Nothing good happens in winter.

What if I told you I could hold all your wishes in the palm of my hand? Would you believe me if I told you that I can stretch out my fingers across any ocean and grab all the stars above them in one move? I blow them out like petals to a flower. Make a wish. My empathy for you has turned into pain, but. I like it. It keeps me warm through the wind stinging my cheeks. Crying never felt so bad before until you cry in the cold. Every tear stings your frozen face. Makes you wonder. Why is it that everything bad happens in winter? Is it because its the time where mourning and sorrow hurt the most? Happiness is a warm gun. Something about the weather change always flashes me back to a better time. When studying was fun and everyone was alive and well. Christmas was fun, and snow was fun, and we decorated for the holidays. From pumpkins to turkeys to a tree. One by one everything fell. Hi, hello, hey there. You're an adult. Naturally every thing you hold onto represents childhood. You're not naive, you're just trying to stay happy. I grab up all the stars in one scoop. I hold them so tight that my hand starts to bleed. So much hope, so much faith into nothing. Why? For what? Dusty books you never finish. Tye dye dreams of laughter and friendship. Imaginary friends to make up for the fact that no one is ever really there for you.Your narcissistic complex you've given yourself to counteract the fact that underneath all of it you really think your thighs are too big, your cheeks are too round, your breasts are too small, your...stop. Remember a goofy face. Remember a girl not much smaller than you sitting beside you as you sob like you have never sobbed before. Remember the yearning, the want, the pain, of wishing for him to be the one sitting beside you. Now he pretends like you two never even met. All while smiling pretending not to care, I'm repairing the giant CRACK that has manifested itself into my heart from all the pressure around in within the past five years. Ultimately, all alone. Blink blink blink. She said she could fly. Told her not to. Once you go up, you won't want to come down. Reality hits. boom. Its gone. Guess what? That one time you had that made you feel alive and restored your faith in people, yeah that was A YEAR AGO. All blotched up. I keep dancing hoping that it will all melt away but it just always comes right back. Rent a book, watch a series. Completely obsess over fictional characters and their love for each other. They're really you're only friends, you know. Heartbreak is literally your only company. Its too cold to cry. Your body betrays you and your friends aren't really your friends. You hide under the covers and discover the power of magic through a small rectangular screen. Come to think of it, I've always done this shit on my own. The fights, the anger, the heartbreak, the creation, the dancing, the imagination. You've always been there for yourself. Never fear. Mascara is only as strong as you allow it to be. I release the stars from my hands and blow them back where they belong. They were never my wishes to begin with. Then again nothing is ever really mine. Especially during the winter.

Home is where the heart is.

Can you even hear yourself fucking talk? You're selfish. You are so selfish. You know it, you admit it. You're okay with being selfish. In fact, you bring other people down and justify it by saying someone brought you down, so why not? You want someone to go out of their way, and go so far deep down in searching before you let anyone see the real you? And how far down is that exactly? Fucking bottomless pit. And when they don't reach the bottom, its their fault for not trying hard enough? Fuck that. I used to be the same way and as frustrating as it is, its a wake up call. I remember how I used to feel. Then I remembered how stupid I was for feeling that way. I cannot waste time dwelling on you. I have to remember how stubborn I was and be glad I realized the smut I was sitting in and got out of. I stood up on my own, shook it off, and realized the beauty in the nature around me. And you will have to do the same, on your own. Anger seeps into my eye sockets just from general lack of realization. You're not stupid, you're blind. I remember how great the sun makes me feel, and how liberating the dirt between my toes is. I remember sentence fragments and ending sentences in prepositions. Then I remember how silly everything is. How we over-analyze things that don't have any meaning at all. Papers, words, structure, rules, other people's ignorance. Insincerity oozes out of you as you apologize for something but then just do it again seconds later. Prime time example of a mental block on someone who was never worth it to begin with. I photosynthesize like the chloroplast and I breathe just like any other animal. I mellow out, turn on my art, then make some of my own. I know deep in my heart there is a way to defeat the system and live as we were supposed to. I want to succumb myself into nature and art and beauty and meaning. I realized this week that I don't want to be a machine, or part of one. My body rejects it and so does my mind. Where is my outlet? Where are my wrinkles? How am I here? Somewhere out there, there is a heart that beats in tune with mine. There is a knowledge tree, there is a fountain of youth, and there are time machines. I just gotta find them all. Even if its within the confines of my own patterned mind, I will pacify my desire to dream, my desire to live. You'll just rot in your own smut. It hurts my heart, but it no longer angers me. I'm ready for the world to pick me up and put me exactly where I belong. And I will not miss you.

