“you don’t understand.”

People are always getting mad at me for telling them “You don’t understand.”

You get so used to me being a dumb bottle blonde whose hair is a little too damaged, to realize that my hair isn’t the only part of me damaged. You start to listen to me, read what I write and look into my eyes when I speak. You cant understand how the girl making you question every life decision you’ve ever made is the same girl who asked what Obama’s’ last name was.

I don’t expect people to pay attention to me. I’m sorry for making you think and for lying about how smart I really am. I’ll let you in on something big; I’ve never wanted to be this way. I write down my thoughts for you hoping to pass them on let them escape and leave me alone. Day and night I lay awake pondering life. Wondering why he left. How did I fall for her lies. Why am I so stupid. Wishing I didn’t get away with everything. Hoping to get caught so I can be stopped. I promise, I don’t want to live this life but when the life you think I’m living is chasing me away I have no where else to go because you locked me out and now my escape plan has been ruined so I run around spilling drinks, catching fire to curtains and crying loudly hoping that you hear.

I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for hurting myself. I never realized you cared. I never realize anybody cares. and maybe in the high of the night I can convince myself you meant it last time you told me you loved me, but I always wake up knowing that your love has no meaning towards me. So next time I speak to you listen closer and read between the lines because before you label me as stupid try to remember some people hide between the black and white boundary’s of their story.


I’m Afraid

Afraid of love and death and scars

And I’ve come to this crazy conclusion that none of it will ever sum up the full potential of my life, and no matter how many beautiful boys break my heart, no matter how much grief I’ve gone through, no matter how many thin lined scars cover me from head to toe it will not make me anymore meaningful than I already am. But the sad truth is that the truth is just something you wished was a lie even though you sat there beside me crying Saturday night begging me to tell you. We both know you weren’t ready to hear it, and maybe that’s why it’s called the sad truth because it’s the bitter sweet taste of knowing you don’t have to doubt anymore but also realizing that you can’t change the truth or tweak it. It’s almost like those 20 second ads on YouTube they are too long to listen to but too short to skip and it almost makes you wonder if anybody else feels meaningful or if that’s something you accomplish seconds before inhaling your last breathe. Could it really be just you that feels this way? Is it possible for a world with billions of people to all at once feel alone even though we all know we are not the only ones alive thriving and surviving in this weird gravitational sphere filled with dirt and water they call earth and beg us to take care of and treat kindly which we can’t even do considering the amount of garbage we pour out onto the streets daily.

But really how could they expect us to take care of a big dirt ball when half of us refuse to take care of our own flesh and skin?