what she writes.

she wrote about concerns,
issues in general.
she wrote what she thought
when she thought it.
maybe it wasn't quite eloquent enough,
but it was her.

she wrote about piecing things together
after you smashed them up.
she bought it all broken,
but she's gonna fix it.
it may not be logical in anybody else's eyes,
but she thought it was good.

she wrote about her bad decisions,
even when she still thought they were right.
and she wrote about the darkness,
when she felt it.
maybe it was overdramatic,
but it was her.

she wrote herself fictions,
for reality was lost on her.
she wrote about wishes,
her hopes and her dreams.
everything cryptic and distinguishable
only by her.
And for a good reason, only by her.

she writes about disaster
and she writes about running away from it.
she writes to them, but the letters don't send.
and she writes to herself
because nobody else will.

she will write about her life one day,
she can write about her dreams.
the ones that came true,
the ones that someone stole,
the wishes that she'd had
and the people that she'd known.

and she will think,
when she can write no more,
about why it all happened.
perhaps her words will tell you,
or maybe they will remain
as clearly as the truth before.

--MRS 2/20/07

breakdown honestly

When you painted me a picture of a fractured misleader
When you gave him all the shadows and the darkness of his eyes
When you outlined, for me, how not to be, why not to be and what not to be
When did you decide you'd paint me everything but lies?

Your hollow shell of humanity, stained with imperfection
Stares me down, my memory and I can't stand to look him in the eye.
I'm drowning in these broken illusions, thanks for clearing the air
My conscience hid the truth from me but you broke me down.
Perhaps because you cared enough?

Did I really need to see your true colors?
Wasn't blind infatuation good enough for you?
Can't I not dig deeper, please.
I'm sick of cleaning up the mess it leaves
When someone swims much deeper than I can even hold my breath.

I wish I wasn't so far involved, so here I'll try to run.
Break free before someone gets too attatched
And I'll be on my own.
And I'll be my imperfection.
I'll be my own best friend
Because you didn't work out for me.

You did that though. You opened my eyes to see who you were.
Who you had to be.
It's nobody's fault, it's impersonal, dearest,
But this is it.
I'm done.
I'm finally finished.

---MRS 2/16/07

And maybe some day we'll be better again and maybe we can be friends again. Maybe some day, I will talk to you. But until that day, I'm going to run from you. I'll yell at you, and I'll scare you. I don't want to, so I'll run from you.