what more are we than stars on the sea?

i see the bandaids on your fingers
and i can’t help but wonder
what wounds heal beneath them
it makes me want to know you more
to unravel those tiny mysteries
and allow them to create bigger the
mysteries that encompass who you are
what do you wish for on shooting stars?
that scar, on your shoulder, how’d it get there?
and when you’re sitting outside, in the sunshine,
smiling quietly, what are you thinking of?
but i’ll start with the bandaids, peel them back
kiss the cut and hold your hand tenderly in mine.
that cut, there on your finger, what happened there?

when did big words and big thoughts
become so small and broken?
when did i become so jaded?
twenty-two isn’t supposed to be like this

i look at my hands,
and i don’t recognize them
whose hands are these
softly shaking at the end of my arms?

my joints pop and my lips twitch
but i can’t seem to get enough oxygen
i can’t seem to take deep enough breaths
i’m convinced i’m spelling everything all wrong

when did big love and big hearts
become sad, shriveled parodies?
when did i forget all the things
i spent so much time learning?

my legs stick out under the blankets
tan, long and riddled with scars,
prizes from a full childhood
when did i forget how to laugh?

when did everything change?
the world i used to understand
is different now, scarier somehow
i can’t remember anything anymore

what it is i feel so shitty about.

is it just the changing seasons?
or is there something deeper i’m repressing?

why am i so unhappy all the time?

i’m snappish and bitchy and tired and unsatisfied and never ever hungry.

what’s the matter with me?
<BR>

and then nothing will stop me from following my dreams.

because right now, i have no car which severely limits my circle for colleges i can go to.

i have no job, which means that i can’t afford haircuts, doctor’s appointments, textbooks, lip balm, gas money for my friends who drive me places or new bras.

i feel like i’m stuck in a perpetual nightmare where i need this and i need that and i never can afford it.

sometimes i can’t breathe at night because i’m so worried about how much debt i’ve amassed or how i’m going to afford to pay my fines so i don’t go back to jail.

my chest feels like it weighs a million pounds, i feel like i’m constantly grasping for something and never ever managing to get a hold on it.

i don’t want to sound entitled. but don’t i deserve to be happy?

on the surface, yeah. day to day things make me happy: my mom baking cupcakes or hugs from my little sister.

but i feel like i’m drowning, not sailing. and i’m a sailor.

i need a life-ring.

the ever growing list of times when i wish i could have kept my mouth shut.
don’t i ever learn?
i see a situation possibly beginning to turn around for the better and instead of leaving it be and letting it heal, i always have to be such a girl and try to fix it.
i saw that you were sad and instead of just leaving it be, i tried to make you feel better.
knowing, knowing that if i had just not said anything that it would have absolved itself.
you would have hurt for a little longer, most certainly, but in the end it would have been better for all involved.

you two are not friends. you’re not.
you can try to explain it all away. you can try to rationalize and you can try to convince me, the world and yourself that what you’re doing is right, but it’s not.

you know it. i know it. the whole world knows it.

so just let go for the love of god, please.
just let it go.

stop being such a baby, grow up and acknowledge that what you want you can’t ever have.

mill said that the key to happiness is to first not expect more from life than what it can give you.

and the stones said it best: you can’t always get what you want.

i know there’s more to both those messages than what i wrote, but for now, that’s what you need to realize.

you’re fucking this up.

i wrote you a letter
you never said
whether you got it or not
you never wrote back

it wasn’t an important letter
it didn’t divulge the secrets
of the known universe
it wasn’t philosphic

it was just a little
slice of me sent to you
it held no secrets
only sentiments

but you never answered
never acknowleged its
arrival, never returned
any of yourself to me

it’s silly of me, i know
to write you all these letters
to pour myself out
and mail it to you

it’s sillier still to be
surprised when each day
passes and there’s nothing
for me in the mail

feeling very unwanted for the past couple days.

i thought about taking a shower
but then i thought that i deserved this
this dirty skin, this dirty hair
this crawling sensation of being unclean

i thought about going to get something to eat
but then i thought that i deserved this
this aching hunger, this gnawing hunger
this churning sensation of being empty

i thought about telling you everything
but then i thought that i didn’t want to lose you
i didn’t deserve you in the first place
but you’re so important to me now
that i don’t want to see you leave

i thought about disappearing and never coming back
but i don’t deserve that escape, that blissful relief
i deserve to rot in my own filth, to die of hunger
i don’t deserve your sympathy, you kind words
i am the lowest of low, because i am a keeper of secrets
and keeping a secret like this is lying

i never know what to say that’s good about myself.
so i’ll start with the things i’d like to change.

i have a horrible temper.
it’s true. i get angry, but it’s hot anger, so it uses me and makes me say and do stupid horrible things that i regret later.

i forget EVERYTHING.
i mean it. i forget when things happen, if they did in fact actually happen. i forget what i say, i forget what other people say, i forget important things and unimportant things. it’s horrible.

i’m lazy.
i would rather let other people do for me instead of making sure i can do it myself. i would rather not get up. i would rather just lay around, reading or playing online and generally not contributing to society.

now, things i like.

i am a lover of things.
i love everything, though i say i hate a lot of things, too. in all honestly, though i may hate uma thurman, i still love that she exists because she makes other people happy. make sense?

i am a good friend.
i’m a good listener (because i forget what you tell me so you can trust that i won’t tell anyone your secrets), i’m fun and spontaneous and kind of funny sometimes. but mostly i’m a good friend because i love my friends a lot. and i constantly let them know it.

i don’t know what else i have going for me.
ha.

the end, i guess.