if my heart had a face, it would be smiling.

glasshalffull. sunriseinspringtime. browneyesandliplocks.

the apple of my eye
is the very best part of me.

my wallet's full and my project is almost finished. i'm okay with the fact that classes start again tomorrow and the only green in my life is the shine of my eyes. i've got what i want. it's with me all the time.

wait, they don't love you like i love you.

I can't possibly be the only person who hates maps this much. Geography is a study, not an act of God... right? Every time I love something, it ends up hundreds of miles away.

New Jersey's kept captive the only girl I never want to punch in the uterus, and Texas has taken claim of the only person I've ever looked up to.

I'm so scared that you're going to fly away from me.
I want to take care of you when you're down and spend time with you when you're up. I want to hold you and curl in to you and touch every inch of you againandagainandagain. I want to wake up to browneyes and fall asleep against scruffyjaw. I need your chest against mine and for you to beat along with my heart.

I've never, ever needed someone.

explicative.

every ten minutes i think of her voice running through your head and it makes me want punch something until my knuckles turn red. and then i think of your neck being red from my nails running along your skin and how you look when you say that no one's touched you that way. i almost smile, but by that point it's been ten minutes.


it took me thirty minutes to finish this.

i'll be your sunset if you'll be my silhouette.

tuck away old securities and feelings of warmth. relax in sexual chemistry and optimistic thinking and pray that one day it'll get better because that's all you've got for the time being. tuck away the time being and look ahead. look ahead or you'll look behind.

i wish looking behind was even still a mental option, but i'm too fucking stuck in the biggest part of me and my life and how much i love everything about it. you're perfect. but everything else is weighing me down. i'm rock bottom and i need you to make it better.

new frontier.

it's running through my mind like a bad cd that's been placed on repeat. the first movie out of three when you've got work in an hour. i'm wondering when it will go away, but it probably won't.

i hear your voice and up i go - forget the moment that i felt secondbest and a thousand miles away. and then click, away you go and down i go and out the door goes my smile. i'm left there, sitting and wondering a thousand things that i can't even articulate in to question form.

i want it to go away.
i need it to go away.
soon isn't good enough anymore.

give me makingithappen.

you can lead a heart to love, but you can't make it fall

my life can be summed up by the white border of a polaroid photograph.

late at night, my itunes shuffle will hit the songs that was ours with them.
and i'll wonder if he ever had a song with anyone else.
and i'll wonder what it was.
and i'll hope that i've never, ever heard it; that i never, ever will.
then i stare at the mirror and curse the green snake that's coiling around my neck and clenching my throat in a knot of doubt. i'll think about my past and then i'll think about his and the snake's set aflame by how angry i grow at the thought of anyone else tracing his collarbone or hugging his neck.

he'll tell me that there was never anyone else, not like there's me.
i'll know it's the truth. but my throat is still in knots.

you're a rock, i'm a gull. might be okay to stay if you could hold me, but you've got no way to do so.

every modern film cut out for anyone above age ten includes a bar scene with hazy smoke and burnt bridges being rebuilt over drinks. they laugh and they glance at each other and they wonder where the time went, and then they remember. tension grows and hostility rises and there they are, ten years previous with passion in their eyes. it's a fleeting moment of almost's and maybe's and whythefucknot's, before they're back in a bar and sharing awkward glances over drinks that ten years ago they never would've dove in to.

i wonder how much of a film is taken from real life.
and i wonder how many people sit in bars trying to find their whythefucknot's.
i wonder if they do.
i hope they do.
i hope they don't. i hope they can make it up in their mind. the awkward moment of broken tension when one of them confronts the other and it's finally stated you just weren't enough for me. and i hope that they walk away from the bar that night and feel like they found closure in that mixture that ten years ago they never would've tried. i hope they feel better by the time that they're in bed.

but more than likely, they won't.
and the next night, they'll be in a hazy room, looking for tenyearsback.

i wonder how much of a film is taken from real life.
and i hope that that's just a popular scene due to the emotion and the thought,
but not because it's so realistic.

i'd like to get lost in sunsets and blankets and coffee cups - yours, filled with tea. not hazy rooms with almost's. i think i'd die if you were ever an almost.

spring cleaning.

