the point is..

and there comes a point in your life when you stop being selfish for one minute and think about someone else for a change because regardless of how much they have hurt you, how many times they have made you cry, how many times they have smiled at you and then turned around and walked out the door with another one, you still care, you still love, and you still want them to know that someone has their back.

i wake up through out the morning
changing the alarm clock on my phone
pushing back the time i need to wake up
three, four, five times because
even five more minutes with my head on your chest is
worth the dirty looks i'll get
walking into work late.

chitter chatter and gossip in italtian

salt dries on the skin after morning swims
my hair is long again, and i feel beautiful once more-
the men stare as i walk through the streets because they can't quite decide if i am american or not,
they have thoughts of me being european in their minds.
lovely porcelain european girl.
the women snarl as their men's eyes follow me down those alleys
and its the romance and the freedom that i've longed for
their voices and language that i've craved
and it only takes money to get there
money that i've rather spend on booze for now, to drown worthless sorrow
and i laugh at myself crying about how trapped i feel
as i take another sip of sierra nevada.

frustrated ramblings of a twenty five year old in love.

you were just a fuck, get over it.

and it's 7:15

and my life has become nothing more than
candy and heart shaped mood rings
and aches in my chest.
i only wish you knew who richard brautigan was.
maybe that poem on my chest you always read would mean more---

I stopped taking the meds because I couldn't write about anything worthwhile, everyone wants to see me smile but all I wanna do is write. I've made my life complicated to see how I will deal, handle, get out, of certain situations. At least this is what pops in my head when I ask myself what the fuck i'm doing with my life...when I have that other drink, or make eyes at so and so, or take a hit of this and that, say things I shouldnt say. I'm testing myself, you, her, and him, this fucking universe. And none of this makes sense to anyone anymore. Introspective mind. I think about why my left foot hits the ground harder, or why my brain focuses on negative thoughts and comments more than the positive ones. I wanna know how I work. These are the things I think about. My brain is occupied with myself the majority of the time, and you think all I do is think about you. Crooked teeth. and that walk. You may occupy the mind but my heart is doing fine. And they have nicknamed me red..ruby or cherry. And it makes me feel like a little girl with the nicknames these men call me, and sometimes I dont want the nickname but the lollipop that comes with it. Back in the old days, back in the old days I wasn't around, mind in the clouds I didnt have all this stuff to worry about, why my viens in my arms are so small, why my heart beats faster when you walk by me. They say you only fall in love six times in your life. I havent used up any of mine. and i prayed that i didnt hit that cat who ran out in front of my car, it was black, and my life didnt need anymore bad luck. imagine the gods laughing at me because not only did it cross my path but i killed the poor thing. And he likes to ask how I came to certain thoughts, what lead me there, to this nonsense in my head, and sometimes i think he's just trying to fool me into telling him more so i always reply with, "no reason." I dont like sharing everything. And I had to watch them bury my friend amd i had to make myself remember the route to the cemetery so i could go visit, drop flowers off, poems, secrets, lovers. i promise i'll come have picnics with you, in the sun, with my lolita glasses on. and you see how quickly my mind jumps.a hundred million things racing around inside my head and i cant focus on just one, and this is the way with the men in my life too. it all becomes to much to just focus on one. let me split my love up among them. and i know what outfits you like the best. i always thought the spell was placed upon you but maybe its the other way around. maybe this is the other way around!

twenty five
years of heartache
it seems the hole in my heart
just gets deeper and more hollow
and the number of men
keeps growing, declining.
no one has ever counted the freckles on my body,
have taken no pictures, or whispered in my ear the word love.
the poems written about me, have never been seen though
im sure they exist.
i am no ones muse.
and these are things that occupy my mind
while im showering or trying to fall asleep
on the couch because the bed is too big for one.