Money makes the world go round.

This one is going to be different. But in actuality, they are always identical. Pause. Breathe. Remember. Continue. We were Yin and we were Yang and I was intoxicated from everything, including my emotions. Like a bubble map or a flow chart of sorts, I poured myself to her like batter to a pan. She is what I've always wanted. She's the voice of Marceline, the ears of a mute, the eyes of a porcelain doll. As I stumble upon my own reasoning, I wonder what makes myself tick; What makes myself tock? How far can intelligence fill the void of sheer loneliness? The reasoning I have always had has psychedelically transformed into a matter all of its own. Energy once formed is never lost, just transferred. That's a fact; that's science. My neurological tendencies and abominable imagination are being completely wasted within this ocean of stupidity we all live in. Society. Let me allude to a different country of people who are far more intelligent than we. Within its boundaries holds a mind far greater than any other I have seen. And he loves me. They all do. I purposefully take them all for granted in an excuse to hide from my own fears and realizations of the world. He wants me to write a story. That's not what I do. I imagine stories, I do not write them. I feel as if I live in a different plane than most people. I see things from my own perspective. That of which, is an infinite amount of possibilities. No one will ever see things from your gaze, perspective, or heart. How far do good intentions go? I said this was different. Maybe I lied. We all lie. Why are people offended when they do the same thing? I'm starting to feel as if I'm the only person who understands why everyone around me behaves they way they do. Maybe I see things from a different point of view. One day my brain will have reached its capacity. I try to fill it with insight, creepy stories... eloquence from my surrounding neighbors. My head is filled with silly ideas and my own fucked up reasoning for why I do the things the way I do them. I'm surrounded by beauty. All I want to is explore it all as my brain feeds off of the earth. Therein lies my beauty. Beauty that I will share with all who listens.

Because you're beautiful tonight.

I am slowly sinking into my mattress and becoming part of it. The weight of everything I'm trying so hard to ignore is pushing me deeper into it. My eyelids start falling like a garage door and even though my body hurts all over, words and ideas are ricocheting in my mind like a bullet in a metal room. I imagine a pair of arms wrapped around my goosebump ridden body. I do not imagine them attached to anybody or anything, just that they're there. It's very hard for me to look at everything the way everyone wants me to, but that doesn't mean I'm not still trying. While everything gets jumbled up I envision a person that does not exist coming in while everything is so fucked up and just laying down next to me. Nothing more, nothing less. Just someone to be physically there for me. I have literally never felt more alone than I do right now. I am more than well aware that I am so much stronger than I'm allowing myself to be. I'm just too exhausted, physically, emotionally... As I slowly open my eyelids, I stare at the ceiling. I turn the shapes of my popcorn ceiling into either familiar symbols and pictures or made up characters. After realizing what I am doing and convincing myself that I'm going mad, I close my eyes once more and make up my own fairy tale land. Grass the greenest of grasses rolls onto hill, after hill, after hill...freshly cut of course. A few trees here and there, the kind that only exist in cartoons, with the exception of lower branches, so as they're easy for climbing. Don't even get me started on the flowers and meadows. Places like this actually exist, I think. Or so I am told and I want to believe. But here I am, sunken into my jersey sheets worrying about boys and money. Do you think that this is what life is supposed to be about? Spending year after year wasting away in front of a desk just for a piece of paper? Sinking into our beds trying to forget what we read or heard? And do you think we're meant to go through people's lives the way we do? Passing by strangers that may not be such strangers after all. I just want to hug everyone. Let them know that while I may not really have anyone here for me, they have someone here for them. I honestly think that everything around me, every single atom, has a beauty far deeper than we ever imagined...and while I may pout, and whine, and indulge in my own loneliness, deep in my heart, I know its not about me. It's not supposed to be this way. Every single person put on this planet has a story. And I want to hear every single one. I don't even care if not one them asks me about mine, I just want to know what its like to live on this planet through every single person's perspective. I'm missing something. I'm right there, its on the tip of my tongue, but I am missing it. All my senses peek and I'm struggling to find away to be at peace with them. It's odd to me how someone can tell me all these nice things, and fill my head and heart with hope, and even though they shatter everything I looked forward to in them, I still hope they end up alright. Maybe I'm so exhausted because I spend so much time caring, and so much time just thinking. Constantly. Infinite amount of possibilities. Science. Alternate universes. Imagination. Books and cartoons. Characters, people. What-ifs and how tos. The human body. The human compassion. The human mind. Art. All of it, it astonishes me to no end. And yet as I try to soak it all in, here I am metamorphosing with my manifestation of a sleeping place. Something needs to change. I just have to figure out what.

