you should know that:
I'm not a writer. I'm just a girl that chews on other people's emotions and spits out the feelings on notebook paper. I'm just spewing out phrases with copy write protection and mapping newfound stories across your eyes. I give them titles and genres, I correct them of grammar errors and staple the pages together. Please don't think of this as noteworthy. Because I'm the result of word searches shoved down sore throats and question marks the spot, the exclamation points that hold me up will bring you down. and when I'm up at two o'clock in the morning with Microsoft word as my only companion it's not because I want to let it all out, it's because I can't sleep until I do. There's nothing special about my unscrambled words or emotionally laced poems, this is just my self-prescribed medication and unrealistic dreams jammed under the hood of your car so we know that we'll never go anywhere.
I'm no priceless jewel or rare prize. I'm nothing special. I just wouldn't be classified as average. There's nothing unique about myself, no wondrous talent, but there might be differences between me and everyone else. So put your pen and paper down, dear scientist, because there's no use wasting it on a girl who breathes in fiction. But don't be fooled by the whole, all my little details, all my tiniest flaws are dangerous. Every little bit of me will test your patience and my sticky fingers will push your buttons. And when you get tired of this puzzle you'll find the cruelest way to get rid of my heart's pieces. because I'm reckless, I'm witty, I'm uncouth and sarcastic, I'm the universe that denied your logic because to me in was useless nonsense. and those reasons alone should be enough for you to stay clear of me and respect the skin deep caution tape because if you, my friend, were to try to cut me open and take a look at my insides, my secrets would sicken you.
I have absolutely no faith in us. I have no hope to waste this that is possibility and not fact. Don't expect me to whisper your name while stars fall gracefully, leaving behind the midnight sky for someplace new. Don't expect your name echoing in the bare wasteland of my mind as my memories chant it throughout my insides as the last flame flickers on my birthday candles. Because you and I don't add up just to equal clichés and, in fact, I'd rather wish for something practical. I'm not going to wait for you when you decide you're not sure if you want me anymore. And even though that alarm on the clock hasn't buzzed yet, trust me, one day you will wake up one morning fight aftermath to ponder on the thought. Because compared to gold I'm rust, compared to silk gowns I'm threadbare. I'm an infant of yesterday, a fetus of tomorrow, and a newborn of today. I'm still learning how to stand on my own and I'm still just dreaming about life, so don't be surprised that I'm not old enough to say 'I love you.' but if it adds to the cause I will say that I'm dependent and if it comes down to my feelings I really don't want you to go. This isn't the "tilt your head to the side at just the right angle and go 'aww' moment" because I won't stop you if you turn your back to me. I won't chase after you if you decide to run away. Because my legs won't hold me up so I'll stare straight forward, watching you fade into the distant memories. And my features will be composed as my lips repeat the same thing, "fine, everything's just fine," but on the inside I'll miss you. Because, truthfully, I like it when you hold me and say nothing at all even though I really want to hear your voice. And I like when your skin burns mine and you say you love me even though I've never even said it back to you.
the girl that doesn't
love you, but
whose heart skips a
beat every time you're