This world is much to harsh for me, it's a heart attack waiting to happen...soon.

If you have stared into blackness, that's what it is like. Reaching to no avail. I've tried to construct, when the promt is not provided. An impossiblity it always seems to say.

I will stare you down. I'm sorry I would have screamed, and oh, so destructive I can be when I am blinded and trying to keep myself silent.

There are two types, no actually three. Boy isn't she cute, boy isn't she smart, boy... Hmph!! I will remember to cover my mouth next time so the sobs don't escape, and my eyes and my ears and especially my heart...it's the most important for the maintenence of sanity.

How come I don't care? How come my dad is fifty-six and tells me to do my best...he went to law school, only one year left, and still he cheated on my mom,and still he did too many drugs, and still he is the best foster parent in Portland.

Hold on to that sliver of gold...maybe someday it will be a whole nugget.

I used to do cartwheels with Elsa in the field behind my Elementry School, and that was real. We would talk about how pretty the trees were, inocent, and what we would buy on our next biking trip to "The Shops," our unkempt hair playing in the wind. She cared even less then I did back then.

I had this red coat that my mom gave me. It was too large and the sleeves hung down almost as far as the ground. Brown shoes and pink socks usually sealed the deal, but ohh, did I think I was cute. I didn't just walk in Elementery School, I struted, and that was real.

How many times did I swim in grass taller then me? The lady bugs singing a silent song rocking back and forth. We let a rat free once and I thought about how it could be me.

I'm realizing now that my dreams were realities then. I've lost so much.

It's just sucking and sucking me dry.

Her house had cockroaches, and even though I would never admit it to her, they made me feel alive.

His poem was a promise

Can I hold on to paper dolls, corny ghost stories, my dads clam dip, my sisters chanting when she was only two, the mobil that hung above her bed. I swear I've seen the tooth fairy and the easter bunny also. The blood pounding in my ears, my humidifire always made dark seem so surreal, my mothers Angel, she used to sing, and now I'm crying.

What does it mean to hate your future and your present?

Horrified of the little things just slipping away.

It's out of different eyes that I see you today, so never be offended. My smile doesn't mean anything, except everything. Can I be here please. Can the pink pen on my desk not remind me of Barbie and Candice and Katie and Elsa, and how they all used to hate eachother. I had a walk in closet that seemed more haunted then useful, and that was real.

Nope, it doesn't bother me. Te quiero mucho.

Why are my hands shaking now. False assumptions can do that to a girl.

Sex, what is this mystery we virgins marvel at all the time.

Is it...

Creativity+Staying true to yourself = Courage
Abandon
nope
red
honey
sweet
bliss
crazy
sleep
awake
fried eggs
how many ways to love?
do I have to ask?
Me
My parents' common bond
a curse
I lost my head
Innocence
Lovely
Breeze
Sun stars
Health
Him
1950
1005 times better then chocolate
slip
slide
summer nights
BBQ
Spring mornigs
It's cold and that's all right
Clenched fist
Furrowed brow
is it over
help
art
that noise the waves make
low tide, high
cherries it must be
or peaches
or the fuzz on the peaches back
maybe it's the puddle outside
or the end of my hair folical. I will laugh and tears will role slowly down my face as I weigh my options. There's no hide away...it's done, and I can glow on. Hope it's like when I used to swing with my friends and lagh at the way my feet tickled the sky. I hope it's like monoploy at Katies house...no rules, just the money. Butter on hot toast, the toast is never hot enough here. I saw the spider today, with life force coursing through it's small head...is it kinda like that? I give and he takes, and then I take it all back. My aunt makes the best blackberry cobbler, my cousins and I used to pick the black berries she used. The telephone wires buzzing, the possibilities endless our hands stained purple from the juice. It must be like that.

I am constantly modifying me. When will this stop? It must be inherent. I need to relate more then I need to be true. It's always the same, my wishing for the impossible.