Butterflies
Tender as a butterfly
Your lips flutter by mine,
Brush them lightly,
Softly land on my cheek.
They don't rest long,
Butterflies rarely do.
They are on my neck,
Send shivers down my spine.
Awaken the butterflies
Living in my stomach.
Spread them throughout my body.
My existence now flows
With nothing more than
These butterflies, and you.
So, a friend of mine and I were talking earlier about relationships, breakups, and stuff, and we came to quite an interesting realization:
Boys are actually much more emotional than girls.
Why, then, is the stereotype the opposite?
Well, basically, guys are generally just better at hiding those emotions.
Girls may cry more readily, but when it comes down to it, they are much more capable of dealing with poor relationships, breaks of friendship, and of course, rejection and breaking up with people.
Guys, however, become much more easily crushed when they are rejected or broken up with. As opposed to crying, however, they typically choose to close themselves up and pretend that it doesn’t affect them. But it does, of course.
Did you know that the suicide rate is much higher for boys than it is for girls? Yep. If that’s not an indication of how much more emotional and hurt they can get, I don’t know what is.
Perhaps it stems from the fact that they hide their emotions, and thus their friends cannot support them adequately when they feel down, simply because their friends don’t know. With girls, it is fairly obvious, for the most part, when they feel blue, and thus their friends comfort them and make them feel better. Guys, however, cannot recieve this comfort, for they hide these feelings.
Perhaps that is simply why they tend to become more emotional and miserable than females.
Then again, maybe it’s simply a genetic matter. Girls, after all, have to survive to reproduce, thus letting emotions get in the way of this survival is harmful to the species. Guys, however, are genetically indispensable, speaking scientifically, since only one guy is technically needed to make a society reproduce.
Either way you look at it, though, guys are definitely more hurt when they are broken up with or rejected. It takes them much longer to move on than girls, statistically, and they definitely close up after a break up, whereas a girl will be sad for a little bit and then move on, typically. You don’t hear of many girls moping over a relationship for long, yet guys can go on indefinitely moping, though they do try to hide it.
So, in short, girls can more easily get over stuff than guys. I guess that’s just another reason why being a girl is preferable to being a guy, hm?
On nice people:
Nice people seem very rare these days, especially on the roads. Most people cut you off, zoom ahead rather than let you in- it’s a rare person who actually slows down to let you ahead of them. Also, many people honk the second you do something they dislike, like stop for a yellow light they though you could go through.
I actually encountered some really nice people the other day.
As I was stopping, I accidentally slid into the back of their car.
We pulled over, and they got out to check the damage-
I was terrified, very apologetic,
because in past experiences, people are very mean to me about even a scratch.
But these people were very nice.
They were on a family vacation, and although I made a little dent,
they said it was perfectly fine, no real damage,
and didn’t even want to take my number or anything.
They ended up being one of those rare people who actually do simple nice things.
I felt happy after that, knowing those types of people still exist. =]
On sexuality:
“Hey, you.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes you.”
“What?”
“Are you gay?”
Conversations like this happen all the time. Why do so many people always want to know your sexuality? Yeah, close friends make sense, they should know, but random acquaintances? And what exactly are they going to do with that information, anyway? It’s not like someone’s sexuality determines what they’re like or who they are. it’s the same thing as asking a couple if they’ve had sex. It’s just personal, and shouldn’t be their business. If the person outright tells you they’re gay or whatever, that’s fine, but just don’t go around asking.
And for those who really do care if someone’s gay or not, the gay-haters, why? It should not be a factor that determines if you can be friends with them or not. Stop telling them they shouldn’t be gay, or they just haven’t found the right opposite-sex person for them or whatever. Let them have their freedom, they don’t go around telling you you shouldn’t be straight.
Carefully calculated calories
spread throughout the day.
Maniacally measured meals,
not one bite out of place.
Energetic excessive exercising
to counteract some of that food,
Vehemently vicious vomiting
to make up for the rest.
This is how she goes
throughout her day,
this is what her life’s become:
An endless diet created
to try to prove to herself
that she can be beautiful,
to make herself satisfied
with a weight she’ll never like,
no matter what the number.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fear is the color of darkness, shadows, and night.
Fear smells like dust, must, and mold,
And tastes like rotten eggs.
Fear sounds like footsteps in a silent room,
And feels cold, clammy, and old.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lost and Alone
In a sea full of people,
Just another fish in that sea.
A fish without a school
is a very lonely fish indeed.
If only that fish could find a friend.
Not just any friend,
but one to share its life with,
one it could trust completely,
and not worry about upsetting it,
or causing it pain.
Then perhaps it would all be okay,
and the fish wouldn’t feel so alone
despite all the others surrounding it.