I want to take a road trip to absolutely nowhere, just you and I and miles of music that we'll never agree on. I want to hit the highway and go until the road runs out and keep going nonetheless. Argue with me about books more, I love the way my heart beats when you're being such a pain. You're my Spring, and the sun is shining, and I feel free at the brush of your palm.

you're not a good writer until you can forget how to be a good person.

boys become men when they're finally laid and a girl becomes a woman when she learns how to move on. men are gross when they smoke, but women are plastered in black and white on the front of a magazine. turn them in to murals and a man will have his pick in love, but give her more than 3 and a woman's destined to reside on a barstool. give either of them morals and you're setting them up for disappointment.

it's a strange world when machines can replace people.

i never want to be a footnote at the bottom of a page.
i never want to be the dedication paragraph.
i never want to be a hasbeen or a oncewas.
i want to stay here. here, with you.
here, where we're better.
here, where things make sense.

i never want to be a footnote at the bottom of a page.

fast forward.

i wonder which part of you decays first after death. i wonder if it's different for every person. i just hope it's not your hand, and maybe there's some piece left to hold for quite some time after, for those that ache.

i wonder how many people engage conversation for the sole purpose of sharing their own thoughts, and how often they actually listen to the person that they're talking to.

the luxury of loneliness.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he mumbled something along the lines of "The scent of June will always be that of your love and my lack there of." He meant that he'd never forget her, but she took it to mean that he was long gone. She bit her lips and turned her back, and with every step, he wondered how often do misunderstandings break hearts, and why his mouth couldn't ever win the race with his mind.

He didn't miss her until he finally realized that he wasn't going to be the only man to ever notice that she stuck her tongue out when she was concentrating, and that she'd curl her ankle around another man's leg when sitting in a restaurant some day. It was then that his bed felt four sizes too big for simply himself, and that the idea of a first date with someone else felt more like inward explosions than dizzy fireworks. He wondered what he got himself in to, and what on earth had brought him to a night so cold and lonely. He wondered how many hearts had been broken from misunderstandings, and how many people had been the cause of the cracks in their own heart; merely for the sake of possibility.

He'd chosen possibility over passion. He'd chosen the idea of dancing on a picnic table with a brunette in a sundress over the ginger standing in front of him with snowballs and cocoa. He'd chosen the idea of you're my sunshine over let's dance in the rain, and he'd chosen an empty bed with a plethora of mental images over the feeling of a palm on his arm.

He wanted to call her, but instead he went to sleep.
He hadn't even known her name, and some man at that exact moment was probably going out of his way to figure it out.

He wanted to call her, but instead he went to sleep.

The day you were born, you were born free.

"My dad said that when I was little, I liked to listen to the Beatles. They said that my favorite song was Hey Jude, and that I really hated Bob Marley."

Everyone leans in and shares in the discussion - what they liked and what reminds them of a carseat and the face of their parent shoving a sippy cup in to their face. They laugh and they ask questions and they compare notes, while my mind races. How did they know what your favorite song was? What if you didn't like the song that made you laugh, because you really liked the songs that made you quiet and sad? What if you were a bowl of self pity at that age and enjoyed the songs that made you think and made you angry? How on Earth can your parents know when you can't articulate that you want a sandwich instead of whatever they've got in that bowl? And what if they were wrong? What if you hated that song and you only like it now due to the power of suggestion that they instilled when you were ten and they convinced you that it was your favorite?

How do you know whether the thing in front of you is going to be a footnote in a book some day, or the dreamer on the corner who was too afraid to conform? What's going to stop them from ending up in the papers as the local monster that others use as an example for what they hope their kids never end up like? You? Are you going to stop them?

Nature vs. Nurture is scarier than religion, I don't care what anyone says. If you're wrong about God then you're hurting yourself, but what if you're creating the next Unibomber every time you rub their back? And what if it doesn't matter how many hits you take for them - it's already setinstone that they're going to hit a wall and bring their whole science hall with them?

I'm sick of hearing, "you just do your best," about everything. It doesn't apply to tests, your new job, an interview, the first time that you drive, and certainly not the raising of future generations. Your best may very well not be good enough, and the idea of such deserves more analyzation than hope and optimism and silver linings that may not be yours.

Apathy makes me cringe, and I'm consistently recoiled lately.

and if i fail, well then i fail, but i gave it a shot

I'm terrified of desks and failure, and you make me safer but it doesn't make me better. Who meets their match at the end of a pencil, and who's endoftherope is in the form of a green pen and illegible, nonjustifiable marks off? I'm coming to find that knowledge isn't everything and manner of presentation wins in the end, but I'll never be able to provide conformity in words; on those tests. I'm terrified of desks and failure; they're becoming my middle names.

first day of my life.

material world.

it's first thing in the morning and i am with out caffeine. tim's cartoons are making me giggle and indie covers of cyndi lauper are filling my ears. it's cold and it's bright and i should really just be waking up, but damned the clocks for hopping forward. i love the smell of my skin and how my hair feels, and maybe i'll put on more than sweat pants and a hoodie for classes. but maybe not.


ps. dear latin class,
i don't care what cober says. if you're born in '79 then you are an 80s kid. suck it.


summer's almost here.

smile lines.

This room is bright from the blindingly-risen sun and I am waiting for my phone to buzz across the table. I've got ideas worth pursuit and something to look forward to, and there's never a time happier than the realization of worth.

