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Now I'm burning bridges

I'm learning that you

can't say yes to everyone.

Now I'm tearing down my

old traditions, inhibitions,

letting go with the setting sun.

I want to feel what it is to feel,

to know what it is to be really real

and don't hold me back,

no I won't turn back.

Now I've found a cure for leprosy

my decayed limbs are coming alive

Now I'm through with your hypocrisy

I've got a voice, I'll speak my mind.

I wonder,

dear ---,

if I were to show you

all the love poems I wrote

only for you,

what you would say.

Probably nothing.

Things will not change between us

and it is pointless to even try.

But still!

I will wonder,

wonder wonder,

until the day I die.

Tonight the world rushes

by me like waterfalls

swiftly cascading to doom.

As I just sit here I'm

thinking of you, that you're 

probably at home in your room.

But maybe you're sitting 

down on your bed also

and you are thinking of me

and if you are then

I know that our hearts will be

joined by our pure harmony.

I adore you

you know

I implore you

don't go

For I need you 

tonight

or I may die

of fright.

A forbidden love

I pressed down inside

so you wouldn't see

behind all my lies.

I don't want to scare you,

just want you to know

the truth I've been hiding

since so long ago.

I wish I could open

my heart up to everyone,

baring my soul and

my heart and my carrion

and then you would know

that I care about not a one

except for you, oh my dear

except for you, oh my sun.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

for being born

for not being perfect

for feeling guilty

for being selfish

for costing money

for consuming

for producing waste

for breaking your heart.

Why do you love me

when all I do is wrong?

I am so tired of being guilty.

I am so sick of regret.

We skate

hand in hand

knowing that if we let go,

we will slip and fall down

and not knowing 

if we will get up again.

Hold me tighter

and don't ever let me go

and let your "forever" really be forever.

I think.

But forever is a long time

and maybe by the time it has passed

we will be tired of each other

and you will realize at last

that I really am who I say I am--

boring and selfish and desperate for attention--

and not your lovely mask of perfection.

Or maybe you will see

but you will still love me?

Still care for me--

is it possible?

I want to believe.

Do not ask me to sleep tonight,

Mr. Moon.

It is far too nice

and life does not stop for sleep.

There is too much to be seen,

to feel, to know,

to waste a single moment of breath!

Let me live, let me love,

and body of mine, don't tell me to stop--

I am too enthralled to rest anyway.

My soul is bursting tonight.

Oh muse, you have filled me with

a thousand passions

but you have forgotten to give me

the words!

The secrets of love,

of devotion and contentment

and raging, burning, feeling--

I know all!

But I can never tell you

because you do not know

the language of the soul.

I would have laughed before

at the thousand love songs of the world

at the sticky-sweet love poems

written for only one (but

shared with the world)

at the heart-warming lovers' scenes

in the Hollywood movies.

I would have laughed before, my love,

but now I know they are true.

You have turned my bitter cynicism

into joyous belief (and

fearful disbelief)

in the rapturous state of love.

To say "I love you" is so dreadfully cliche,

the hollow words have lost their meaning

and potency from overuse.

But!

To hear you say it--

my heart swells into my throat,

a silly grin sneaks across my face,

a tear of amazement blossoms in my eye,

for it is so beautiful.

And what is better?

I know that you mean it.

Oh! If only

the world forgave you as I have,

if only they saw

behind your mask hides a little boy

cowering in fear at the cruel world.

Life has not been kind to you, my dear,

and I want to hold you in my arms

and soak up all your sorrows.

Why are you afraid to cry?

You know you can tell me anything

and I will love you even more,

even if you tell me that

you only love me for sex,

like everyone else thinks.

You broke my heart when you said

"I wish you could have met my father.

He would have loved you as much as I do."

You tore me apart.

Life is not fair, my dear!

Life is not fair

and you deserve better.

Maybe when you said that,

your father looked down from heaven

or up from hell

and smiled.

I will think that, anyway.

My heart breaks for you, my sweet.

You are alone in the world

and I am standing in front of you,

trying to keep the wind from knocking you down

trying to keep the train from crushing you

trying to keep the rain away

all in vain.

I want to love you and I want you to love me

but we are so broken!

And I only wish that I were like Catullus,

that I could value the rumors of old men at a penny

but I cannot! I cannot!

I cannot bear the quietly disdainful eye of my father,

I cannot be your mother and your lover,

I cannot defend you all the time.

I want, so desperately, to love you.

I will try

but I will fail.

I know it is fruitless to compare you

to the ideals of women.

Men like that don't exist.

But! (that fateful but!)

I will still compare you until the end of time

and you will not measure up.

It is wrong to be disappointed,

but I am anyway.