Perhaps then the fish would be happy,
and be able to live in peace.
All that fish needs is a friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Under the Tree
Lying in the grass under the
Old oak tree in my backyard,
Venus could only imagine
Exactly what I am feeling.
Logic tries to take over, but is
Overthrown by emotion. The two are
Vying to control my mind. It is
Eating away at me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Watchers
On a cold city street
A child cries out
As he’s knocked to the ground.
.
In an elementary schoolyard
A young girl, brought to tears
By the names they yell.
.
In the hallway outside of class,
A rumor is whispered,
Just loud enough for its victim to hear.
.
No one speaks out.
No one defends them.
The ones who feel empathy
Don’t feel enough to risk
Becoming victims themselves.
.
They observe from the sidelines,
Watching as pain is brought upon
Their peers, their friends.
Yet all the do is watch,
Too afraid to do anything more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m not as ‘fine’ as I tell people.
I cry at least thrice a week.
The scars on my arms and my stomach
and now leg never vanish completely,
for they never have time since new ones always appear
on top of the old before they can heal.
I’m sick of needing all these medications,
but I take them anyway because I am afraid
of what will happen if they aren’t there
to supress the unbalanced chemicals in my brain.
I’m afraid that I will go crazy,
crazier than I already am,
and end up in a psychiatric hospital just like my grandpa did.
Sometimes I have to force myself to eat.
I am obsessed with my weight,
to the point of where I look into a mirror
I immediately see all the fat on my body
that I am convinced shouldn’t be there
even though people tell me that my weight is fine,
and that I am beautiful, cute, charming, etc.
I don’t belive them,
even though I can tell that they honestly think that as they say it.
I’ve been trying so hard
to turn my life around, but it is just so difficult.
I feel trapped in a never-ending cycle of all this.
I am not saying this for sympathy, that is not what I want at all.
I am stating all this because if I hold it in,
I fear that I’ll do something stupid again,
something that I’ll regret.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coils of muscle
and scales create waves,
As Snake slithers
and glides through brush.
Two dark beady
eyes, like lazers,
Trained on target,
ball of fur and fluff.
Mouse sits in grass
nibbling on seed.
Oblivious to danger
of stalking predator.
Tounge sweeps out,
tasting cool air.
Target is close,
Snake has found Mouse.
Ears stand straight
as weeds rustle.
Time to run,
but it is too late.
Two pointed daggers
laden with poison
Sink into skin,
crush tiny skull.
Seed falls to ground.
Mouse is now Food.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spirit.
Chakra.
Life force.
Magick.
Manna.
Energy.
Everyone has a different name for it,
yet everyone still has it, knows of it-
it is part of every religion,
part of every spiritual belief system.
It flows through everything.
It is called the force of life.
It is an everflowing energy that makes up the world.
Without it, there would be no life.
My religion, Wicca, calls it Magick.
It is the same thing as Christianity’s Spirit,
As the east’s chakra, and physic’s energy.
It is the force that flows through all.
Yet somehow, few people draw this connection.
Centuries of myths and rumors have caused some people,
especially those of christan and similar origin,
to believe that Magick is something supernatural,
something to fear, something of evil.
That is not what it is at all, and they would see this,
if they only took a moment to think about it,
to learn about it, and to realize
that they believe in it, too,
only under a different name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m addicted.
It’s an addiction.
I’ve tried to kick it,
but not matter how much I try,
I simply can’t in the end.
When they’re nearly healed,
my mind rebels.
they can’t heal, it says,
they’re a part of you now.
I try to fight it with logic,
saying no, I don’t need them,
but the addiction is stronger.
The knife comes out.
it slices the skin,
over and over,
until they are there.
Ridges of blood,
scarring over,
becoming lines of red
contrasting against my pale skin.
It’s a disease,
and it’s spreading.
What was once one or two
has become ten, no, more.
It inches up the arm,
First the left, then the right.
Then, slowly, elsewhere too,
and will continue doing so
until I am covered in them.
Why won’t this disease go away?
Is there no cure, like a cancer?
No, not a cancer, a drug,
Only it’s more addicting.
An escepe, that’s what it is.
An escape from myself,
from my emotions,
to the physical realm of pain.
It’s a drug that doesn’t come in a pill
or a powder or a smoke.
it’s embedded into my mind,
a drug of the mind.
And I am completely addicted;
no, that’s not it either.
I am dependent.
dependent on these cuts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
Shaking, shaking.
Tap tap tap
on the desk;
calm calm down down,
shake shake shake,
thoughts, thinking,
rapid, racing,
overlapping,
overbearing,
try to hide it,
try to stop it,
it won’t stop,
it won’t stop.
hands, hands,
shaking, shaking,
hands, stop it.