Not worth in self, but worth in life.
You're turning me in to an optimist.

hell in a handbasket.

the world has had fluxuations in temperature since the beginning of time, your neighbor's obnoxiously scented hairspray is not why spring is coming earlier than usual. in about six centuries, everything will likely be covered in ice again.

americans are told to exercise freedom, protect rights, and understand their ability (duty) to ensure that their government is efficient. when it's been multiple years and the senate won't use the simple power of raising their hands and signing the bill to overrule a president's martial-opinion, then perhaps you should be writing angry letters to your senator instead. verbally slapping the country's symbolic head around just because you haven't realized the balance of power and the limits to such is not productive. you're calling him a dog, but you're the one chasing a tail.

if you're twelve years old and you're squealing at an unnatural octive over the fact that zac efron is booming through your butterflystickercovered stereo, then you'd better damn well remember it and own up to the fact when you're thirty. no, you don't stop liking music. you simply broaden your taste and discover new things, nothing's wrong with having an open mind.

when ten people who have nothing to do with one another tell you that you're being a dick, then it's probably true. there's no way that every person you encounter is merely jumping on your ass.

late at night, when you're talking to the one friend that you actually care about and you're telling them how much you hate what the world is coming to, look yourself in the mirror and make a mental note of the fact that you're a part of what you hate. if you hate it, then change it. if you're not willing to, then go out and make the best of it. no one wallows in shit that they didn't sling themselves, and there's always a way out; things can be fixed.


you're the one right thing in the world today, i'm positive.

mix tape compiled of retrospect.

everyday is just another mile passed on a (seemingly) neverending roadtrip. the rearview mirror seems pointless because you know that even if you managed to switch gears and head in reverse, the weather will have changed and the sun will have set and the drive will never be as smooth as it was on the dawn that you missed your turn.

we're told that it's all been said before, but if that were so then maybe we'd have ourselves a little more figured out. we're living the life of a dozen before us but the mistakes seem to be a brand new kind of fuck up; forgiveness, a breath made up of an air newly fresh.

there will always be a person who cries when it rains or dreams of dancing beneath a moon during the first snow of winter. the dreamers are the ones who will likely change, and it's unfortunate but it's true.




i'm talking in circles and i'm thinking in frayed strings of irrelevance. i'm frustrated and i'm cranky and i feel empty when i'm not glued to the better half that my body's come to know as thoroughly as the rapid beats of our hearts. i wish it made sense to someone else, but the only conclusion to be drawn is that the only compassion that's ever going to be genuine is the one that we show for ourselves and our wrong turns, and if we're lucky, the wrong turns of the person that we're desperately trying to keep up with.

keepupwithme.

"show me something that you find beautiful"

Maybe it's possible for every social philosophy to actually be correct. A good system is an efficient system, and people are inherently good. I don't care what anyone else says; you can have it all.

promises.

it'll take time.

even when i'm not the one who was directly hurt, he warns of the obstacles ahead. he prepares me and my currentlymiserable heart and reassures me that it will be worth it in the end. that we will find our way back to warmth. and even when we're both upset, we say the same things at the same time.

no one's ever been able to hurt me like this,

just by being hurt themselves.

and no one has ever been able to make it better with a kiss,

make me optimistic with an embrace.

you know you're the only thing i'll ever want to be mine,

or i'll ever let be indispensable.

right around the time that you decided to forgive,

i decided to be okay with needing someone.

perfecttiming.

I wanted to be what you truly deserve. (mission failed)

i feel this big right now.

I want to crawl in to a hole, fall asleep, and never wake up to climb out.


Of course, I'm the person who hurts the person that everybeatofmyheart is for. I hate people.

fuck.

you said that you needed me.
and you couldn't imagine your life with out me.
and that no matter what happened, we'd be together.


now you don't know.



i hate me.

nightmares.

Last night, I had a dream that I taught you how to swim.
And when we were done, you swam away.
I woke up and I threw up.
Then I dreamt that you'd taught me how to fly,
and when we were done, you stayed on the ground
and said I was free.
I woke up and I threw up and I stayed up.


I never want to be away from you. This distance is killing me.

"The time you finally care will be the time that all the others come to bite you. It's life; no one gets out unbroken."

tell me i'm still your best friend.
your pumpkin.
your babycakes.
your forever.
your best friend.

tell me i still know you better than anyone,
and you know my word's as good as gold
just like your heart.
tell me i didn't break it for the sake of pride,
and that you understand.

tell me that you know he's lying.
that if i hold you we can go back to being perfect.
that we're still closer than ever;
better than ever.

tell me you're still the cheese to my macaroni,
and we're still going to cuddle against a tree to see a mountainview.

tell me that it's my chest to scratch, still.
that you'll stay scruffy for when we kiss.
that we're picking out a place together.

just tell me we're still us,
like we were before.



i'm going deaf and i need your laugh,
i've forgotten how music sounds when it doesn't make you cry.

self-animosity.

