i guess it says something about me
that every-time my wii reads 'there was an error'
my heart starts racing and anxiety invades my being.

the thing with self-improvement is that they teach you when you're young to never give up; to never be satisfied. they tell you to always strive for more. but they forget to apply the, "too much of a good thing can be a bad thing" rule before it's too late.

i've lost hours, and broken strings, and bruised hands striving to be he best. i've fallen, i've cried myself to sleep, i've changed my hair color, trying to be the best. i've spent so many years of my life trying to find me only to feel more lost than i have ever been.

now he love's me for someone i'm not
and he can't understand it when i tell him he doesn't love me
'cause he swears he does.

funny how the thing that frightens me is what i have become.

NJ2016 All Rights Reserved.

You're supposed to get up every day and walk with purpose
Smile and greet others
Push your cheeks up until it hurts
Laugh at the right times and be quiet when you're told
Be kind
Apologize
Make sure everyone knows they're important because you're not sure you are
And as a woman you must be gentle and loving because women never lose their temper, never think ill of somebody else, never let that all important façade drop
You're pretty sick of it
because you feel like you're dying
but no one takes it seriously because you're an overemotional female
So it's probably just hormones (***, you know) and you'll get over it in a few days
Yes, you're fine, you say when asked because you know they don't really want to know
what goes on inside your pretty, smiling head

in the blank blue
eyes vacant
cast in ghostly hues
did I really know you
are you really willing
this to crumble
into nothing

Where has that classic romantic gone?
The one that writes lines of poetry on paper, on skin
The soulful sway of the heart, taking out time to separate
Away from the world
Within the world
Like the feel of music under the skin
In the veins warbling its majestic tune against the chilled goose-flesh of feeling
The heart on the sleeve
On the chest
In the mouth.

Gravity its working against me
Taking away my breath
Collapsing my wild heart under the suffocating weight
Of that ragtime dime
That jaunting beat of social feet
Pulling me against the current

To a colder tune
Something somber filled with the lonely blues.

So they flee; once beautiful narratives detached from me and took off running.
For my own sake, I eventually follow and take off hunting.

Crossing the bridge to the ocean, finding no words above or beneath their pillars or the sun-setting shades on the water in motion.

Maybe I'll find the words perched on the bridge as a little black bird, who mirrored me in a way that resonated with my soul but whose tune sang not one melodic word.

I go to the ocean, and heavy waves collapsing onto beds of sand sighed no release for me, and I leave.

Home, I paint a picture and coaxed a thousand  empty words out of it, that rang like broken records and sang to me deep into the night.

I awake to a blizzard, beautiful white.
A cold I felt I'd brewed with my mind
So I try and dive into a novel only to find my mind's waters shallow, and the pages became no more than ink printed paper.
I think myself incapable;

I look to the bottle, mostly white,
It sat on my nightstand by white papers that so longed for me to write.
I kick my head back and let the words pour from the bottle and back into me, loosening my grip, they could finally flow free.