No, wait,
now foot goes
tap, tap, tap.
Energy, energy,
so much energy!
Racing thoughts,
rapid speaking,
stop it, stop!
calm calm down down.
people are staring,
you’re saying it aloud,
talking to yourself,
stop it stop it, stop!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you all right?”
“I’m all right.”
“You sure?’
“…Yeah.”
No.
I’m not sure
that I’m “all right.”
I am sure though
that I am not.
I am not “all right.”
“I’m never all right,”
Is what I’d like to say.
But you…
I can’t let you know.
Letting you know
would only hurt you.
Even if all it is
is a matter of
instering the word “not”
in between “I’m” and “all right.”
I’M NOT ALL RIGHT.
But for you,
and for the world,
I will be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This thing that we have,
It’s some what ridiculous,
the way we keep trying to run,
saying it will never happen again,
yet that is a lie.
For some reason,
we just keep returning,
keep returning,
keep returning.
To each other,
to this life.
No matter how far we run,
no matter how unattached
we try to become,
For some reason,
we just keep returning,
keep returning,
keep returning.
We say it shouldn’t be,
but as time passes,
we both can’t stop thinking
about what we did,
and then we do it again.
For some reason,
we just keep returning,
keep returning,
keep returning.
perhaps we should just stop trying
to squash these feelings,
these feelings of attachment,
since they just refuse to go away,
and because of this,
For some reason,
we just keep returning,
keep returning,
keep returning.
Perhaps instead of returning,
we should just never leave.
Then we could be happy
and won’t have to ever lie
to ourselves ever again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What do you want from me?
Do you even want me at all?
You confuse me,
say one thing,
and then say another.
It seems your body and mind want two different things.
Of course, I am in the same position, too, am I not?
What do I want from you?
Do I even want you at all?
Why must our bodies yearn for one another,
when our minds are clearly saying that it’s wrong?
Why must my body lust
for what it knows it shouldn’t have?
I love you, and I hate you.
How can these two emotions be so entwined?
Should I listen to the love, or the hate?
Should I listen to my body, or my mind?
And which will you listen to?
You confuse me.
And I’m pretty darn sure
that I confuse you, as well.
How can we possibly decide
what to do
amongst all this confusion,
this lust,
this love,
this hate,
this logic,
these minds,
these bodies?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does it really mean, to be human?
I believe it means nothing.
Being human means nothing at all,
nicht, naught, nada…
If we can say we’re human,
than everything is human.
“Human” is nothing more than a species name.
It doesn’t really mean anything.
A name is a name.
We are as much “human” as anything else living.
Everything on earth shares the same emotions,
pain, life, spirit, soul…
There is nothing that makes humans more special
than any of the other creatures on the planet.
Humans are the same as the dogs,
cats, deer, spiders, rabbits, snakes, and mice.
We are the same as the lizards,
geese, hedgehogs, pigs, parrots, and fish.
We all share the same essential things.
So, don’t go saying it means something different to be human
than it does to be a cat, fox, or whatever.
Because it really doesn’t.
It really, truly, doesn’t.
Because in the end,
we’re all the same,
and we’ll all end up as grass,
to be eaten by the wildabeast, then lions,
and whatever else.
So live life while you can,
and to its fullest at that,
but don’t believe for a second
that it’s any more special
just because you are human.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love.
Such a strong word,
but also so weak.
What does it really mean?
I think I’ve only
been pretending to know,
disillusioning myself.
We play around,
get into the heat,
but somehow,
deep down,
I can’t help but think
that this is merely a facade.
A “Virgin Slut,”
that’s what I am.
I fool around
with whoever’s willing,
cuddling intensely throughout the night.
I pretend to be infatuated,
but in the end,
all I feel is an empty void,
a black hole,
an endless abyss.
This is my soul,
this is what it does.
Trying to draw in all the things
that it knows it can never have,
that it will never truly know,
such as love.
I thought my apathetic soul had been cured,
but in the end,
the hole had simply grown,
and my soul tried to devour
everything it could
in order to quell it’s endless hunger.
It is forever expanding,
as I try desperately
for something,
however small and shallow,
to fill it.
Just a little emotion, for once,
is all I ask for.
BBut when I do find something,
it’s merely stale dirt,
covering me up,
filling the hole
by suffocating me
as I lie trapped at the bottom,
as I’m buried alive,
only to be torn out,
gasping, gasping,
as the medicine takes effect.
Then the hole
begins anew,
waiting patiently
to bury me again,
again, and again,
over and over,
until finally,
I can no longer take this life of mine,
so full of lies and deception,
and try to end it.
For the greater good,
I tell myself.
Yet I cannot do that either,
because despite this empty soul of mine,
there is still something holding me here.