Long lost lover.

I want to feel it so badly it makes my heart pop like an over inflated balloon. Nine times out of ten I expect it to end up differently when I know better...why? My skin is raised and my chest is turning red. You've all just used me like toothpaste and now the tube is empty and I'm ready for the trash. I've decided. I won't fall in love. My love lies within the grapes in wine and the melodies the hurt, betrayed, and lonely lead singer wailing through my speakers. My body parts fall asleep and for a second I enjoy it. Reminds me that I'm still working the way I should. My glass is empty and my heart is loud enough to over power the music. Why can't anybody stop thinking about their selves for one second? Just remember what it's like to be on the other end? I'm wheezing now. Asthma. Chalk up another issue with me. Where are you now? I clung to someone because they reminded me of someone else one time. Someone that I barely remember. I'd rather be angry, I've realized. It's my favorite. Its more energetic and fueled and it feels much better than sorrow. Why is everything always the same? The further away someone is from me, the safer I feel. You can't drink away your problems, but you can drink enough to where you start to not feel the pain. There will always be someone better than you, there will always be someone there first. And while you're reaching out with bloody palms hoping that someone out there gets it, you have to open your eyes under water and realize that no one does. As many times as someone says they do, they don't. This isn't home. Home isn't home. Home is dead. And I wanna go home. Don't think that just because you read this that you know me. Don't consider yourself enlightened because you relate to me. Two people can go through the same process and realize they are still in two totally completely different places. I love being angry. I haven't felt anything for so long and its my favorite emotion. I remember being center stage, curled into a ball screaming and crying with the spot light on me and EVERYONE FUCKING APPLAUDED ME. I like it. I like it so much because everyone thinks I am pretending and that I am talented but every fucking drop of it is one hundred percent real and I WOULD GIVE ANYTHING TO GO BACK. People paid money to see me drop my barriers. I stood, on risers, down stage center, spot light on me, and I gave a monologue about tulips and windmills and I made people cry. It was real. We are all trying so hard to be people we think we are not. But really, that's all we were to begin with. As I sober up, my anger dissipates. The bleak numb feeling I am so used to having has approached itself upon my shoulders. The alcohol mixed in with my blood stream and time moved faster as if I stepped onto a carrousel, but now the ride is over. I am patient. I am kind. I don't like it anymore. I get sick, feel okay, get sick, feel okay, and the process repeats itself. Its something we overlook everyday, kind of like gravity. Gravity gets in my way. I want to bounce so high up in the air that only the ceiling can stop me. Like the characters in the story I love so much. Bet you didn't know about that either. I want you all to be happy, and if you need me to be your doormat in order to get there, then I'll just suck it up and deal with it. I live on music. I live on art, beauty, lust, and lies. I live upon the shadows. Where I hide. In the closet, the cubbard, hoping someone will realize that I am missing and come looking for me. They never do. I'm clogged. I'm stuffed up. I am wounded, but it's nothing serious. Truth is, I didn't want it anyway. Everything I've ever wanted bounces between scenic. Bounces with confessional. Bounces with every word you didn't say. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

Scenery will always be the death of me.

