That Guy That Sits Next To Me

Thankyou for making me feel noticed. <3
Happy birthday.

I couldn't throw it away.
It's tacky.
But I felt bad, putting it in the trash.
Broken things go in the trash.
It's not broken.
So I hung the ugly thing on my door.
Even though you told me to throw it away.

"Be Pure." Sure.

Purity talks don't seem to be doing any good for anybody. I'm sort of tired of them.

Kids still have sex. No matter what you say, they're gonna have sex. I don't think you ever make much of a mark, running in circles telling us to stay outta bed.

And a lot of us kids in private school? We don't get sex ed. So we're taught about it by our tv or the Internet. Not the best teachers. Often inaccurate.

I'm sick of this separation of boys and girls, your insistence that girls do it only for the emotion. Because a girl that wants it is a whore or a slut, right? You're just perpetuating the labels of society. "He's a stud, but she...?" I won't be talked into sex by any guy, just because he grabbed hold of me emotionally and led. If I was going to have sex, it's not because I was a pushover or pressured or I thought it would bring our hearts closer together or something like that.

And I know it's not all about sex, as in straight up doing it. It's about looking away from the Victoria's Secret commercial on tv, too, right? I get that. But it's hard to feel pure by your definition. Doesn't everyone think about sex every now and then...? Or am I the only one who wonders? It feels like your standards are impossible to reach, so no wonder many don't try.

Soon enough I'll be done with high school, and even though you won't be preaching messages at me anymore, my reasons for not having sex have nothing to do with any impact you left.

I just don't want a baby, man.

... What am I missing?

I have a few issues that make me a bad sort of partner.

I make a mess of everything before it gets too serious. I'm quite honestly terrified by commitment.

I've got jealousy that seems to come on so easily. Sure I hide it, but sometimes I get a bit clingy. I'm a tad possessive. When I don't have your attention I start to feel lonely. I hate that about me.

I have something of an inability for honesty. When I'm hurting I won't let you see it. I get all afraid so my stomach turns to knots and butterflies; I'm afraid of your replies to my worries and so I lie. "I'm really okay."

I can't do much right. I'm the artsy type. I can't cook you anything, and I hate cleaning. I lack motivation for things I don't find interesting.

In the end, it comes down to something simple--I'm not all that great.

And in conclusion: I'm never getting married.

ICU and Hospital Food

Crack open the ribcage and remove the heart; even surgery can't fix the things that keep it beating, beating against the chest, banging its fists on the bone bar ribs. Need a needle. Thread. Sew up the lips of the already undead. Keep the zombies silent about questionable practices.

I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry I'm not honest. I'm sorry I can't forget all you mean to me and all the things in the world we had planned to see. together. I'll just google image search the sights and imagine we went there. If I half-die on the table tonight, they'll sew me up so you can't hear me scream, if you're even still listening.

... I can't read your thoughts, so maybe I'm over-thinking it. But maybe I'm not. Doctor, schedule me an open-mind surgery.

Answering Machine

I'm sorry, I can't get to your heart right now.
I'm too busy breaking mine.
I'll call you back when my chest is empty.
Please hold on till then.

So Enjoy the Show

stripedtents and tophats and l-o-s-e-r-s
our freakshow is made up of gimmicks

Adrenaline Is All That Makes This Heart Beat

I trust that the knife in your hand isn't for anything but buttering your bread as I turn my back to you for only a moment- not to ignore you, but to ask you to watch it. You say you've got it.

So please don't think any differently of me, don't rip me out of your picture framed memories, don't forget who I've always been. Don't give me any dull-blade-made scars to remember you by, if you have to let me go.

Wood Chest

I love you more than rainy days;
I need you more than sunshine.
You uproot me with inhibitions,
But keep your nest in a trunk that isn't mine.
I hate you more than lumberjacks;
You hurt me more than herbicide.
You drill holes with dull pretenses,
Still, Woodpecker, you worm your way inside.

These Gates Are Chained Shut

I set fire to your Trojan Horse and the ashes are raining down on my stone guarded town as I hear you scream, everything inside you stripped naked before this locked away city-- you tried to deceive me with the face of a sweet wooden pony, when all you really are is rotting beams.

I won't let you in