When I was younger,
I wish that I would have known better.
Better love makes a fat romance,
that lasts for more than a shoe shine.
I'm older, took all the words of my mother, saying,
It could be worse,
could be born with that disease,
instead of catching it first.
So lets go back, to the first time,
that I met you, in your Chevy,
with your hands stretched,
and me crying, screaming, Mercy. Mercy.
But I know that, I was put here, to fight Vikings
in the cold war, with my arms out,
in the front lines, singing, Dare me. Dare me.

But these things take time love.
These things take backbone.
And they'll tell you what you want to hear
cause they think its better. Better.
But you better know how to point out the liars.
You've got to weigh your wars make sure you're not fighting for nothing. Nothing.
Are you fighting for nothing?

It feels like this world has been
growing slowly upside down.
Maybe I should move to China,
and straighten this mess out.
Maybe Ill be a poet.
Watch all the sky for falling words.
And write about my grandmas curtains,
or the lady who put the Chinese buffet in her purse.
Ive got my mouth.
Its a weapon. Its a bombshell.
Its a cannon. Ive got my words.
I wont give them mercy. Mercy.

But these things take time love.
These things take backbone.
And they'll tell you what you want to hear
cause they think its better. Better.
But you better know how to point out the liars.
You've got to weigh your wars make sure you're not fighting for nothing. Nothing.
Are you fighting for nothing?

Ive got my words. I hope they hurt you.
I hope they scar you. I hope they heal you.
I hope they cut you open,
make you see you've been warring
for all the wrong reasons.

Make you see that some things are worth bruising for.
Make you see that your name is your honor code.
Make you see that your hands you're accounted for.
Pick and choose where your sweat and your blood will go.
Make you see your life's not to be lived alone.
Run their spit through your hair, you're worth nothing. Nothing.

But these things take time love.
These things take backbone.
And they'll tell you what you want to hear
cause they think its better. Better.
But you better know how to point out the liars.
You've got to weigh your wars make sure you're not fighting for nothing. Nothing.
Are you fighting for nothing?

Today was a weird day.

I woke up this morning not excited to start my day in the slightest. Quickly I threw myself in the shower and used up all of the hot water before I actually started cleaning myself. There was no point to actually doing my hair (there usually never is) or looking nice, so kind of just grabbed a shirt and jeans at the last minute. As I was cooking my breakfast of eggs, I thought about how I hadn't talked to you in over 24 hours. It felt so very strange.

It wasn't that I was used to texting you all of the time, but I mean, I was used to staying up late with you and whispering sweet nothings. And to think that we hadn't done that for the past two nights unsettled me. My life has been so stressful lately, and talking to you was the only thing that relaxed me. The only thing that sent butterflies to my stomach, the only thing that made my heart sing like the little caged bird she is.

My day went on at a grueling pace, but I forced myself to go on and let myself smile even though I couldn't stop thinking of you. I couldn't stop wishing, hoping, that just maybe you would decide to text me and say I'm sorry, I love you. My phone's been dead. But of course you didn't. Anything I want or expect never happens. You must have been lying to me. It wouldn't be the first time.

I wanted so badly to believe you. I wanted to let myself fall in love with you all over again, to be the girl that your parents hated but you loved. I wanted to be your first hello, your last goodbye, and your only true love. I don't think I was though. Look at this paragraph. Every sentence starts with "I". I am so terribly selfish, aren't I?

The only thing that made my day worth even waking up to was my private lesson. Other than you, marimba is the only thing that I can lose all of my thoughts in. I pick up the mallets and play, I don't even think. It's so distracting. Drawing me away from my anger, my sadness, and highlighting the only emotion that I can control -- my happiness. The warm feelings flood me, and I disregard my mistakes, focusing only on improving throughout the song.

And then I think of you.

I drop the mallets
they land on the keyboard
with a click and clatter.
The dissonance
rings
in my ear.

I turn my head, and my hair falls over my face. My brown eyes are cloudy with tears, and the harsh practice room lighting is unflattering to my face. I feel my heart sink and my eyes sting. My throat closes up and I hiccup, feeling the sobs threatening to rack my body. And I think, I hate this. I hate crying in practice rooms. I hate crying at school. I hate myself for this. And I really do. I shouldn't be crying over a boy who just needs to grow up.

I shouldn't be crying, but I shouldn't not care. I don't think I'm so heartless as to laugh in your face when you act up. Whatever, if you're doing it for no reason, then I can just be mad at you later. But if you're doing it for a reason? I want to know why, I want to fix whatever is wrong. I want to make you laugh, and smile, and feel the happy that I always long for.

Maybe I can't. Maybe you're not fixable. Maybe you're stuck the way you are, and maybe some people hate you for that. They may hate you for how you act or how you treat people, or for that horrible temper of yours. But I don't. I could never hate you. I'm not going to say I never wished that I could, because there are times that I've been so livid with you that I could not even put into words how I wished fate to fall upon you.

But I love you, Anthony. I love your face and your eyes and every freckle on your face. I love your sweet-talking, your constant quotation of song and your questionably strange and perverted sense of humor. I love all of your little quirks and your passion when it comes to the things you love and care about. There's nothing to "fix". You're not "broken". You're a person who I love and cherish and couldn't stand to lose forever.

I want to be there for you through every step of your life. I want to be the girl you can look to and smile at, knowing she'll be there for you in your darkest days. I will be that girl. Everyone who hates you and doesn't want me to care for you can shove it. I love you and I need you in my life. Perhaps this isn't anything at all, really. Chances are that you'll come running back and we'll be happy again.

Quickly now. You're terribly late.

mhm.

They don't know about us. They don't hear the words we whisper in the wintry February air. They don't see the veiled kisses we slip in the dark of twilight. They will never feel what we feel, the pull that tugs our hearts from miles apart. Never will they grip the unbending circumstances of our love.

Their snide remarks have grown banal. They judge us like they know you and me, but they don't. Perhaps that is the ground of their hate; what they cannot comprehend, they fear and despise. They are filled with qualm when something they cannot manipulate arises from the ashes of the fire they have set.

But it doesn't matter to me. Not a care in the world belongs to these imbeciles who believe they can give the verdict on our feelings. Maybe you're lying to me, maybe I'm lying lying to myself. That's for us to find out, not anyone else. Let them have their opinions, but keep their poison out of my drink.

You are the song and dance of the butterflies that flutter through my stomach. Your words are candied like the little chocolates I so often crave. And your eyes are a lovely shade of turquoise, so deep I swim in them. Your voice is the trickle of water in my driest of springs. Your arms are the grove of trees that cut through the biting winter wind.

And I love you with every fiber of my being. Every little cell stops its function just to flash you a smile, and how I manage to survive seeing, I will never know. Perhaps it is the love that keeps my heart beating, my body warm, and the air in my lungs. Love is the closest thing we have to magic, isn't it?

You kill me with your beauty, but it is your love that keeps me breathing.

funny story.

i'm so stupid.
and i liek boys.


the end