Pretty Little Corpse

I can see it in your eyes. You died a long time ago. But damn it if you’re not the prettiest fuckin’ corpse I’ve ever seen.
If I told you I could help you pick up the shattered remains of your once immortal soul, would you believe me? With a few sad stories of mine wrapped in laughter, would you listen when I said that you could still smile something genuine even in the smallest detail of this mundane life? That every stranger has a story to tell? That “fake it til you make it” can really work? Don’t let my cigarette grin fool you. I’m just as unhappy as you. But I’m better at hiding it because no one likes to hear a kids superficial complaints, unless they’re funny while doing it. So my little cadaver, here’s my simple, yet tricky little tip for you to apply to everyday life to fool everyone into thinking you’re not as shattered as you seem. It requires such little effort, and you’ve mastered it a long time ago, but life made you forget how to from time to time. It’s a tiny muscle movement of a thin piece of skin located just in between your chin and Cupid’s bow. Flick those up, and the universal sign for happiness will show.
So smile, motherfucker.
You look so much prettier when you do.


Summer Memory

You breezed in, so out of the blue. So quiet and smart, and an exuberance I couldn’t ignore. A jealously of me and how I lived. A strange curiosity for this life, and how to make it through. I met you a handful of times, but I can’t seem to forget your name or your face. And after that final fight, there was no going back to the way things were. Though I really wish we were both strong enough to say “I’m sorry”. Sorry for our strangeness. Sorry for our differences. Sorry for the mass of confusion we both caused. Sorry that somehow, over texts we couldn’t make things work, but in person, it all seemed to mesh so well.
And you’re already gone, but my apathy won’t let me cry to see you go. Just like yours will easily let you tell me goodbye. But I knew, despite all the pain and disrespect you caused, that between all the laughs and deep little talks, that I’d miss you. And just like you are a dream to me, I’ll become just a summer memory to you.


Noise Cognition.

You took away Lana, the Diamonds, and trains from me. They crawled inside my heart, and when I ripped you away, they seemed to have absorbed a little bit of you. Like weed in a pipe, you were stained on my organ, constantly coming to mind. How To Be A Heartbreaker during that Summertime Sadness, when you held me in your big arms, drunk and I was seeing stars. It was all I dreamt of. Laying so close to you, a few miles away, whistles blew, and you had to say that there were always trains when we were together. I step back in time to your cheeky grin and the way your different dialects of Spanish rolled so fluently off your tongue. I was captivated by you.
You weren’t the smartest. The most attractive. The one with the most going for himself.
You were a liar. A con. A thief.
You stole my heart, but amongst the memories, I found it again. I wanted those sounds to last a little longer. I got my heart back, but not my sounds. So this is to those heartbreakers, never thinking of the other side. To those who never know what it means to set someone up to fail from the start. To those who send people down the bitter path of shattered emotions.
And this to those working to find their way back home. Their way back to themselves. To love, unrequited. This is for all those who lost the sound of music simply by the existence of another person.


We Live to Give Ourselves Away

It’s been a while since I driven home with the moon in the East. The nights of loneliness are becoming the warmest I’ve ever had. You don’t see me. You see the body of the girl worth just enough effort for nothing real. I am one of the nights. Dark and quiet. And you’re nothing more then a dream to me, that’ll slowly shift to a nightmare if I don’t turn back quick enough. What have I become? A shambles of my own reality hiding under the guise of the strong woman trying not to lose her mind in these mixed up world of hearts, and games. If I could meet myself from the years gone by, what would I say to me? Would I even listen? Some days I don’t even see me. I can’t hear myself. I am a wreck. But I am the prettiest wreck you’re ever going to see. Live free, and with no regrets. And I will twirl around and entertain with a dimpled smile that shines with the happiness only madness could possess, until I fall back down into myself again and be who I once was. We all need a little insanity…a little crazy…I am that for so many of you. The wild, carefree spirit. The one brave enough to say what you’re too scared to. The scary looking tough girl with the softest heart. The child mother of drunks and addicts and criminals and whores. Through sickness and in health, I whittle my life away to others desperately grabbing at happiness. And so I dance, and I sing, and I play, and I smile, and I advise. And I am selfishly used because I can take it.
But dammit you people don’t pay me enough for this. In fact, you don’t pay me at all.



I am your cutie pie, candy grin, bubblegum pop. I’m your sweetie pie, angel face, dimpled little lady. I’m your bitter face, your sour grapes, your pinched faced reality. Your darkest dreams, your realist fears, your stoic blank gaze. I’m your bright little blue jay turn vampire bat by night. I’m the alley cat you want to keep. The fire that turned to ice. The one you never suspect of unkindness, the gun in your palms. The name you never want to hear. The bitch that left the bitter taste in the back of your throat. Let this be a warning:”Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn” is not just a tidbit of helpful advice. It’s a life choice. In other words, be careful who you fuck with. They might be better at it than you.


