There is a certain amount of pressure in the fact that we live somewhere we can basically determine our own fate. The idea that one can simply change their life by filing for divorce, changing religion, applying for a new job makes it that you have no reason to whine, or ***** about your current situation. This is terrifying. The entirety of your life is placed on your shoulders and your shoulders only. In another country things might be laid out for you. Who you marry, what your job is, how your expected to act. I don't wish for this type of life, and i recognize that there is a different kind of pressure, but the type i am most afraid of is right in my own backyard. The expectation that you are in charge of you and if success isn't in your future its because you made it that way.

On the back of a math worksheet
You wrote down reasons.
Then on the back of a history worksheet
You wrote down ways.
The back of your physics homework
Had “im sorry’s”
And they all had tear stains.

On the back of my hand
I wrote down reminders to call you.
In the note pad on my phone
I wrote down plans to come talk  
And in the back of my mind
I wrote down ways to make you happier.

At 2:30, right after school
You were in your basement with pills.
You had your math,history, and physics worksheets
All laid out on the floor around you.
At 2:45 you dialed my phone, pills in hand.


At 2:30, right after school
I was on my bed looking up spanish vocabulary
I had my homework all laid out around me
At 2:45 I received your call slightly worried because
You never call, only text.

What are you supposed to say
When your best friend is on the other line
Dying before they’ve even taken the pills.
How are you supposed to make them feel better
Because at this point you both are at a loss.

Dialing 911 on the home phone
Doesn’t seem to difficult
But it really is when you can practically
Hear the minutes going by
Minutes that could determine a life from that point on
Minutes that did.

I heard that you tried again a couple months later.
I guess you smartened up and didn’t tell me this time.
You seem to have awful luck
When it comes to following through with your intentions
But while it may be unfortunate for you
Its so lucky for me because even though we don’t speak
Id like to think that one day you see that
I only wanted to stop you
From hurting yourself.

Crying under the covers
half hoping that you suffocate
is not cute.
Breathing into a paper bag
because you can't breathe the air
that everyone seems to inhale so easily
is not pretty.
Ruining yourself on the outside
to fix whats on the inside
is not beautiful.
I don't care how many
line breaks you add,
how many fonts you change,
how many pictures you can etch into your skin.
It is not something to allude to.

Sometimes i wish i could write poems
with all the similes clinging to your thoughts like barnacles.
And describe people with metaphors that wrap around the actual meaning like weeds grow on to other, more pretty plants.  
It would be nice if i could use edgy things like cigarette butts, half filled bottles of beer, and lipstick stained papers with a number jotted down
to describe mundane things like sadness and fear,
although lipstick stains and cigarette butts do leave an awfully mundane stench behind.

I think we both know its best
to forget about it
before we try to remember it
live through it.
I think you know that its best
that we stop trying to make this work
before we turn in to children
running around in a circle
trying to see who get dizzy first.
Maybe I'm a bad bad person
for saying i loved you
and then leaving
but baby i know

The first time i brought you to a party
i drank so many ***** sodas that
i could only mumble a barley audible
i wanna go home 3 hours later.

You politely excused the both of us
giving the correct amount of goodbyes
or so I'm told, and you wrapped me up
in your fuzzy coat, picked me up like a baby.

I heard that you laid me down in the backseat
of your 1975 navy blue volvo.
Kissed me on the forehead
and turned on the heat.
You put on my favorite band, and played my favorite song
and drove very safe, checking on me
every 3 light posts.    

You brought me back to my apartment
and very respectfully stripped me of my clothes
and replaced them with one of your old t-shirts
and a pair of gym shorts.
Laid me down on my bed
and climbed in with me, pulling the covers
over our bodies. You wrapped you arms
around my drunken skeleton
kissed my shoulder and slept.

But really what happened
was i drank so many ***** sodas
that i didn't see you sneak off with the nymphish  
looking redhead. So many vodkas
that i could dream out a gentlemanly situation
and enough alcohol that you could take credit.

Her name was Mave.  
She had gorgeous long red hair
and green like apples eyes.
She liked to collect circular rocks
because they gave her luck.
She was terrified of driving
because just the idea of trusting others
with giant metal machines going at 70 mph
made her head hurt.
She loved freckles because she said
that they looked like little hearts on peoples faces.
She hated pumpkins and carrots. First of all because
they were orange just like her hair, and she liked to think
that the color was special and not given to things as mundane as a food.
Second of all, shed like to believe that shed be caught dead
before she ever asked for anything pumpkin flavored and conform to the 'white girl'.
and carrots just tasted funny.
She was inconsistent, and while some said it kept them on their toes
the truth is, all it did was keep them wrapped around her finger.
She was careless and didn't think much before she acted.
It could be seen as spontaneous, but actually it was just hurtful.
She loved the winter, because her cheeks matched her hair
and she stood out against the pure white snow.
She loved summer as well because she didn't need to be held
to anyones expectations and she could simply disappear.
She was an all or nothing type girl. Its why she either summer
or its polar opposite winter.
Its why she wanted to either be your lover
or be a stranger.