Once Upon A Time...

Need to talk.

In the back seat My chest aches (An instant drop). That odd forming of words, Chest puffing and manufactured sucess. I turn Expecting to see you: Familiar face of freckles Pushy smirk And taking me for granted. But he's just a silly no-one-yet. (Who I have to like today.) I say, "You sound like someone I know," And smile -- diffuse my stare. You sound like someone I know. You sound like Someone I know. You sound like someone I Knew.

Hatred Can you pour into your soul?

You, above all else. Missing you And hating you, every breath. Running from our closeness, and cursing every step. I love you, even now. So many years later, you horrible boy. You: forgotten jitters, bundle of nerves, impossible joy. You make me write poetry. And I love you. I love you. I love you, even now. I love you in poems, I love you in music, I love you in more ways than I know how. But we are nothing. We're gone, and I'm forgotten. So while you go off and your Memories fade in passing, I will write you poetry. I will write you poetry. I will write you poetry, on and on. Because, horrible boy, I love you I love you. And in poetry we're not done.

To think of you. Just a bit of memory Where you were. A scrap of your Smell On the air. As if you just Walked by. An apparation, My love, It's as if You were never Here.

... (You did.)

Night For demons that want to creep Up when I lay down And wish to go to sleep.

- My epiphany for today.

My self hatred lives. It is the place that I store the mirrors And the lies And the closets of old clothing That never were my size. And I think About the way you'd look at me If you could see this face. The expressions I pull out of pockets Out of bags Hell, out of waste -- Any place That I can look to find a mask that holds Because I hate myself here... And I thought that I was too old For this sort of crisis. But that's what this is: My own personal mess "And look at little miss All done up in that dress." She knows the proper fork She knows the correct knife And she knows how to deliver compliments Tinged with bits of spite. Thank god! My parents taught me To play in Grown Up World Because otherwise I'd be floundering Somewhere between "mature woman" And "baby girl". I am uncomfortable in my own skin! And I wish it were some simple issue -- Like the clothes that I fit in. Because I could diet down to nothing And still be stuck right here Because wanting to be happy Just isn't as clear As a simple act of "Watch this Girl Disappear!" Right before your very eyes... "That's right folks, for a simple fee of Compliments Or excuses she can cry You can watch The Magnificent Magical Mature woman Disappear!" As if she never was. ... I pretend a lot. A symptom of too many days Playing on my own. And that's what I return to When I find my way back home. Because my home Is the place that made me. And I guess that's okay. Because even unhappy, At least I get to say, "I'm home."

My self hatred is more patient than your love.

Miss you.

Seeing you on the screen Makes me miss you Instantly.

At myself For not noticing your details. Rather, I feel you As the air I breathe And the soft clothes On my back. You are necessary And all encompassing - Not meant for analysis And piecing apart.

I'm knocking my head Against the sky. Then I remember - You've painted the ceiling (An old illusion) And I'm just trapped Inside.

That I could be As selfish as I pretend that I am.

Something to tell you. But I can't think of what it could be. So I lie here, Saying nothing. As if I am content when I am falling to pieces.