No tinder needed for this flame, and you can forget that match

The End
And I thought it was me, over and over again
me, me and me
I thought I had made it an awkward mess
that the silences and lack of substance was
the sum of my age and lack of experience.
And I thought it was my body, inflaming and inflamed again
me, me and my body
I thought it was my cherub-like roundness
that your 'maybes' and distance were
the product of all my quirks and openness to care
And I thought it was my personality, wild and unashamed again
that I became too enthralled and overthought your interest

You would see me

I thought it would only be a matter of time
before you saw me
And thought it so obnoxiously gleaming, so innocently ugly
You'd throw pity in the place of interest
And run toward the prettier pastures, the exit's refuge--whispering "that was a close one"
Leaving me in the shadows of my self-doubt, and dampened spirit

But it wasn't me, and how could it be?
When this time I came first with the lust and neglected the like
Ripened forbidden fruit swaying decidedly in your direction
Only to let the fruit rot, escalating quickly with no promise of climax to come
A flame snuffed out before it even flickered
But I'm not disposable,
you were nothing but a MATCH.

It's not me, It's not me, I swear

Wasn't life better when you could curl up in a chair and fall in love with fiction?
When fictional novels gave you a spark of life even if it was fabricated and impermanent
You'd close your eyes and imagine being in that world,
 feeling love and comfort from a fictional male.
Remember when you swore that your best friend was bound to be your lover?
When he couldn't see past your appearance you shouldn't have seen it as a sign to change, you should have seen it as a chance to look within.
He didn't know you like that, or maybe it wasn't enough but it's just not about you.
All those nights that your boyfriend made you cry, fracturing your kind heart, I bet you wanted to burn all of those books that made you feel lovely, that gave you bright hope in experiencing fictional love in reality. And cut out your heart.
He didn't know the affect it had on you, but it's not about you.
I bet you held that cigarette up to your lips in the rain wishing you were not invisible but noticed more: "look at me, I'm dying inside too as I grow up".
Wasn't life better when your trust in people was strong; no tricks or lies
He told me that when people grow up and go through experiences they lower their expectations but I refuse to let that be me.
You let the silence eat you up and force out negative thoughts about myself,
but it's just not about you.
I've been at my lowest--I've been treated poorly--I can't live happily in a situation where my livelihood is sussed out by a dimming star; keeping me from shining by not joining in
He doesn't know you like that, doesn't rise to the occasion, but it's just not about you.
I spread my brightness, put my sadness aside and held it in for the sake of you, to comfort you. I got upset and pretended to be okay...you shouldn't have made it easy to do so.
I keep progressing and you're at a halt. 
The fictional female in me says it's time to turn the page and start a new chapter.

Feel Me Completely

Stomp your feet, widen your eyes so that they bulge out of that beautiful brain. We've met at a crossroads where we are not enough the same but it hurts to turn around and give up on the journey.
I'm the kind of love that should set you on fire--dangerous and hot, leaving you ruined for life by the pain of never knowing something that could burn you quite like me. But I'm also the soothing spring that refreshes your soul and cleanses your aches, leaving your mind clear and body reborn. I want my wreck of a body to be new again under your touch and my confidence to soar with the wings you give me from every kind word. Now Passion's withdrawn and my heart is fractured because I can't remember you saying right and your doings are always wrong. Comfort is lost in your painfully blank visage and the rigidness, and shakingly aggressiveness in your embraces. You tantrum like a torn child trapped in a broken man who's yet to resolve past issues. Your brain is like your room: a tangle of wires, loose socks, miscellaneous items that you cannot sort out, dust and crumbs of problems you forgot to clear. I'm a caged bird that sings to you "Sort it out and love me fully, sort it out and feel completely".

From sentiments to sediments

I lay awake at night sometimes thinking of the boy who lived down the road. And all his efforts to keep me away. He is afraid of his attraction to something he doesn't quite adore. He is afraid to get to close to something he might actually enjoy. I never asked to be so important as to be avoided. I only tried to be a friend. My persistent conversation was far too apparent and so He left me with no reason.  

I was a little rude. But I was young and didn't know how else to talk with you. Now i wish we could reunite as real friends, not as a "little girl" begging for attention.

My birthday marks a day your dog died. You broke my young heart when you said you couldn't talk to me too often. So, I knew my place and my role and I stuck to it really well. But heart-to-hearts were not flat, I wanted you to know how I felt. 

Years later and you're on my porch and we are talking like friends. Years later and you still don't want to show you care. Years later and I'm still stuck behind while you live your life and forget my eyes. 

So why did you do that? Show up out of the blue at the cafe to remind me that you exist? To remind me that I can't talk to you? To remind me that I'm perpetually battling the year of my birth? And there you come beaming with that wide eyed gaze that I swear you reserve for only those you've loved. I left you alone and now the consequence is that when I see you my heart still aches, and it does so into the night, under the moon and back over the sun and through the clouds. And through those clouds there is still the mystery of you and us if you would ever let it. I swear I'm old enough now not to meet you with anger. I swear I'm old enough to share experience. I swear I'm ready to meet your gaze and be "that situation" you've always wanted. I still live on a quiet street where your grandmother sometimes walks, she tells me that you liked me once and my heart says, "I like you again". You see, I always said goodnight even if abruptly following a "hello". I did so just so that you'd know...I'm here. 

But that's the end now isn't it? True love isn't real and if it were it sure isn't on time. 

You see, I don't have time to wait. Not for wide eyes that have no words, not for hesitant crushes or sentimental heartbreakers. I quit on that kind of love: the kind that spits in my face with every empty invitation, disappointment that I'm not my brother or primitive fear of my age difference. I'm off to a higher plane. 

untitled

Am I a walking contradiction?
Forgotten before I'm received...
Before I'm remembered
Ugly and aged before I'm young and beautiful?

I want to be cold but my warm heart beats kindness
A frown still creeps when I try to forget my sadness
Hand scarred, remember who you are....who you are.

Big brother's parasites twitch in my head in synchronicity
Media voice in my head, megaphone distorts

Phantom vibrations, ghostly ringing
No one's calling, you're not singing

teeth chatter, words don't matter
someone else is always better

parent has the remote control
pin my heartstring
make me pay the toll