Why I Don't Blog It Right Out

I have just read some of my recent posts and in their run-on-and-on sentences, lies the reason why I have not written in awhile.
I can't write truthfully on here anymore.
I can only write when I'm happy and come on- admit it! That's not fun.
You want to know why I'm on my knees somewhere and no one hears my crying.?
You need to know why I don't feel safe writing.
Why I never really could.
Why crumpled papers serve me better then these pages.
And you wonder, You wonder why I haven't lost any weight and why my posts are so moody?You find yourself picturing my face and I have no smile.
I have given up on so much of myself,
to make room for all the You's.

Sister Friend

You don't have to hold on as tightly as I do.
You can just hold on.

Again, and again and again

Some things I will never feel again.
You know it well.
You knew when you left me,
I would only remember leaving you.

I wont ever feel that age again.
Even though I taste it in every binge.
I wont feel it.

Some things don't get named.
You knew it.
And I, I knew only you.

Some things I will never feel again.
In your memory I hide the tears.
And I never feel them decorating my face.
I have cried before,
died before.
I have held my hands to my face...

some things I will never feel again.
Some things I only hear when the music is so loud,
I can see the sounds.

The way a mouth opens to scream,
the way an eye closes to tear...
The way I know somethings I will never feel again.

A Dying Art

You hate me, but you dont even really know me.
I see the way you look at me,
all this wrath so misplaced,
it stains your short skirts.

I see you stretch your legs out and I laugh at their length.
Height would give you so much more personailty.
Short is selling you out.
Hate is doing it cheaply.

And you hate me so well.
I smirk.
Its the power of a smile that knows it all too well.
And you fumble with words,
and I drill you till you curl into a fetal position.
How do you look now sitting with your legs folded underneath you?
Fifteen.

I watch the way you hate me.
Classical and over stated.
I have been hated before,
with more grace
and less determination.

You are spewing your hate,
from your nose.
You are rattling yourself,
and I am perfectly composed.

I think I have come to the realization,
that hate can do no harm.
It is so loud an emotion,
that it carries no pains,
just the clatter and noise
of a dying art.

Back From Vegas

This is for you.
For milkshakes and sweeter things.
For love lining chaos,
for cheap thrills and expensive thoughts.
I see you always.

This is for you and who you are to me.
Images of black cloths,
and silver linings.
You coming undone.
I see you always.

This is for our romance,
and the sweetest here after.
this is for short hairs pulled tight.
This is for bedtimes, and curfews,
and stolen moments.
I see you always.

This is for your thoughts,
and the way I entertain them.
This is for your love and the lulls in between.
This is for your smile,
jeans and new wardrobe.
I see you always.

This is for knowing,
and never not wanting.
This is for the moments you let me trade in,
for the times we have had.
I see you always.

Its All Or Nothing

Today I tried hard not to notice you.
You were running and I stood still.
But it was one of those tricks- where I felt like I was moving.

You can do that to me.
I am the one who has done no wrong,
but you silently cloak me in your garb and I'm left so black-
I see you.

You must hate me.
I see that now.
But, in your rush to point fingers at me.
You have drawn your fists.
And in your anger, I see weakness.
Hate is such a passionate emotion.

You hate me.
I see the way you look at me.
Sizing me up and tearing me right down.

I hold all my power in the time it takes me to turn around.
To not notice you.