___

I do not like this point in our relationship. I am realizing that I am impossible to love because I will always convince myself that you don't love me. You say you will never tire of convincing me over again that you mean it when you say you will love me forever, but I know it will get old. I know I will be the one to break up with you and I know that it will crush you and I don't want that because I do love you but we are both fucked up people. We are using each other. You want me for sex and I want you for experiences. I only want to have sex so I can talk about it later and feel old; I don't particularly enjoy it physically. I just want to cuddle. But I want to have the experience of doing it so I can add it to my checklist. With him, I also go out and party, I get drunk, I get navel piercings, I get fuel for writing stories and impressing my friends (many of whom only like me because they can live vicariously through me). I am a teenager. I'm afraid of losing that because I know that I will hate myself if I must sit around and be a boring kid and live on the internet all day.

Innocence is a pall

which covers the eyes

from the truth.

She gazed lovingly at herself

grinning, what a lovely thing!

Oh, that a thousand strings

should sound together so harmoniously!

In this form she could do anything.

The demon slept, dormant

in the recesses of the mind.

A day of fate

a day of rainclouds

a day of tragic awakening.

The poor girl arose

bright-eyed, gleaming with vitality.

The demon stirred,

opened one eye lazily, then the other.

Wings, huge dark wings

taloned wings

snapped impatiently.

The demon arose

hungry for prey.

She gazed lovingly at herself--

what a glorious shell!

But--

oh dear.

The demon swooped down,

landed on the girl

and wrenched her eyes open.

What imperfection!

What flaws!

What a hideous creation!

The pall had been lifted,

the demon roamed free.

She poked

She prodded

She hid.

She longed to close her eyes again

but the demon kept them open.

It gnashed its teeth,

it fed on dreams,

it laid eggs of destruction in the mind.

She covered her ugliness

with earthly palls,

hid away from the world.

But the demon,

the fertile demon and its cursed eggs,

remained.

A time bomb of inevitability 

had been placed,

waiting for detonation.

Cracking, pecking,

feebly emerging,

the eggs were broken to reveal

little hideous monsters,

more vicious together

than the demon itself.

The shells littered the ground--

the girl

poor girl

left naked, shivering

among shards of the wall

she had built to hide in.

At first the demons were quiet,

feeding off of the girl

slowly watching her decay

but then the whispering began.

Everything she did was wrong.

The demons told her so.

They ate her away

until she was a skeleton,

a shadow of herself.

They became her.

The corridors of her mind

were occupied by demon mass,

they were everywhere!

They twisted everything

into a hellish nightmare.

She longed to wake up.

Pinch, pinch, pinching

pain would shake her free.

If only she were alive again,

the monsters would let her be!

We exist forever

in this awkward waltz--

your trembling hand on my quivering waist

and we feel...

is this expected of us?

The analysis of man 

has blinded us to our own shortcomings

and you step on my feet,

I stumble and fall.

You will pick me up

but only when they tell you to.

Weeping

silently

clutching the useless scraps of paper

folded so many times,

ink smudged and worn.

On her face can be read

the mask of one who will always answer

"nothing's wrong"

when everything is.

How does all the bad in the world

know where to find her?

The demons of despair rack her bitter form

and hopelessness quivers on every limb.

But I cannot tell her to be happy

because her life is hinged on gloom.

He brings me to his bower bare

to show me that there's nothing there

that I could ever hold.

What cruel master leads me so,

giving to and taking fro,

pushing into the cold?

'tis Cupid--that mischievous boy

hath made many a clever ploy,

pulling all towards.

Then, when all are certain of the catch,

reaches in--a vicious snatch

has stolen our rewards!

Alone we cry, we weep, we pine

for that lover so divine--

have them we must!

Little do we know, so filled with rue,

that our beloved pineth too

for love from even us.

So from afar, two lovers gaze

at the other, waiting for praise

which won't come without a nudge.

Neither moves--rejection's fear

is looming far too close and near--

in love they will not budge.

The well is dry.

The lifeblood--

coursing through our veins,

the current which sustains--

is no more.

The granary is empty.

Our crops--

burning in the field,

our fate is now sealed--

have been consumed.

The children are dying.

The future--

once it gleamed like stars,

now it is not ours--

is melting.

We have no hope.

Salvation--

something better soon,

save us from our doom--

is impossible.

The point of no return

stares us in our fearful eyes.

The end--?

Walking home from school

up the hill, the sun

beating down on me

trudging along--

with every step I hear

the cries below of

all that I have killed.

__

Guilt and regret--

my constant companions.

It doesn't seem to matter what I do

for it will always be wrong,

thanks to

guilt and regret.

If I had a second chance

to do everything right,

would I?

I would then realize

my utter loneliness without

guilt and regret.

Perhaps they distract me

from the thoughts that plague me,

offering me a sanctuary

free from discovery and change?

But looking back at my life

I wonder where I have been

all this time.

I want you to notice me,

I cry out in my silence.

Maybe my quiet gaze will be so loud

that you will be forced to turn around.

Embrace me, damn it.

Why won't you embrace me?

I know I am not like you--

teach me to assimilate!

I want to be a clone,

a happy, accepted, loved clone of you.