I haven't thrown up since age five, not the kind of throwing up that keeps you on your knees while you chuck your whole stomach forward. Now my head is plastered to porcelain.
I think instead of a civics related prompt, I'll write about how weak I am, and how much better he deserves.

That could certainly fill up two pages.

hands down.

I want all the possibilities of you in writing

I want to give you your reflection

I want to travel into the lightness with you

I want everything before you to follow us like a trail

I want never to say goodbye to you, even on the streetcorner or the phone

I want so much, I'm breathless

I want to put my power into a poem to burn in your pocket so I can sew it back together

I want my words to scream through you

I want you to be distant and for me to feel you close

I want endless day when its daylight and nighttime never to end when its night

I want all the seasons in one day

I want water up to our waists, and to be drenched by the rain, up to our ankles with holes in our shoes

I want to think your thoughts because they're mine

I want only what's urgent with you

I want to get in the way of the barriers and for you to be tough when you're supposed to

And I want you to be tender like you are already

I want us to have met for a reason and for that reason to be important

And I want it to be bigger than us

I want to forget....

I want to remember us

I want your smile always, and your grimaces too

I want my scar on your lips

And I want your disappointments in my heart

I want your strength in my soul and I want your soul in my eyes

I want to believe everything you say....

And I already do

And I want you to tell me what's best for me when I don't know

When you're lost, I want to find you

When you're weary, I want to give you steeples, a cathedral of thoughts, a coliseum of dreams

I want to drag you from the darkness and kneel with you, exhausted from the blinding light glaring on us





To the girl who messaged me,

"Holy crap. you truly have a gift. One that can't be coppied and must come from inside. I'm amazed by you and everything you do. You are amazing."



Thanks, but not everything.







browneyes, i've got tunnel vision. you're at the end. always.

lean on me.

He sat with a pail on his head, beating his tiny fists on the carpet that seperated his butt from the hardwood floor. He could hear the sound of skin on fabric and he enjoyed the thumping sound that he was causing. He almost felt productive; progressive. He almost felt like he was doing something worthwhile. In the end, however, he simply felt like he was sitting on the floor with a pail on his head. And he felt like that was okay.

Old teenage hopes are alive at your door. They left you with nothing, but they want some more.

For the first time in my life, I audibly referred to human beings as dispensible. And I meant it, from the bottom of my heart. I could call them frustrating, but then I'm faced with the times that they bend over backwards just to make someone else feel convenient. I could call them stupid, but I've known the scholars and the readers. I could call them warped, but the dreamers are the most beautiful things alive. So I'll stick with dispensible. Vibrant and capable and challenging and dispensible; my world will continue to revolve.

At the same time, I'm terrified of every single one that dies. They now know something I don't know. Please God, let me be right.

Knowledge is power.
I feel so weak.
I'm dispensible.
That's okay.

"Who is your heart beating for?"

Have you ever felt like there was an entirely new world inside the eyes of the person you love?

I've made it a habit lately of asking questions that no one can actually answer. It's not that they're rhetorical - I honestly don't know the answer, and I'm certainly not trying to prove a point. I just accept that it's likely that I'll never have an answer for them. That's never been a good enough reason for me to keep my mouth shut, and that applies now as well.

I feel like roses stemmed from love. The redness of a petal comes from how deeply some goddess in the classical period blushed, touched by the love that was expressed by a god. It would make sense, would it not? The greatest love of all is only found when one is not afraid to deal with thorns along the way.

I feel like there's an entirely different world to see than I've ever thought was possible, but only when we're making eye contact. The mornings that there's blue encircling your perfect brownandgreen are the mornings that I close my eyes and I'm swept away, on the middle of a lake in a boat that's being paddled by the only person I'd ever trust enough to paddle out on a lake with. And it'll rain - c'est la vie, but your love will be my umbrella. It's the perfect kind of soaked, in my mind. I never get past the part where it rains and I'm happy though, because your lips press against mine and I'm torn to a time of Christmas Mornings and Brand New Snows and Fourth of July's and Coming Homes. A time that you're staring at me, inches from me; a holiday within itself.

I don't know where I'm going to college

or what kind of a house I want

or how next year will be

or when I'll be able to drive legally

or where I'd like to go on a honeymoon

or how many kinds I want to raise

or every name I'd like to pick in case there's more than three

or how I'll handle the times they mess up

or how I'll handle the next time that I mess up.

But I know you.

And to know you

is to love you.

And then to

keep you.

there's no combination of words that i could put on the back of a postcard. no sing that i can sing, but i can try for your heart.

every single part of me is screaming out with the knowledge that we're perfect together.


one last game?
spell "forever", and simon says be mine until we find it.