'Friendly Conversation'

Sometimes the hardest thing to do is what’s best for you. We are creatures of habit. We fall into patterns, live by routines, thrive on gossiping and rely on relationships far more deeply than we realise. Then things turn, for a number of reasons. Patterns end, routines change, gossip becomes less important and relationships evolve. Your partner becomes a complete stranger, someone you wouldn’t think to start a conversation with. Your best friends give up on you when you grieve, and you’re lost, but somehow you’re surrounded with a new set of people and you’re still happy. This makes you wonder. ‘How can I be happy when the two people I never thought I would live without are simply names that occasionally pop up in my Facebook newsfeed?‘ 

Facebook relationships mean so little, and it’s like an epiphany.

All 14 year olds think they’re going to be with their partner forever, and the ones that are, are one of life’s small miracles, and you’ll get over this fast.

But your best friend, the person you spend every possible moment with, who you tell everything to and take everything out on, when they give up on you it’s like you’re planet Earth and China has gone missing – there’s not a lot left. You can try to reinvent what you know was once there, you can search within yourself and your memories to figure out what happened, but you can’t find a person that doesn't want to be found, particularly the most important person in the world.

You can wait. You can pass out a lifeline and make sure they know you’re looking. You can babble and babble and hope that some of the babble will make sense to them in the way best friend babble should. You can do lots of things, but there’s a point where you have to stop and wait for a response. It’s when you don’t get a response that you realise perhaps this could be a good change. That perhaps the person you lost isn't going to be found, but you keep that lifeline there anyway. Just in case, and you hope.

You can wonder why you would do such a thing, when all else fails, why leave a line hanging over the edge if it seems no one will ever grab it? This is when you need to remember the happy, the laughter that gave you the best ab work outs of your life, the smile that was the most comforting expression in the world, the arms that hugged all the bad away, the shoulder that was drenched in many a tear, the legs that would of chased you anywhere if it was what you needed, the hands that were the only hands allowed to slap you across the face because they knew when it had to be done. When you can write all these things along your lifeline, you can leave it hanging until your person is ready to grab on and read your thoughts. Hope it’s not hanging long, but don’t worry, because if they’re really your person, they’ll read it one day.

Maybe they just have to remember who you are. Maybe they lost sight of that somewhere along the way. Maybe they’re just as lost as you and can’t fathom what to do about it. Maybe they are fine, they aren't your person after all, and you’re stuck wasting your worry.

Maybe it was what you both needed, and when you need each other back you’ll both be there.

It’s kind of pointless to worry about some of it. You aren't the kind of person that would be happy with a half-hearted relationship, or a bad job. You might worry about your future successes or failures, but success in life comes in many different avenues and no success is sweeter than one that follows failure. In reality there’s no such thing as a loser or someone who is less important than someone else, there are only those who lose their way or aren't lucky enough to be surrounded by people who love and guide them through life. We've got that so there’s no need to worry. Hell, there’s every chance you’ll fail your next life challenge, trip over your next hurdle, but if you think about that or worry over it, you’re wasting energy you could be using to achieve your goals.

And so for my best friend, I’ll leave the lifeline hanging, but now it’s up to them to grasp the other end. 

18.11.12 ~ The Tainted

Dear Ex Boyfriend,

A year and a day and so many pieces have changed.

Friends, lovers, mentors, pass times, me.

A completely new world and way of life

All because of one painful sentence;

Because of you;

And it’s times like this where I feel I haven’t thanked you enough.

As this is what you gave me.

This is where your words led me.

To these people, these new friends and this new me,

To this new kind of happiness,

Different to anything I’ve ever felt before.

A place where I’m enough

Where what I believe in is okay

Where what I choose is acceptable

Where I can be at peace with myself and not need your approval.

So thank you.

Thank you for lying to me, making it more difficult to trust

Thank you for tearing down my love, building the wall that now has to be climbed

Thank you for leaving me out, allowing me to forget friendship that is not true

Thank you for giving me the ability to recognise my own beauty and be comfortable in it.

(Yes, I can now walk around with no clothes and a head held high.)

                                                                     So thank you. 

Forever in your debt, 

Ex Girlfriend. 

