Oh, Sweetheart...

You were very disrespectful to me. If you had stopped to ask either of us what our motives were you would have realized that no one was going to get hurt. You would've realized that someone was already getting hurt, and I was stepping in to help (and admittedly to have a chance to talk to him alone). I know you have good intentions, and I have a positive intent as to where your behavior came from, but you approached the situation incorrectly. Yelling at me, mocking him, and snapping at your closest friends only furthered my frustration with you which was mounting daily. Don't look at him as if you're trying to send an imaginary dagger through his gut because he's having fun. Don't yell at me as if I'm some child that's sneaking around, disobeying your wishes. These are our lives. These are our lives to live, to fuck up, or to enjoy together. Voice your concerns if you must, but do it in an informed and civil manner.

There is no hiding from you, or anyone. I wear my emotions on my face; it says it all even when I can't.

The feelings flow into my face and freeze there. I am unable to move my lips, nothing except my stomach which twists and spins around my chest cavity.

I say and do nothing, but you understand the words I express. I know nothing for certain, just the lies I tell myself so that I can sleep at night.

I never sleep.

No matter how many times I practice what I will say, the end will result in no sound, just a look. I wish that you can read it. 


I will go to bed early so that the sleeplessness will not disguise the words that I wear.

The distance between us is infinite
But reality check:
You're two feet away
Your silence makes me glad that I am alone.
You're making me angry.
Say something, look up, look me in the the eyes. Are we past that point? The point where you can face me directly and tell me how you feel.
You're quiet, but so am I.

Too little talking means a retreat
Into my own mind
What are you doing?
You are the same
I assume
But I never like to
I am always wrong.

The cycle of life

Get Drunk
Write Poetry
Don't Get Laid
Insecure
Observation
Or Perfection?