People like you and me have grown used to dancing along,
To the raggedy tune of someone else's song.
We are able to dance, and smile, and duck, and roll, and weave,
While still clinging tightly to the things that we believe.
Sometimes we are led to believe we will lose it all; our heart, our soul, our very name,
Afraid they'll take away the us-ness of us; but still we play their game.

I wonder how many others know how to fake their hand?
Who keep the love caged up inside, to appear "normal" and bland?
Perhaps it is just us, perhaps just you, or, again, perhaps just me,
Or perhaps each individual just sees what they want to see.

Perhaps.

Perhaps...

Or perhaps, but...

I had a vision once; all the bad thoughts in the world were mine;
I ****** them in from everyone else, so that all the world felt fine,
And while all other folk were safe at rest, I cried and cried and cried,
And toddled down some empty street, slumped down a wall, and died,
Taking with me all the evil thoughts- the hate, the pain, the strife;
I believe it was the happiest I'd felt in all my life.

I tell you that to tell you this; all people's pain is pain to me,
And I would gladly give you happiness, in exchange for misery.
Don't keep those thoughts locked up inside, and hoard them for your own,
Or both you and I will surely die depressed- afraid- alone.

i wrote all the things that made my skin crawl first
started off with an ol' list.
-clipped nail remainings on a newly swept floor
-ads
-clingy people
i took a break and i looked out at the bustling people and the streets
and store windows covered in streams of red, orange, and yellow lights.
it was gradually getting dark out.
my cup is almost empty..

the truth was (is) i missed you
and i wrote of the things that bothered me
because not seeing you bothers me.
you make me so happy and we're trying this new thing that involves us being s p a c e d out and i'm not used to it.
me and you are so involved its like i'm not myself without you..
ugh that came out wrong..

i read through our messages from as early as december sixteenth to postpone a mental breakdown
in the car earlier and i giggled at stupid things you'd say but after
the happiness fled from me so quickly and i felt the muscles relax in my cheeks.

i wiped my supple yet salty cheeks with my chunky sweater sleeve
and i feel the waitress stealing glances of me in the silence
trying to comprehend what kind of pain i was going through.

i took my feet off the cushioned seats across from me and put my laptop in my backpack behind an essay and a novel i'm almost finished with.
put money on the chipped wooden table and put my orange rinds in the mug
and went off with a
painted half-smile and a
broken heart