Love Is a Strange Thing

I have fallen in love one time, and it was the most painful fall I’ve ever taken. It left me gasping for air, and he never caught me for the landing. He left me to bleed, and on my own, I was forced to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and shattered reality. I was 20, and terribly naive. I kissed for the first time, opened up for the first time, loved for the first time on a plane I didn’t know I could exist on. From then on out, I promised never to feel that way again. I didn’t want it again. The fluttering heart, the starry eyed looks, the poetry and lies whispered in a Foreign tongue . I jumped from boy to boy, man to man. I was cold. I was relentless. I had a personal vendetta again these “pathetic” hearts and bodies that had tortured me for so long; Lying to them and myself, breaking myself down, and causing more damage then I could comprehend at the time. I created monster that knew how to play the game, and had started to eat away at me, and I didn’t try to hide it. I found the prettiest faces, and exposed them for the liars they were. Then I met you. You caused me to expose myself for the bitch that i was. You changed my life, without even realizing it. I still don’t think you do. I had no idea that you’d be the one I’d want to be with. It slapped me in the face, and you tingled at my minds edge for reasons I could not understand. You slowly molded into my world, and I’m growing more and more comfortable every day I wake up beside you. I push, you pull. I pout, you smile. I cry, you hold. Despite my flaws, you embrace them so wholly, and I’m baffled at what to do. I’m always a week behind you in feelings, but somehow, I’m catching up. I’m so broken, but you cradle the pieces, and treasure every shattered bit of my imperfect self. I’m falling again, but I can breathe. I’m landing in a place I thought I was never worthy to be in. I’m not your doll to throw around. I’m your girl. And you’re my man. And I have no idea what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m letting it all happen. And I’m happy. And I love you. And I hurt you. I don’t mean to be so quite. So unpredictable. So unwilling and unable to express how I feel. I want to learn to love again, but it’s hard for me to know how. I’m sorry for it all. But I’m learning, day by day. The damage those men caused, and the pain and insecurities I brought upon myself; I wish you didn’t have to silently suffer them. But you’ve held me through it all. And I love you. I just pray you’re still around when I’m ready to say it back.


I Am Fine

Don’t ask me where I go when I disappear for days at a time. I’m still here. I’m fine. Don’t ask why I’m not the same when I get back. I’m still here. I’m fine. I never forgot anyone while I was gone. I was just in my head, reconnecting the wires in my brain that lead to every vital bit of my spirit, so I can genuinely live, and not simply exist. Don’t ask me where I go when I disappear for days at a time. I’m still here. I’m fine. Don’t think I forgot about you. I’m still here, and I am fine.


What Is Really Love?

I’ve been judged in my life for the decisions I’ve chosen, and the people I’ve kept around.

A fairy once whispered to me, there are people in this life that’ll tell me every move and every decision I should be making. But what is it to them? They have nothing to lose.

I am judged because of him. They don’t care to hear the happy moments we share. The silly things he does. They only care to hear the tragedy. The only want to see the tears and my bruised little heart.
He is no good! They cry to me. I hear your desperation. I see your good intentions. But people will never know the half of what I’ve been shown. I’ve been with the best looking. The most prestigious. Business men, scholars. High class, well off and well to do business men.
But he is better then them.
He does not have the nice clothes.
He does not have the beautiful homes.
The fancy cars, the bloated bank accounts.
He has worn out shoes, toxins in his blood, and the best intentions in his shattered massive heart.
He is better then the men I’ve seen.
He is better then the man that hit me.
He is better then my rapist.
He is better then every man that made me cry in the middle of the night from their lack of conscious and own selfish agendas.
He loves me with a love I’ve never been shown.
I’ve been in love before, though this, I can say, is my first love.
I can see it in his eyes.
He, at times, is lost.
But, like I first told him, “I will find you.”


A Missing Piece

Things have never been the same since you left. You were here, and then you disappeared almost 2,000 miles north. Your trip was short and your return was even shorter. Love doesn’t always work out — this I understand. You left to avoid causing pain, but your presence stained my heart red, white, and blue. I miss you. You’re getting married now, and not to who I want you to. I see you’re happy with another family, and while I prayed for divorce with others closer to my life, I couldn’t believe yours would hurt so much. You were the sister I never had, one closer then blood. I miss you, mi amour. But I’m happy, as long as you are.


Self Pity is a Common Error

Go ahead and a take a martyrs knee. You’re that kinda kid. The one who publicly suffers and wants everyone to know how tired you are, how much you want and deserve rest. How badly you want a tourniquet placed over your head and your heart. To stop this infernal internal bleeding that’s starting to fill up your lungs and all you can cough up is your red apathy.

But don’t you know that life doesn’t get any easier the older you get? The problems start to build and mount and crush our collar bones and cause our disks to collapse into one another. The pain of this life is great. But the pleasure is so much greater.

We hold out somedays, hoping for that epiphany that’ll electrify our minds, and turn on all the lights upstairs and we will no longer have to play Heracles, and Atlas will take his rightful place in bearing the weight of our world. But it’s time to wake up and learn. We are the children of Heracles and Atlas. Strong enough to defeat our enemies and strong enough to hold the world. Inside you is a strength you wouldn’t believe.

We choose the lives we lead. Hold close those moments of happiness and beauty close to your heart and know that that’s all they are. They are beautiful and random and worth the wait and the fight. So Go ahead and a take a maryters knee. You’re that kinda kid. I’m the fool. The jester. The pessimistic optimistic dreamer stuck in reality. We all hope too much. Dream too much. Feel too much. Want too much. Our bleeding hearts will kill us if the cigarettes, drinking, or old age doesn’tf get us first. We live selfishly for ourselves and others. Life never made any sense, but it’s one of those rare serendipitous things that we’ve come to accept as fate. So ill go ahead and take my maryters knee. Cuz I’m that kinda kid.