Perhaps it’s a promise,
however empty,
of finally
being able to feel
any hint of an emotion,
a little spark of life
in this tragic dead soul of mine.
Perhaps it is a promise,
sent to me by the earth,
that Love truly waits
around the corner.
One can only hope,
dream, believe…
Of course,
when you posess
a soul that is also
devoid of those,
is it really worth the wait?
And if, perhaps,
I do somehow manage to find
Love,
how will I know the difference
between that and the facade,
when my soul is dead,
unfeeling, unloving?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love does not come in one shape or size, as some people think.
Love can refer to may things;
the love one feels for a significant other is the most thought of one,
but there is also love between friends,
love between siblings,
love between those who have known each other their whole life.
You’ve probably suspected this, but yes, I do love you.
However, it is not the kind of love you think of it as.
No, it is not the sexual love.
You’re cute, yes, and have a nice body, I suppose,
but I don’t look at you in that way.
I simply love you because you’re my friend.
My best friend, I love you as I would love a brother.
I just want you to be happy, protected.
Yes, sometimes I show affection.
That’s just what I do.
Just like you, as a boy, show affection to your mother.
But I want you to know that the love I have for you
is unlike any other in this world.
It is stronger than any sexual love could be,
a love that only can be created
by the unique bond of friendship that we possess.
Our souls are connected, don’t you think?
Our fates intertwined.
Our bond can never be broken.
That is the kind of love I have for you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rain, rain, go away,
come again some other day…
I want to have a BBQ,
but now its canceled thanks to you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What’s it been, 9 years now?
Nine years since you vanished from the world.
Well, your soul vanished, at least,
while your body stayed.
I remember you, so clearly,
those days we would walk around
on the blacktop during recess
me, you, and him,
pretending we were pokemon, or digimon,
or some other cartoon characters,
or discussing things together,
like whether banjo or kazooie would win in a fight.
I remember when you stopped coming to school,
and when you did return,
you had to wear a hat because you had no more hair.
I remember you vividly in that hat.
It was made of jeans material,
and had a flower on the side.
A few years ago,
I saw a hat just like it at a store,
and tears came to my eyes.
How silly that must have looked to passerby,
a girl my age crying at a hat.
But I wasn’t thinking of that, or the hat;
I was thinking of you,
and how strong you must have been,
and how beautiful you were,
when you came into the classroom,
a nurse from the hospital following you,
just to visit your classmates.
I remember going to visit you at your house,
How all your dolls had been moved to the attic,
so you could live sterilized and not get any sicker.
I remember that there was no smoke that time;
your parents were trying hard to stop the habit
that had put you in this state.
I remember sitting on the couch with you,
and smiling as you taught me to play Pokemon Trozei.
We also played Pokemon Snap,
and perfectly photographed…
I can’t remember what it was, now.
But I know you were happy about it.
A few days later, I got the news.
You were not going to be returning to school, ever.
I wouldn’t be able to see you anymore,
except for when you were carried down the aisle in the casket.
We would not be able to play our imaginative games
out on the playground.
The trio was now a duo.
Despite efforts to replace you,
find a new third member,
we never have been able to.
No one can replace you,
no one is as perfect
as you were.
After all these years,
I still look back fondly,
and then try to determine
what life would be like
if you were still here.
Oh, how I wish you still were here.
You and him were the world to me.
And now, it is only him.
I live in constant fear
of losing him, or him losing me.
Whenever I do something,
I wonder if you
would have approved.
What you would be like,
what I would be like,
and what he would be like,
if you were alive today.
Would you be attending college with us?
What kind of career would interest you?
Someday, I will find you again,
and then maybe you’ll tell me.
Or, perhaps, you won’t.
Perhaps you don’t know yourself.
But what I do know
is that if I found a genie
in a magic lamp
and he gave me three wishes,
I would first
wish for you to be alive
and then
give the last two to you.
Because you, my dear friend,
are the epicenter
of all my fondest memories,
and no matter how much time passes,
I will always, always, remember you.
Oh, that ending is too cliche,
it doesn’t suit you…
I miss you so much!
I wanted to end this pleasantly,
but the emotion’s all welling up,
and, well, I just can’t help myself from crying!
I know you wouldn’t want to see me like this,
so I’ll hold back the tears, then,
and try to put a smile on my face
and remember all the times
we spent together,
all the times during recess,
the times at your house,
the times you came to my house,
like the time at my tea party birthday,
where you dressed up so fabulously in all the fancy stuff,
or at halloween,
when you were pikachu.
I still have those photos,
after all these years…
You were the perfect girl,
the most wonderful girl in the world,
and I know it sounds a bit cliche,
but why did a flower as beautiful as you
have to wilt away
before you had fully bloomed?