Oh man. I can feel it at the base of my lungs bubbling, building, burning, and juicing over into my arteries. This time its not from exhaustion. Its not from depression, addiction, or sulking. Its from frustration flaming over into anger. I want to be the girl that you want me to be, but you aren't letting me. Adrenaline makes my pulse a little harder and my lungs fill with air my heart wants to boil into a scream. I am exactly where you left me. And you, my friend are completely oblivious to the fact that every single word that comes from you is another little needle sticking into my skin. I want to give up so badly. But that is exactly what I always do and I told myself I wouldn't. It's like everything I have been avoiding doing for what feels like forever, I decided to try again with you. How blind are you? The images we conjure from our memories and mind tells us who we really are. Please stop telling me one thing when you mean another. I've decided to dance away my fears, anxieties, and loneliness to music I understand nothing about except for the fact that it makes my feet move. My thoughts are stretching out of my head like some sort of gamma radiation ray. Its reaching for you to pull it out. Literally right in front of your face and you smile at it and turn away. Look at me. I don't give a shit if that doesn't make sense. Every hair follicle on my body tells me that if I start it all over from the beginning, it would be so much better than just trying the same thing once more. I chose to ignore the pain of the world for a reason. I don't want to indulge in a tragedy that isn't right next to me. How come you guys are so quick to tell me of the deepest hurt you've been through? Mine is a secret. Because I only want to relive it if I actually know the other person gives a flying fuck. There are scenes in my head that I can replay over like a part from a movie I've seen a thousand times. The details constantly changing, but the facts remaining true. I wish I could play them for you so you knew how vividly I remember them. How come I'm stressing over here wanting you to share with me when I have stories you've never even fathomed about? Hah. I love how you can't even bother with a "sleep tight." My hips speak more truth and rhyme than my mouth ever could. Alice fell down the hole into her world all by herself. Maybe on purpose so she didn't have to share it with anyone else. Maybe that's what I'm doing. I'm glad I didn't show you my world. You wouldn't have appreciated it anyway. I like to photosynthesize with the sun and I like to trade my idiosyncrasies for chemicals to pour into my brain, hair, nails and skin. What exactly did I put in Chicago? Funny how you can forget things so easily. The beats are on a loop in my head. Loop after loop after loop, and mother nature fucking gets me. It doesn't have to try. All I've ever wanted is for one of the appointed to divulge their selves into my freaky, colorful, musical, and beautiful world. Its amusing to me how passive aggressive I can be while consistently vomiting my imagery all over the web for every one to see, but hardly anyone to read. I can't tell which part is which and if I'm at the beginning or end. What exactly do you think we're accomplishing? Dancing so close to each other in circles...just over and over...but never actually touching each other? It's just another game. Funny to me how much more beautiful a person looks when they're sad as opposed to when they were happy. I think we've got it all wrong. The point of it all isn't to be happy. Its to feel every single form and fragment of every human emotion possible. That's why all the intelligent people are constantly unhappy. They're just experiencing life instead of living mindlessly happy. I will just spread out all over a bed in a familiar room with unfamiliar surroundings, close my eyes, and imagine myself as a line in a song, a step in a dance, a scene in a play, a lover with no one to love. A fighter with no one to fight....just basking in all that is the world. Unhappy or not...I am embodying everything the world wants me to be.

Sail.

Blame it. You can blame it on anything you want, really. Sometimes I think things will be different for me. That my emotions and feelings will grow, develop, mature. But then I remember why I'm here in the first place and I remember why I do the things the way I do them. Call me all the names in the world, fine. But you don't understand why living this way is so much easier for me. People in my life take a shit on me, and I just let them, because if that's what makes them happy, screw whatever I feel. Every time I find something hopeful, fresh, new, fun. Something that makes me happy, I get excited. I should know better by now. If it sounds to good to be true, it is. So, its time to run away again with my tail between my legs hoping I can go back to feeling numb. The thing is, I frame myself on always being there for other people. Always. Every now and again there is a diamond in the rough that proves their shine. But why are kind, honest, loving people are rare? Shouldn't everyone else be rare? That's what they taught us growing up. Its so easy to believe the truth when the truth is ugly. People just live their whole lives without ever being appreciated. Maybe I'm one of them. I never asked for that, you know. It's bad enough I can't afford a full tummy, but when I go out of my way for someone...and they never even say thank you...the fact that it didn't bother me before is more bothersome than the fact itself. Thing with me is I always find myself claiming something that was never mine to begin with. It never surprises me anymore. It never surprises me when someone doesn't even try. No one ever has. They don't try, they don't fight, and I'm just used to it. I mean it when I say, "Life sucks, then you die." It's okay though, because even if you take the time to read this and understand how I feel, at the end of the day, I'm the one there for myself. I calm myself down. I listen to me talk. I hold myself while I cry because no one else does. Remember? I do this shit on my own. Because the very minute I let someone do it for me, they leave. Who needs em? My heart races as I try to pinpoint accurate and aesthetic lines to make myself sound better than I actually am. Today, the storm accompanied me on my way home. The lightening opened every pore of my skin and the thunder raised every hair. The music from my speakers understood me more than I understand myself and for a moment...everything was alright. Its funny to me how warped everyone has it. How everyone thinks everything can just fit in this little tiny box along with your favorite trinkets. Somethings never will change even though you knew for a fact they would. Where would I be if the world was ugly? I'd be dead. I would give up. I would ignore my thoughts of reason when I feel this way. But it is, so...here I am. Hey, at least I'm trying. Apparently a lot more than most people around me are. One day I will take my brain out and ring it out like a wet rag for the entire world to see. At least...maybe then, you'll notice me a little more. Maybe then, I'll actually be worth something.