i think the reason why i find everything about someone i'm remotely interested in, romantically or otherwise, is because feeling like i know everything about them lets me pretend i know every bit of them. but that is one of the main issues; the idea of someone compared to the real them. you conjure up a fantasy of them that sits in your mind protected by a glass case, but that fantasy will stay there alone. maybe something you find will shatter the glass and render the artwork irreparable. this is the stem of obsession, fixation, lust, longing, but not love. perhaps it goes so far to the point where it blooms into love after it is reciprocated. but most times it is never love.

• if the world is a rabbit hole
• i am alice but uglier
• toppling left and right into destruction

i've been told that i can wield words better than the average person. but these words i wield, they were never meant to be a blade. they were meant to be better than the swords they have become. i never wanted to hate the way i hate, but i can't change that now. now, my hate for the world is mutual, and it is better this way. i have the reassurance that i am not alone in hating me.

and there is so much hurt and anger pent up inside of me, with no one to listen or to care. it sits uselessly, trapped forever in my chest and struggling towards the surface, pushing my breath out of the way until those breaths are gone and it's just gasps upon gasps upon gasps. i look for love in handsome faces and pretty smiles, because that is where my mind believes i can find a companion, someone to hope with and to hope for. but yet, these faces and smiles turn away, to other faces and smiles that bloom back at them in the way mine can't or won't. i feel so much and too much to the point where it just boils back down to the the hurt and anger. the two and i are one and the same.

• Does one see how the waves tremble?
• For now, all is well, the water tranquil.
• The fish within move drearily,
• and yet still wait warily,
• for now, the sea does more than tremble
• it roars and reaps and rumbles.
• A shadowy breath escapes the din,
• narrowly avoiding this dear old sin.
• The shells, they whisper, wait, and tremble,
• for now, they dare ignore the mumbles.
• Since though the ocean is so loving
• it still is so softly cunning.
• For now, it crashes and does tremble.
• Breaking upon the sand and now,
• breaking with it more,
• a knock of gentle terror on our gentle door
• Upon the shore the trees do tremble,
• for now, I know that most is lost.

• in my mindless mind,
• trapped in a whirl of madness,
• holding it within.

do you ever hate your body so much that it feels impossible somebody could ever feel the same? but it’s possible. one girl could look at another and wish she was as skinny, while that girl looks back and wishes she had her curves. two guys could look at each other, one longing for the muscles of the other, while the other wished for his height. you hate your own body because you love another’s, but that body is just as hated. cut yourself some slack.