13.11.12 ~ The Tainted

A Letter For BC

I miss you. I miss you teasing my childish jumpers, hugging and loving me anyway. I miss the debts I had to you, the smiles and kisses you were owed. Your cheeky little laugh that damn near creeped me out the first time I stayed. The experience I imagined you had but was so glad you lacked. All your firsts. Being in control and being controlled, taking turns, sharing the load. Watching Dexter and not watching Dexter. Showers in the dark. Eating baby octopus. The way you told me I was silly for not wanting to be seen, I was okay to look at, you wanted me, that’s why you were there. The way you told me not to worry about you. The way you cared if I was texting when I drove. The way we talked every day, about life, sex, work, dreams, family, friends, sport, everything. The way we were so open. I could tell you anything and not be afraid.

Now I am.

I fucked up. This beautiful thing we had, I fucked it up. I asked too many questions, wanted too many definitions, had too much fun away from you. I hurt you, and then I hurt you again and again and despite your saying you didn’t care I knew you did. Yet for some reason I chose to still hurt you. To keep having fun elsewhere. So then we were strained and you were grumpy – all the time – whether you admit it or not. You freaked out when you heard of tears, I didn’t want to marry you for fucks sake. It’s called a defined relationship – not boyfriend/girlfriend, husband/wife crap, just a relationship. Rules. Boundaries I know to or not to cross. You couldn’t give me that. So I got in trouble for asking.

Annoying little teenage girl.

Paranoia kicks in and things get worse, problems escalate and I monumentally fuck up. That’s how my life goes and unfortunately for you, you got tied up with my crap.

So I laid down with your friend and I whinged about you. I complained about your grumpiness, queried my attractiveness and my lips were attacked. Initially, I bit back. It didn’t feel right kissing someone else when all I could think of was you. And I voiced it. Don’t you feel bad? Why? Because of you. His lips answer no, and my body says yes to him although my fucked up, drunken mind is screaming no, don’t. It’s like I’m possessed and even though every part of me knows what I’m doing is wrong, it’s as though there’s no choice in the matter. There’s pressure, but I can’t blame. It takes two.

And so yet again my monumental fuck up fucks up something else. This time it fucked up you, or anything you ever could have been with me. Whether that’s a friend or more, I’ll miss it. I already do.

No number of tears will reverse my fuck up. I’ve tried. They don’t help, they just fall and leave you empty and exhausted, and still fucked up. Still stupid.

School smarts doesn’t make me clever and it’s more than obvious I’m far from that. But what I am, is sorry. I’m sorry every day. I’m sorry every time I wear one of those stupid kid jumpers. I’m sorry every time I think of Dexter. I’m sorry every time I see Casellas. I’m sorry every time I think of you. I’m just sorry. I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I’m sorry I have to miss you.

I’m just sorry.

And for the first time in a long time I don’t know what to say or if I should say anything at all. I know nothing but my guilt, my missing, and my fucked up sorry.

28.9.12 ~ The Tainted 

'Deafening Silence'

Silence. 
Is there nothing more daunting? 
More confrontational or brutal.
Harsh, it's honest and inconsistent yet
Somehow 
Reliably frightening. 

Dark silence. 
Breathing. Wind. Rain. Static. 
And somehow there's nothing more
Loud. 
Overwhelming thoughts, 
And suddenly
I'm more afraid. 
Afraid of the truth 
Afraid of my actions 
Afraid of my memories
And the consequence of belonging to them.
Lies + betrayal + hurt + regret =
Idiot. 

Silence is unbearably loud. 
Unruly. 
Mind soul and body disagreeing. 
Add my poison, 
And I'm left with a hole, a regret, a guilt. 
Evidence of a heart all that's good. 

I'm sorry. 

I'm lost. 
I'm confused. 
I'm lonely. 
I'm dependent.
I'm so independent. 
I'm unable. 
I'm ugly. 
I'm wrong. 
I'm not yours. 
Not mine either. 

Still lost. 
Still silent. 
Still screaming. 

And the tears are silent too. 

I miss you. 


