It all started when I cut my English muffin perfectly down the center

There's something to be said for birds and blue and mood music because

Suddenly I'm shouting and weeping and smiling and shrieking after I realize

I have blood running through my veins.

Blood that isn't thinningclottingspillingonthefloor

And if it was seeping out into a puddle I would have people to mop it up and pump it back into my skin.

I'm so insanely fucking thrilled and I don't know or care why.

I Drink Milk But My Bones Still Break.

I can talk but I talk too much.

Just as I can spell but not deffinetly.

I drink milk but my bones still break.

I can sing but my voice will waver.

But it's not about the song.

That plays time and time again but not because it's a truly good song...no.

It's playing perchance there is a small piece of shrapnel in the lyrics that could give you some inspiration to pull your head out of...the clouds.

And while I'm leg crossing and eye widening, I'm trying to appear like I couldn't care less that each passing second is a fraction of my life ticking by, because what's the use of having fast reflexes if nothing is ever thrown your way?

I can talk but I talk too much.

And I can write for miles and in my mind there's no negative reciprocal for that.

Hello You.

My hands are on home row but my heart is on my sleeve.

Along with every cotton fiber of my unusually whimsy being.

I'm on a first name basis with misinterpretation so please

Let's

make

history.

Not If, When.

Purple paints and ticking clocks.

Are not enough to satisfy even the most practical of minds because

I'm young and dumb but eye have Is and

I've sensed the roots of recklessness.

Outstretching oceans with high tides,

and handsome men with low slung guns.

Stories that make movies look anticlimactic,

bundles of lazy days with plot twisted endings,

moments that make you reconsider that self pity that stays locked away.

 I blur my eyes and cross them a bit but then all I see is purple paint so I

Sigh

For now.

Glass Wall

I possess patience and compassion and integrity and sometimes hope and fingers.

Fingers that could entwine.

And maybe this isn't the time or the place, but I'm moving the hands on this clock.

And maybe I like to say maybe because it's better than no.

I'm standing, swimming, singing, sleeping, sighing, sitting...

And I'm living.

And You're living.

Obviously we already have more than enough in common.

But there's a truth that needs telling,

a fact that needs facing.

All we should have done is written in tear stains on your bedroom floor.

Adolescent Crisises

Take

Your

Pick

But what if this isn't your path?

And what if that's not it either?

Where's the go back ten years option?

soyoutapyourpencilagainstthedeskandmakeadesperatefacetoyourfriendbutshe'sdonealreadysoyousuckitupandscribbleitin

Ready, set, go.

Pettiness is a thing of the past.

Flip The Switch

I can hide behind my books and music and writing and

God-

-knows

-what

-else

I pour myself into when yellow is brown and purple is black.


But suddenly there are no more pages,

and the song ends,

and the ink runs out.

And then I'm right back wearing my red dress and black shoes,

and serenity is closer than I ever imagined it could dwell.

Because you can't run from your own scrutiny

your own arrogance

your own insecurities,

your own imperfections,

When you belong inside your own skin.