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At the edge of the world the stars fall down"what adults don't understand is that you don't wake up when you're eighteen and suddenly become an adult. you become an adult when your childhood has ended, when the stars lose their shine, and a morning is too heavy to handle. you become an adult when you feel it in your bones that this world is too big and just big enough for you to take up space in."-today i realized that my brother doesn't look at me the same anymore.he is fourteen, with a pretty girlfriend i haven't met because he won't bring her home to this insane family, and a schedule that goes through the roof and back down again.while he runs around town trying to knock out everything on his list before the clock strikes 11:00, i am at home. alone.and lonely.-today i saw this girl i know, and she had these slim cuts on her wrist.i don't know if it's a right handed trend, but they were on her left arm. she didn't even look like she was trying to hide them. and i was wondering, with us being "friends" why she did it.
Hope is for people without moneyThere are days when I am breathing in fumes so toxic,the scent of your skin burned into my memory;you were my life let go, a match set to thread.you're laying beside me, already asleep, while I am driftingon a couch I don't remember the color of.Your hair rests against your forehead, brushing your eyelids softly, a honey golden blonde darker by the ominous glow cast by the Spanish Channel.It is 3 o'clock in the morning and while a faraway translation floats in one ear and out the other,I hold your hand,the only one compatible with mine,fingers tanner in the winter weather, warmer, slenderin comparison to your soft body.I am just fragile enough to lay on the edge of the cushions, my legs entangled in yours, and my cheek resting above your head.I'm amazed at your patience.You spent most of the night hunched over a toilet, hiding from me, knowing I was the problem and hoping I'll be the solution.I know how I got here, crossed through water and ice to spend a five hour night
The name I choseIt is 7:00 in the evening and I am drunk right now.I am lonely and I am drunk and I am guilty for things I shouldn't be.There are who's and you's and him's and me's running through my brain, body overheating, wine and chocolate on the edge of my teeth. I remember why I like to swallow intoxication.When I am sober I am all reason, old to the bone. I do not remember her because she is beautiful, charming, and boys fall in love with her confidence.When I am high I am warm and her name etches itself into my chest so that I do not forget that I am her and she is me.When I am high I am power.The wine forced down my throat, the pills harboring in my intestines, and the smoke blown out my lips. I am drunk and I remember that I am her and she is invincible.
Untitledthe first time i pickedup a pen, i was eight yearsold. short stories weremy categoryand i wasn't actuallya fairly decentwriter until ileveled up in middle school.then i was shapingstories into abit of poetry. nothingrhymed but free verse wasmy game. and by thetime i hit my teens i knewwithout a doubt iwanted to be awriter. pretty verses andplayful lyrics leftmy pen. hit the whitepaper with thundering words.and when my life tooka left turn down aroad to destruction, i tookpen and paper withme. i was fourteenyears old, with a razor anda carved out life. thefirst of many schools.first of many nights left thereon the floor. tired,homeless, alone withmy thoughts. and a paper anda pen. and that's wheni really startedto write. when i was fifteeni wrote a storyabout a girl, trappedin a life of self pity.she was starving herinsides from food andseeking attention in allthe worst places. sheswallowed a dozenpills, forgot a month of herlife, and proceede
They don't actually caremy teachers never ask if i'm okay anymore. i stopped expecting them to when i stopped asking myself the same question.i come home to a poverty stricken house. except, this is not my home. just a place i rest my home. i am seventeen, barely legal, with a 6 day a week job and bills i shouldn't have to pay for threatening to strangle me. and my teachers want to know why i didn't do the homework the night before?you see, teacher, i wake up late every morning and fly across the room for scattered books and a pair of headphones that get me through the day. i breeze through school, an outsider uncomfortable in their own skin, hoping i didn't trick myself into thinking i had everything done. come to find out,i never really finished the work at all.i go home with just enough time to charge a dying phone,not that anyone talks to me anyway,and leave the house with a spare change of clothes so that when i walk home that nightmy bones will not freeze in this too bruised skin.i work a 6 hour
Letter to my golden boyI haven't changed my password since the day we started dating, and when we broke up it just seemed too complex to get rid of. I never thought anything of it, just that it was symbolic, and maybe that meant that things were never over.You were my winter melody. A romance song, a true love story, and a question mark at the end of a sentence. You said good bye in the worst way possible and I don't think I got over it. But, these two years have been something of force. Forcing myself to be happy in someone else's arms. Trusting all the wrong people and walking in places I never wanted to know. Maybe it's the melody in your instrument that brought me home, that kept me alive. Or maybe it's just the blue in your eyes.You promised you'd wait, and I promised I wouldn't make you.Well I'm standing on a corner, my gray eyes pealed on cars, long hair loose and wavy, and all I want to do is run towards you. The sweetest words left your lips, and I gotta say, I really had no idea that all this ti
But actions do speak louder than wordsyou disappear for a week and come backexpecting,well. I'm not sure where to begin.You wait around my work, a mirror reflectionof me, sitting at home wondering why four.five.six hours has gone by. So why do I find myselfnervous,hesitant,excited,hoping you won't leave.So when I clock out an hour early and sit across from you, a newspaper laid before your eyes,and barely speak a word, you have absolutelyno problem.The smile on your face speaks enough for both of us, because, after all,actions do speak louder than words.You've spent enough time around me to know when something is wrong but not enough time toseep into my bonesand understandthat in a few days time I will be with (him) and I don't know if I can live with our kisses,your touch against my skin.I'm trying so hard not to love (him), thrusting myself against every guy that walks through the door,hoping one will make a commitment.And you were the only one who gave their word.But actions do speak louder than wo
It's all lies, darlingyou tasted like cigarettes and sweat,something so sickly sweet under the surface,intoxicating enough to drag me in and leave me hanging.you said you'd stick around for a month.one month was all you promised and according to youyour promise has been kept.but disappearing for a week on end,and showing back up, unannounced and uncalledisn't necessarily a month in my life.if we wanna get specific, you've been tormenting my dreams since that first day,when you showed up in a suit and tie,ripped up jeans and a pair of black skate-shoes,a snapback over long black hair.your eyes were gold that day.you came to me with deeply lavender bruises,and when i questioned the color you blamed it on Russian skin.but the next day when they weren't thereyou said you heal well.well darling, these are all lies.and i realized when you walked in, head high and eyes staring into my skeletonthat you were trouble as far as I can throw.