20.9.12 ~ The Tainted

'Patterns Are Painful'

A compliment for a smile. 
A praise for a kiss. 
A request to be held. 
A longing to be safe.  
                    Security and happiness would be nice. 
And a little less confusion. 
And a little less of the vague. 
And a little less of the jokes. 
And a little less of the harsh. 
                    Soft and sweet would be nice. 
A cheeky grin, then a naked body. 
Bare skin. Smooth and sensual. 
And all about touch. 
And all about feel. 
                    Knowing there's more is nice. 
There is pain where there is pleasure. 
Late nights and lack of sleep. Grumpy. 
A different experience and a different situation. Confusion. 
A certainty? A flame. 
An attraction reciprocated.
Bold and shy and new but comfortable. 
Nothing and all of the above, of course. 
So when the question is asked, there can be no answer. 
A soft, confused look. Almost pain, almost hurt. 
Almost. 
There is always a deflection. A reason, also known as an 
Excuse.
Truth be told, I'd like the truth. 
Dates and time is nice, as are you.
I can only take so much nice. 
                    Nice is becoming intimidating. 
Being comfortable is being used to you. 
Being used to us. Being 'us', whatever that may be.
*Insert deflection here*
Being opened to pain. Being able to be left. 
Getting back up on cloud 9 only to have it rain. 
I am the raindrops. You are the cloud. 
And as I fall you will float and backwards, backwards, backwards I go.
One can only get back up after so many falls. 
One can only continue to play a game they enjoy. 
One can only compete when they have a chance.

I am one. 
                    And you are a completely separate
Other. 


21.8.12 ~ The Tainted

'A Love Story: Part I'

After everything that's happened in the past 12 months you'd think I'd be ecstatic. To be sitting here, at an impasse, alone at a kitchen table. To have my mind flooded with thoughts of a boy that is not one [insert ex's name]. But no. With every new happiness comes a new tragedy, a new frown and wrinkle. 

Let's take a look.  

July 2011: First semester exams are over, I'm on school holidays, assignments completed, tests studied for and I'm spending hours on end with the boy I want to spend the rest of my life with. Best friend ever present, my biggest worry is my next test at school. Drama, I think not. 

I'd call that 'Happy Teenager'. Better yet, 'Delusional Teenager'.

Try November. WACE exams completed yesterday, possibly the best feeling a year 12 experiences. It's Friday night and I'm letting my hair down and getting my party on with my closest friends. Wait, now it's Saturday morning and I'm getting dumped and I'm saying goodbye to solid food for the next 10 days because I'm sick with self blame and confusion. Here's the denial, because the boy I loved couldn't possibly be anything but perfect..

I'd like to call that chapter 'Reality Check,' beginning from the moment I find out my boyfriend of 3 years is a cheat. Fuck you virginity stripper, fuck you with a capital F. I think it's safe to say I reached my next stage of grief [anger] quite quickly after receiving that piece of information. 

Then comes the bargaining. Hell. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I think it's sufficed to say I exchanged my sober, emotional interpretation of 'love' for a drunk, physical version. 

It's been an enjoyable 6 months to say the least.

Acceptance. The last couple of months out did my expectations by a solid mile. It's easy to move on when the guy you loved doesn't exist anymore. When you realize you couldn't hold a 10 minute conversation with the boy you used to stay up all night with. Imagine. Imagine if you stayed with that boy another 6 months, another year, and only then woke up and realized he was all sorts of wrong and that time was wasted. Wasted. Bad word choice. 

I spent 3 years of my life getting to know you and tasting love. 3 years laughing and smiling and crying and fucking and, yeah, we had some shit times, but it was never a waste. Never a complete regret. 

Right here, right now, I can look back on the time I spent with you and know that for the most part, I was happy. That's what makes everything okay. 

You reach a point where hatred seems pathetic, anger stupid, regret pointless. A time where reflection on your relationship is positive despite the ugly and the confidence battle that followed. 

You are amazing, did what was right for you, will always represent a special time in my life, will always have a friend in me, will hopefully always be happy.

Go back 4 months and I'll give you seven billion dollars if you can choke those honest words out of me on my death bed. 

