Raychello

the boy noticed the girl the moment she floated through the door of the record shop. it was easy to overlook the beauty in the slighty awkward way she held herself - like she felt out of place or invisible or maybe she was just shy enough to wish not to be noticed this was easy for the boy to believe, thanks to the simple way she was dressed               he clothes slighty oversized               her soft brown hair, curling softly               on her back, shimmering with hints               of red in the sun she was the fragile, teacup sort of girl, the kind who spent her days wondering where the sun went when i

The sky is not the sea          but I'm drowning in it          we're all drowning          everyday (did you know that every grain of sand is a shard of a broken heart?) the earth is moving too fast    it makes me dizzy (the ocean wears them down it weighs me down, too) you are not me         and I am too quiet         and I am too small         and I am not here (I'm floating away we all float away all the time we are floating) and I like to feel the earth move underneath me because it makes me realize that it was here before and it will be here long after        and I am not significant enough        why don

1. everyone is insecure. and even though you say you aren't, I know it's true because you ask these questions like, "am I good enough to be loved?" and most of the time I say yes, but lately I've been thinking and 2. you like to nitpick.  You'll take my words and twist them and rap them around each other and braid them together and tie them in a noose around my neck and pull tight and 3. criticism hurts, but I guess I didn't just learn that from you, but you certainly contributed and 4. blood isn't the only thing coursing through my veins. There's anger and fear and resentment and adrenaline and life and sharp bit

You the lion at my door and when I open up you'll swallow me whole but I don't  mind because I'll just build a tent and a fire and a Wallmart and a library and a grocery store and someone who'll love me and keep me company and i'll live off stale air and stomach aches and make music with strands of my hair and read books and laugh with myself until eventually you die and then i'll crawl out your mouth and curl up on the ground beside you and they'll bury us both in a single shallow grave because I can't survive without you, we've been this way for too long

 Dear Self you are not fighting a war because houses are not battlefeilds and houses are not meant to be bloody and words are not bullets and this is not a battle you are loosing           (or winning) because walls do not harbour ammunition           (at least not where we're from) and people you love are not enemies Dear Self this is not a war and you are not senseless and you do not shoot bullets          (because words are not bullets) and these people love you and, though love may be subjective, it is true and people who love you do not shoot at you         (at least not on purpose) Dear Self you do not need to