Yowza670

"I'm a liar." Even as I say it, I can feel your eyes looking at me, wishing you had more. More of me, more of you, more stability, more answers. You just want more. Well I'm sorry, but I can't give you anything anymore. I'm sick of pretending I know what I'm doing. I don't. All I want to do is get drunk every Saturday night and fall into the pit of "bad kids" at school. I just don't want to care anymore. I don't want to wonder what I'm doing and why. I don't want to love you or anyone else, and I certainly don't want anyone to love me. Why? Why do I pretend? What do I have to gain? Absolutely nothing. I can get angry when you don't answer

You sigh. Your diary's been filled with walls of text, screaming out from their pages. Your life is a distant wisp of a memory, a movie watched once a long time ago. You watch as it runs away from you, leaving you tired and sad and out of touch with the rest of the world. You sit in your chair and flip back the pages in your diary, remembering your life. Your eyes read her name and you immediately slam the book down onto the table, stand up, and walk out of your tiny apartment. Your feet find their way to the bridge. You stand on the ledge, thinking. Your arm hooked around the railing. Her eyes. Her hair. Her dress. You ready yourself to

We fell in the mud, stained our shoes, and smudged our faces. We ate candy, sucked on our thumbs, and watched too much tv. We jumped on our beds, climbed on the roof, and swung from the trees. We cracked our glasses, tore our books, and wove tapestries from gum wrappers. We laughed, we cried, we loved. We wanted to know we were alive, to find meaning in our existence. We wanted to know that we weren't alone. We lost, we learned, we tied our laces. We sighed, we frowned, we fell in line. We ate our vegetables, we did our homework, we read our Bible. We fought, we ran, we sat in detention. We screamed, we hated, we mourned. We wante

I sat down at the fancy dinner. I could still remember way back before I became famous, before I had to watch what I said and how I said it. Back when we were lucky to get anything to eat at all, since we were both dirt poor, begging on the streets for a hamburger. Then you said we should try something else. I remember that. I promised myself I wouldn't forget. "Come on. We're leaving," You said harshly, getting up from where you were sitting on the sidewalk. Your ragged clothes showed part of your stomach and about half of your left calf. I looked up at you, noticing the dirt crusted around your hair and the determined look in your eyes. "

I wish I could tell you I like you. But I like not telling, too. I wish you could know that it's just an innocent little crush. That's why I'm always giggling and making faces at myself when I get something wrong. That's why I like to touch your shoulder. That's why sometimes I walk next to you and step on your foot so I can say sorry a few seconds later. I wish you didn't have a girlfriend. I'm happy for her, really; she gets to have a great boyfriend, even though she doesn't acknowledge it. I've seen her give you mean looks and roll her eyes when you ask a stupid question, while I sit there grinning like an idiot 'cuz I think you're hil

She was always a quiet girl. She sat by herself all day long. I used to look at her, staring out with her melted chocolate eyes, and think, 'Something big is going on in there. Or maybe nothing's going on.' She used to draw pictures of mangled corpses and bloody bed sheets. She used to smear red paint on the cafeteria wall and blame it on whoever happened to cross her path that day. She used to smile her purple-lipped smile and kiss her papers for a signature. She used to keep her heart in a small glass box, with only enough room for herself. She ripped the heart off her sleeve and didn't patch up the hole it left in her sweater. I sat

I've been told I'm like an abused puppy dog. One day, I met you. You told me everything I never wanted to hear; and for some reason, I loved you. I gave you everything, and your words cut my wrists and bruised my face. I missed being able to talk to people who didn't do it too, but I was too happy for you to be too sad with myself. One day, you hit me for real. I was honored, really. You left a mark on me that never left. You always told me that you had to leave some mark of recognition on your property. Once you broke a chair on my head. I remember telling the hospital nurse how I fell down the stairs after slipping on a wet cloth I left

I walked to school that morning. I don't know why. The bus came, but I just walked beside it. And school is a whole mile away. Some might say a mile isn't a lot, but it is to me. I walked next to the bus, waving as it sped off. I wasn't waving to the people, just the bus in general. I walked through the door and smiled at the man in the plastic mask. He was called a principl. He took the 'a' out because, as he says, "I'm not your pal." So most of us call him a princip, because if you say principl the wrong way, it sounds like principal. And then you get detention. I picked up my pen. It had no ink in it, but I didn't need ink, anyway. It's

Nowhere Man I've been half awake my whole life. It just happens, you know, when you're between wakefulness and sleep. You float around in the bleary half-truths that your parents and teachers feed you every day, not minding that you'll never get a taste of the real world. You cannot dream, you cannot sleep. But you can't live, either. I've lived my whole life without actually living, even for a second. Sometimes when you sit back and sail on the ocean of your mindless imagination, things happen. You go on wild adventures in nonexistent faraway lands, you meet the invisible girl of your dreams and fall heels over head in love with her; bu

I Remember You I remember when I was six years old and you were seven, and those fourteen months between us seemed like a lifetime. You were always so much better than I was; I'd just started kindergarten and you were already in first grade, wearing your cute little jackets and Mary Janes. You were always more fashionable than I was, even then. You were always quieter than I was; in fact, back then, you hardly talked at all. I was the translator, always working so that someone else could be heard, but not caring about myself. I realize now how stupid selflessness is; you always borrowed my jacket to warm up, but never gave it back when my ow