And so who would of thought that the whole time I've been sitting here writing and wondering, there's been a different name on the tip of my tongue. Another boy I'd like to write a story about. I'll warn you now, this story is just beginning. It'll be a lot shorter and a lot more graphic. Give me 6 months. I'll sit back at this dining room table and tell you about a man named [insert name]. 

Wish me luck. Here we go again. 


19.7.12 ~ The Tainted

'Vent'

I feel like I'm trying too hard and I feel like I can't relax. Like everything I wanted is falling into place but none of it feels perfect, right. None of it feels secure. 

What are we doing? 

What do I hold on to? 

I'm so used to everything being chronological. This back to front and side ways method confuses the hell out of me. 

The worst part is not knowing what you're thinking. Not knowing how you feel. If you feel anything. If I'm reading into things too far. If I'm hoping for the best when I should be expecting the worst. 

Again. 

To be crushed like before, to have my confidence once again fall through. I don't think I could. I know I can't. 

Yet there's not a thing I can do about it. And I know you won't, Mister I Have No Confidence. You do you know, I think you'd surprise yourself. I think you sucked all mine straight out of me. Devoured every bit of self esteem with your kiss, dissolved every ounce of ability with your touch. 

I'm useless, 
             powerless to say no but petrified to say yes. Paranoid. In every way. 

Yet I go back. 

Again and again I return and every day I tell you more. Never what I really want to say. Never what I want. 

Expectations and reputations. 

And I'm left with you and the unquestionable. Typical. 

The hardest part is that I want more. 

The worst part is that you might too. 


18.7.12 ~ The Tainted

'Untitled'

So I found a new one. 
A new boy, a new man. 
Different to everything else, 
Exactly the same as any other. 
Not even mine, though I feel comfortable. 
Feel as though I should be loyal. 
               Dare I tell him this? 
               Dare I whisper the words? 

I found a new fun. 
A new way, this time more casual. 
Different order to ever before, 
Exactly the same method. 
Not even a double digit, though I feel unworthy. 
Feel a need to impress the unimpressed. 
               Dare I tell him this secret? 
               Dare I whisper the words? 

I found a new age. 
A new time, this time more free. 
Different place to every past. 
Exactly the same manner. Habits. 
Not even without company, I feel alone, out of depth. 
Feel as though a disturbance wouldn't matter. 
               Dare I tell him the truth? 
               Dare I whisper the words? 

So then I found a new lie. 
A new fear, this time the truth. 
Different for me. 
Exactly the same for them. 
Not even wrong, I feel mistaken. 
Feel as though my actions are incorrect. 
               Dare I tell them the truth? 
               Dare I whisper the words? 

I'm having fun. 
But he's too old. 
They won't understand, 
                And the answer is no.
                        Full stop. 


17.7.12 ~ The Tainted

'A Little Promise'

I've had some strange thoughts lately. 
Like what would happen if I just decided
To run this red light? 
Or hit that tree? 
Or drive straight into oncoming traffic? 
Who would react if I simply chose to drive of that bridge? 
Stupid, I know, but I can't help it. 
These thoughts come at the most random times. 
Sometimes when I'm sad. 
Sometimes, even, when I'm happy, 
But they're never really provoked. 
They just come. 
Looking in the mirror and thinking: 
Get rid of that, 
Get rid of that, 
Get rid of that, 
Can't be a good thing. 
But it's the truth. 
We are taught to tell the truth. 
I was taught to tell the truth. 
And if I do nothing else
I will be honest. 
To be honest, I think something is wrong. 


29.6.12/30.6.12 ~ The Tainted

'Baby Spider'

There was a time that would of scared the living daylights
Out of me,
A time that would of made me jump.
A tiny piece of life just living
Left shockwaves on my bones.

It's funny how things change, how a year ago there was a boy I thought I couldn't live without, how today that same boy is a stranger.
Priorities change, love turns to lust, and all of a sudden your life is just beginning and you've set yourself a new target.

It's amazing how you can act like a child, only to realise
You are no longer that.
Childhood will always linger, your highschool sweetheart will always have
A little piece.

It means less and less as you learn more and more, and still
You're life's little idiot.

Today I touched a single fear, tomorrow I'll face another.
And yet again, you won't understand.


