emotive.eleven's blog

You beat her up
and you cut her down
and you still
don't get
it.

It could have been great.
A chance to start over.
A clean slate.
But wouldn't I have poisoned this too?
Wouldn't it have been the same,
only I would know what I want?
What I'm here for,
and what I have to lose.
But the apple is still poisoned.
The poems are still there, to
remind me that
I rarely get my way.

You can rely on
waking up tomorrow morning
and not hating yourself.
You can wake up to happiness
and colors
and more peace, and more happiness,
and all your fucking perfection.

I can rely on staying up half the night
thinking about how much I hate this,
and having dreams about mazes and
baby- snatchers.

I know I'll wake up at six twenty- three,
beacause my alarm clock is broken and skips
all the logical times
people should wake up at.
And I'll get up and hate this,
whatever brought me to thinking how much I
fucking hate this.

And maybe I'll eat dinner today,
and maybe I'll call to chat about nothing,
just to hear your voice.
Maybe I'll take this black nail polish off,
because its eating at my self restraint.

And that's what I want, right?
I want to stop this sickly sweet music
playing in my head.
I want to ruin these voices telling me
it's not too late to love.

I can't have everything.
And if your world is perfection,

Those jeans shouldn't fit me.
I bought them
before I grew up and out
before I thought
of hotlines or The Used,
band aids or naivity.
They're jeans of another era,
where I was a size one
without
wanting it or wishing that I didn't
want it.
I'm not a size one.
I didn't fit into these jeans
in December,
I squeezed into them
and held my breath
and still hated my butt.
So they shouldn't fit me now.
But I'm happy they do?
I'm happy I lost sixteen pounds?
Am I happy knowing that
every one of those pounds
was not lost happily?
(No.)

x. I wish telling you your
nervousness was beautiful
was enough.
x. You're gonna be alright. You're gonna be alright.
x. And I would have listened to you,
and tied a million red strings around your
wrist, if you'd thought of me when you sped up
the guitar.
x. I told you it sounded good when the guitar sped up
at the end, didn't I?
x. And you told me it wasn't supposed to be like that, but you got nervous.
x. I don't want you to be sixteen. I don't want you to live in another state and have a million skinnier, prettier girls to talk to.
x. And you didn't talk to me, but
I was sitting next to you.
x. And I gave you my red string,
and I tied it around your wrist.
x. And you tied your red string
around mine.
x. You were the reason I stayed at the campfire.
I would have gone inside and sat alone in my room,
wishing for more ringing phones and guitar picks
and chocolate.
x. I would have never heard your song again. But I would have wanted to.

She put a rubber band
around her wrist
and snapped it because she
wanted to stop.
She snapped it against her
wrist and it bled,
one way or another it
would have.
And she knew after awhile
that she only wanted to stop
feeling like she had to
do it
to be happy.

I stretched out
her picture until it was a mess
of blurry colors
and shapes that slid in
and out
of my vision.
I stretched her out, until I thought
I knew what she meant
and in the end it was too hard to grasp
so I gave up.
I shrunk the picture until it was a white square
and it kept getting smaller
and then I didn't save what I
saw.
It was a question,
and an answer, and a statement
that maybe meant more than
she could say.
But I didn't take the time to read into it,
because I didn't want to
know
the answers to her questions.
I heard her tell me to
keep looking
and her voice was desperate
but I turned away because I didn't want to see
how much she needed
me
and I didn't want to tell her I
wouldn't be there
for her.

I'm coughing up
all the excuses and lies
and wanting you to stop me.
I want you to go
until I'm finished with this lie
and then come back and
listen.
I want to tell you that I can't
stop
and I can't deal anymore.
It used to be all okay and
it's not
anymore.
We've lost so much
that I don't know which way
you'll turn
and I don't know which way
to go.
You'll never understand
what will make someone
love so much
it hurts. You'll never know
how much I used to
love you
and you'll never know
I did.
So I'll finish this
life
and go away and maybe I'll come back.
And I'll try to listen to
myself
before it's all
over.
Maybe I'll be able to handle
loving you
again.

