of muscle I am made of skin

the likes of which resembles my kin

I am made of stardust I am made of rain

I carry with me my mothers pain

I am made of laughter I am made of sorrow

I am someones dream of a better tomorrow

I dance around my room on halloween at five in the morning, so I can wear my costume to school, and I listen to three cheers for sweet revenge by the alternative band my chemical romance on cd.

I have been looking for that cd for almost a year now I just got it over the weekend

I have had you for almost five years now I don't know why I'm still looking for you

Oh how I love the way people love. The fire filled passion dulling to the content flame of long lasting love. But even then the flame burns bright and hot as a dying star. Sometimes it even starts a wild fire. Spreading through unspoken words and the softest of kisses. Every day dream adding wood to the pile, every flirty glance keeping the flame tall and proud. Oh how I can't wait to experience the way people love. To be in love with someone, just two people working to keep their star from exploding into a nova of pain guilt and sorrow. I know some people aren't satisfied with satisfactory but oh I long to be satisfied. To grow old with my one my only and our flaming star burning as bright as the day we fell into that devastatingly dark pit. But until then I will write what I think love is and be laughed at by those who possess such bright beautiful stars.

am i girl blog shit posting now?

who knows~

abstract art he says

i dont much understand it

he says its intriguing

i find questions with no answers

he says in a good way

i tell him i can't stand not knowing

he says im like abstract art

i dont much understand it

how do i tell her i made it?

all those nights dreaming of what waking up might feel like. all those mornings still stuck in a dream.

how do i tell her that every week day i wake up at six to greet the blue haze outside my window while i dance to the radio station and put on way too much highlighter?

all those hours longing for satisfaction. all those minutes longing for routine.

how do i tell her my days are full of a life which i live?

all those poems praying for my flame. all those prayers poeticizing the mundane.

If I were a runner I'd be a sprinter

And if I were a painter I'd never buy varnish

If I were your rich great aunt I'd bore you with stories of a drunken Italy

And if I were a mother I'd eat my children in one sitting

If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom

And if I were a musician I'd have five singles you had to buy separately and burn onto one disk

If I were a writer I'd be a poet

And if I were a poet I'd never breath a word of this to you

Is this the end of my chapter or merely the beginning? I have been reminded of my past and promised my future. Nothing hangs in the balance yet everything sits on edge. I know I am not a main character and I don't believe myself to even be a regular but I've felt it recently. I saw reminders of the me that once was, the me that was broken down stuck back there. But I'm not going back right? I refuse to go back there yet it seems inevitable, the signs are taunting me to go. Or perhaps the signs are pushing me to go start a beginning or is it pushing me to go finish an ending? I know I'm crazy but thats not the point. The point is that I can't tell where I have begun and I can't see where I will end.

For I am become the great pretender betrayer of a youthful me

As I pretend not to be bothered by my bff who questions 'why wouldn't you want to be soldja boy?' a youthful me asks my mom for two halloween costumes since you're not allowed to be a bloody zombie little girl with a knife at school in the second grade

As I pretend my bff is right when she says we can't even at the bare minimum be mean girls since 'none of us are blonde' a youthful me describes to my dad the terrible tumble zombie Alice took not only down down the rabbit hole but down down a muddy cliff and that's the reason her hair is brown

As I pretend not to care when my bff calls my guy 'weird' a youthful me demands that if I must date a man he cannot be conventional in any manor

As I pretend to be unharmed by the unexplained absence of my bff at my clubs squid dissection a youthful me is ostracized and abandoned by her only friend

As I pretend the barber cut my hair wrong when my bff tells me 'it's really short' a youthful me wanted purple and blue died hair cut in a shaggy mullet

As I pretend I don't hate my new skin so much that I claw at it raw and bloody a youthful me swore it 'would only be once and I'd never do it again'

it's selfish,

I know it is.

I apologized for it,

which I know means nothing.

yet I still pressed send,

for me not for you.

and I tell you that,

in typed out abbreviated words.

'so sorry chat',

like it fixes my cruelty.

I could've left well enough alone,

but who am I kidding.

my friends wonder why people vape,

when they know it's bad for them.

well why do they procrastinate writing essays?

why do we stay up late on school nights?

why do I scratch and scrape at my scared skin?

why did I press send on that damn message?

it's selfish,

self harm its in the name.

I apologized for it,

which I know means nothing.

I am so fucking sorry,

for all the wrong reasons.