11.6.12 ~ The Tainted.

'The Debt'

We all do stupid things. We yell at mum and dad for telling us what to do when they're right. We punch our brothers and sisters for beating us in competition, for making us work harder, get better. We punish ourselves for doing the right thing, blame ourselves when others do wrong.
We are human. Advanced in comparison to cats and dogs, but insignificant children of the universe. All different. All the same.
We pay. Whether it be through shame, misfortune, a missed opportunity or heartbreak, we are made to fail. Set up to fall, we must persist. Worry for the future is a pointless exercise, so, of course, we are consumed by it.
Why?
Make the same mistakes.
Lose the same memories.
Why?
So we can pay.
Maybe one day our debt will be square.


1.6.12 ~ The Tainted

'An Empty Hour'

That feeling. 
Inspiration and desire, necessary interruption. 
And you have to. 
Work, play or conversation irrelevant. 


It's pen and paper or death. 


Stone, steady and surrounding you. 
        To be found almost anywhere, 
        To be everywhere overlooked. 
We take for granted. 


That helplessness. 
You need to run and jump and scream and cry
But you won't. That's not acceptable. 
Silly, even. 


Bless. 


If only you could understand mystery, 
Retain the deleted. 
It's not the act in itself, 
It's the consequence. The feeling that goes with it. 
The relief of stresses unloaded. 
A denatured enzyme, a pretty stranger, a warm embrace. 
Incapable of no, you indulge. 
Yes, 
       Yes, 
              Yes.


Then nothing. 


Another feeling. 
Same result. You find a rock, that same stone. 
I am creating a story to be misunderstood, 
I am told; 


Welcome to adulthood. 




1.6.12 ~ The Tainted. 

'Walking The Plank'

Shock and pain, 
Sudden and inavoidable. 
Spiralling, out of control
And always downwards. 
Recovering, only to fall harder, 
Further than last time. 
Unable to face, only to avoid and forget, 
And cry and question. 
Walking and living and breathing, but, 
Never reaching or rising. 


And one day, 
The sweet unexpected decent discontinues. 
And there is land. 
Solid ground and faced memories. 
Acceptance, the inevitable splash. 
Cold and sudden and real, 
You take the happy, 
You faced the sad. 


A new tear falls, and more will come, 
But they are happy, older. 
A moment frozen in time, 
Heart skips, chest falls, eyes blur, 
And the end has come. 
Stronger, wiser and free, you are no longer The Broken. 
Truth, reality and experience fresh, 
You are The Tainted, 
And The Broken may Rest In Peace. 




14.5.12 ~ The Tainted

The Amazing In Simple

I love to write, to sit down and relax for however long, and to speak absolute truth and honesty, to cry. I love to take the time, to spell it all out, the emotion of the moment, and the emotion of days previous that has been withheld, the predicted emotion of tomorrow. To be allowed the simple pleasures of pen and paper, and to twist words to my reality to the best of my ability. To, perhaps, inspire another.

I love to think, to sit and ponder the mysteries of my day, of my past, and go through ever presenting scenarios in my mind of what could have been, what wasn’t. What will never be. To listen, to whatever it is my heart chooses to tell me, to the doubt and confidence ever battling in my mind, and interpret that as best I can through words, through an old pen and a piece of scrap paper. A small miracle.

I love it, I love the thought of writing, the look of my journal, my book mark being lost deeper and deeper within my thoughts, my poems, and my words. My story. Reading back after a time and noticing a progression you thought you lacked, acknowledging the change that is constant in your life, whether you see it every day or not at all. The complete random nature of inspiration, and the ability of it to spark from the simplest of thoughts and objects, for dirt to be beautiful and wise.

I love to read, to learn new and experience different worlds or my own world from a past version of myself, a different me. To remember that sinking feeling, to cherish the strength it gave me, to thank the one who sent me falling, to re live and grow.

Sometimes, I love to cry. The instant relief and the sudden wave of tiredness that follow, the beauty in caring, pain a window to pleasures to come. To be able to write and sit and love and read and embrace all that is beautiful and ugly in this world, to be able to survive. To love and hope and build.