1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams-- Green Day
2. Blacking Out the Friction-- Death Cab for Cutie
3. Comatose-- Skillet
4. Sieze the Day-- Avenged Sevenfold
5. Dance, Dance-- Fall Out Boy
6. Fidelity-- Regina Spektor
7. Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)-- Green Day
8. Hey Jude-- The Beatles
9. Durch Den Monsun-- Tokio Hotel
10. Falling Slowly-- The Frames
11. Miss Murder-- AFI
12. My Moon My Man-- Feist
13. Question-- Old 97's
14. Camisado-- Panic (!) at the Disco
15. Sick Hearts-- The Used
16. Skyway Avenue-- We The Kings
17. The Bird and the Worm-- The Used
18. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs-- Fall Out Boy
19. Time to Dance-- Panic (!) at the Disco
20. 1000 Oceans-- Tokio Hotel

One Wednesday night I went with my mom to Starbucks, because my brother had soccer practice and it was nearby. I liked that I was the sort of person who went to Starbucks, who sat among the laptopping people and foreign coffees, watching the rain blur out the lights of passing cars. I could have sat there forever in the green overstuffed armchair with coffee smells, still soaking up the traveling journal I had gotten in the mail from Belgium and reading while the speakers overhead played music that would have been classified into the same playlist as music from Death Cab for Cutie had it been on my iPod.

Just an idea-- click on the "more" button under the recent posts section and then go to the bottom of the page and click on the last page. There's so many other posts from people.... I don't know if they still visit the site or what but there's some interesting poems and posts and things.

She posted it on her blog
ten signs of
what's to come.
They didn't know how to take her seriously so
they lied and made up stories
of what they thought she said.
They didn't listen and they laughed at her
and whispered when they thought she was asleep
but it only made her sadder.
It only made her realize how
different she was.
She posted it on her blog and she took it
off
the next day
because she saw their reactions
which weren't the right ones at all.
They should have told someone
they should have asked her
if she was okay
and she should have said
no
but they never asked
and it maybe wasn't their fault
because she was out of their league.
She was onto new things and they
knew
but they didn't stop her.
They only knew how to deal with things
they didn't have to think
about.
They went on and they didn't deal with
what she was.
They didn't get how she could
but she got it alright.
Maybe if they asked her what was wrong it would
be okay.

I'm sorry you can't
express yourself in words
because I'd listen.
I'm sorry they don't tell you
when they're having a party
and I'm sorry you showed up anyways.
It would have been easier if you didn't ask for my
number
and it would have been easier if
I didn't give it to you.
I'm sorry you go to the mall
with your brother and flirt with the college girls
working the
late shifts.
I'm sorry you drove her home and I'm sorry she lied about where her house was
so you drove her until you ran out of gas.
It would have been easier if we were
just friends
and I'm sorry the word that came out of my mouth was
yes.
I'm sorry everyone has such high expectations and I'm sorry I'm not good enough
and I cry at night
because it's so hard.
It's just so hard trying to be what everyone wants me to be and I'm sorry
you don't know me for who I am.
I'm sorry I have to lie and I'm sorry
you were the one with faults.
It would have been easier if I didn't go away and

They sit there and they draw
princesses
all day and they eat
peanut butter cracker sandwiches and
they ask each other's opinions.
They wear sweatshirts and they don't care
what people think.
Their hair is parted on the side and
they're beuatiful and they're so
unknowing.
They're scared of the life that will make them
wear skulls
and they're scared of us
because we're looking forward to
high school
and they're looking forward to
snack time.
They're beautiful and they like
stickers.

I watched your hands and
they were young
and mine were old.
I watched your hands click your pencil
and write a
word
that wasn't meant for me.
But I took it.
I took all that you gave me and you shook my hand.
You knew what it was
and maybe you thought I did
and maybe I was
asking for too much
and maybe I wouldn't have shook it
if it wasn't a hand stamped with
"just friends."
My hands were there
that day.
They touched your shirt and
not your shoulders.
Your hands touched my shirt
and not my waist.
But I took it
I knew I had to.
I looked at your hand
little bits of cut up light
from the DJ
flew across it and
I shook it and it was over
but I thought it wasn't.
I watched your hand grab mine and
I watched you run away
with it
and I followed.
And after you dropped my hand and I wished
you wouldn't and
I didn't know how to thank you and
I never did
and your hands were never
going to say
"you're welcome."
What was standing in the way of a million
clicking pencils and
grabbing hands and
words that meant nothing
and everything
was a handshake.
You held out your hand
and I took it.