I love to know that no matter what happens, love or loss or joy or despair, I can write. I can sing words in my head, whisper to my soul, pen or no, and there is nothing in this world that can take that away from me. 

3.5.12 ~ The Broken

Happy Sad Thoughts

That feeling where your heart skips a beat,

You smile from thoughts,
Giggle from messages.
Where you feel a need to check your phone so often,
A longing to see them, him.
A simple touch brings excitement,
Small signs appear big.
Sometimes nervous,
Sometimes bold,
It doesn’t matter because they feel the same.
(You think.)
Small confessions.
Inner smiles and contained joy.
Pleasures, simple.
Pain, absent.
Sparks become fireworks.
Your heart says yes,
          Your heart is pleased.
Your head holds doubt,
          Your head knows pain.
Past lies confuse future trust.
Now more important,
          More treasured.
He’ll understand the leftovers.
(You hope.)
Fun sounds so wonderful.
          But, many questions.
Is it only fun? 
Sure there’s more though fun is easier.
          Sometimes hard is worth it.
But:
          You’re unsure,
          You keep doubting yourself,
          Doubting your own judgement as last time you couldn’t of been more wrong,
          Doubting your own allure as last time you couldn’t of felt more dull,
You ponder.
Should I, shouldn’t I?
Options:
          Commit to one, take a risk,
          Have fun with a few, risk and worry free.
The ever present voice in your head:
          “Are you ready?”
You are torn.
          Part one: Easy, yes.
          Part two: Easy, no.
A decision must come.
Priorities:
          Happiness for you,
          Truth for him,
          Honesty for the both of you.
You cannot, will not, pretend.
Afraid to hold on.
What of falling?
Desperate desires:
          Believe sweet words,
          Be smitten,
          Blush with confidence.
In wriggles doubt.
Backward steps and indecision.

There are days all he wants is you, days he barely speaks. Often drinking reveals cold hard truth, and although these truths have so far remained warm, there are only a few. He hardly knows you, so why does he want to see you so badly? Surely when he says he likes you, he means what he sees, not feels? You believe so, you just don’t know it.

You reach a point.

Doubt overwhelming, you must not let it consume you. Drowning is not an option,
To be lost and sad and confused.
Allow yourself,
Be found and happy.
Yes:
          Confusion will remain.
          Hurt will return.
          Love may blossom.
Fleeting or full, love is beautiful,
Human and craved.

We fear love as we fear losing love but to let love go is to lose.

And so albeit scary and confronting and downright unstable, you decide to take a risk. You dive into the deep end and swim like Libby Trickett. Get lost in this world, and be found in a new one all together. Liberate, and in yourself liberate another.

The Broken ~ 9.4.12/24.4.12

Dragonfly Part II

Today was a good day. 
I saw the sun rise, 
Smelt the morning dew, 
Felt the sting of the coming season. 
You were a single thought, 
                       An epiphany. 
Neither painful nor pleasing. 
Gifted smiles, I was flattered. 
Rewarded where praise was due. 
Tired, but full of life,
                       Down, but ready for up. 
An old passion inspired though a recent hobby, 
An old confidence reborn through a private performance, 
An old love reinforced though a new collection, 
An ancient peace rediscovered through 
                       Tears, thoughts and words. 
Today was a good day, 
I started a fresh as 
A part of me was discarded. 
I started a new as 
                       A part was found. 
An old line repeated through a sudden inspiration, 
An inner spirit risen through a mentor's words. 
All with your absence, 
                       The most positive of voids. 


Yet, overcome with fatigue, 
I fall. 




16.4.12/17.4.12 ~ The Broken

'Disney'

Quiet, like an angel you can drift, 
Fly.
Float in. A bubble of happy, a bottle of love. 

You are a fairy, 

Delicate, beautiful, kind and true. 

There are days help doesn't seem real. 

But your words are, 

I can see them, read them, hear them. 

I can smile. 

You are a toffee, 
Sweet, strong, moreish, colourful. 
Bright as the sun your cheeks glow. 
Refreshing. You don't even know it. 
There are times freedom doesn't feel possible. 
But you are that. 
I can reveal, sing, dance, play. 

We are children. 

You remind me of a time when nothing mattered but fun. 
When being high was on top of the monkey bars,
Too much sugar. 
When love meant mum and dad, 
Kiss chasey. 
Sex meant boy or girl, cooties and germs. 
Discrimination was a myth. 
Equality was no goal, only truth. 

You are a teenager, 

Happy, sad, confident, confused. 

Normal if there were ever such a quality. 

Unique if there were ever someone different. 

Loyal, there is no better type. 

Fly and float. 
Don't change, grow. 
Don't forget, learn. 
Friendship, be it a return ticket, 
Sometimes cheap, sometimes expensive. 
A holiday, an experience, always worth it. 
To you, time won't matter. 
This will last. 

Subtle, like the leaves blowing in the wind

Or bold, like a leaf's crunch, 

You will make a difference

And you will be irreplaceable. 

5.4.12 ~ The Broken

'So I Can Smile'

I'm sorry I didn't have time for you, 
That when exams loomed closer,
               You were pushed further. 
And every time I freaked out, 
                              Stressed out, 
                              Broke down, 
                              Lost hope, 
You were the one I leaned on. 
You copped my moody fears, 
               And you held me up despite everything. 


I'm sorry you got lost, we got lost.
That somewhere along the line 'We' became 
               'You' and 'Me', separated. 
And you felt like you couldn't confide. 
                              Couldn't tell. 
                              Couldn't hold on. 
                              Couldn't stay true. 


I'm sorry I was angry, 
That at first I didn't believe. 
The truth of the matter is we were both wrong. 
                              You lied. 
                              You played. 
                              I pushed. 
Love strayed. 
I now realize that was inevitable, right. 


I'm sorry we're not friends. 
That - I don't understand. 
It is possible to have male female friendship. 
                              Have fun. 
                              Tell stories. 
                              Spend time. 
               No heartache is required. 
Possible, but complicated. 
Reality is hard. 


I'm sorry that I miss you, 
That we don't converse, 
And that our unique connection is fuzzy, 
                              Cut off. 


I've reached the point where 
I am happy with you gone. 
I don't need your sloppy kisses, 
               You have a new home. 
You are not the boy I became single for. 
               I am not that pretty emo girl. 
Once each other's worlds, 
               Now worlds apart. 
                              
                              But a memory and a familiar face. 


The fact of the matter is I'll always love you. 
The truth of the matter is I'm just not in love with you anymore. 




4.4.12 ~ The Broken

'Finding Balance'

You live a little. 
Do something exciting. 
                    Breathtaking fun. 
You're questioned. 
                    "What were you thinking?"
But, oh, I wasn't. 
                    "I was feeling."
You die a little. 
Do nothing different. 
                    Alone means safe. 
You're told. 
                    "This isn't you being happy."
You hide a little. 
Smiles outside, tears in the shower. 
                    Up and down, unstable. 
You're confused. 
                    "I miss you."
You wake a little. 
Steal kisses, accept hugs. 
                    Comfortable in company.
You're confronted. 
                    "I'm not leaving."
You're evolved. 
                    Yet evolving. 
Love isn't gone, it's changing. 
You crave a little. 
                    You breathe a little. 
You need a little. 
                    You're human. 
It's amazing to be you. 
To be wild and free but young and tame. 
                    To be alone. 
                    To be desired. 
To have the power to say No. 
To live a little, die a little, hide a little. 
                    And be found. 
To wake a little, crave a little, need a little. 
                    And be sound.
To have friendship. 
                    "You are magnanimous."
To have family. 
                    "You are beautiful."
To have yourself. 
                    "You are all."




28.3.12 ~ The Broken

'Endurance'

You run. 
And run and run and run. 
But still, you're tired. 
You work. 
And work and work and work. 
Yet still, you're poor. 
You teach. 
And teach and teach and teach. 
But still, you're learning. 
You try. 
And you keep trying. 
And trying and trying and trying. 
Never fulfilling.
Never stopping. 
                         Then finally. 
You lay. 
And lay and lay and lay. 
And still, you're tired. 
Stretched thin. 
And why? 
                         Good intentions. 


Sometimes good intentions let you down. 




26.3.12 ~ The Broken