cognizance comes to me only in the dead of night,
like an illicit lover afraid to be seen,
and it is to the darkness that i pour my secrets---
my fears, my hopes, my dreams,
and he distorts them,
and robs me of everything but my doubt.
(more) but i know when daylight comes,
i'll be okay again.
you were always in my periphery
something i could easily reach out my hand and hold on to,
so i never worried about having to let you go
but then years roll on
and the sky has changed more times than i can begin to name
and it ha(more)s taken you with it (less)
you put down the brush and the palette
when mother said 'starving artist' was not a title any daughter of hers would hold
and so you spent more time doodling on legal briefs than writing dissertations
smudging your way through law school the way you used to do o(more)n a canvas
and now ten years later you think you would have rather been hungry than miserable
impoverished over soulless
angry that the only true work of art in your house is not the diploma hanging in the study but the nursery paintings of the jungle
but dreams gather dust
and what mother didn't understand was that you didn't have to poor to be starving (less)
i am stuck in a rut
day in day out
all i can think is
if i can get out of bed
then everything will be okay
and the lies appease me for a while
(more) until i wake up
and realize that i am embroiled in mediocrity (less)
in my eyes, my life is a disappointment.
it is not because i have wasted my high school career by partying and drinking, or that i devoted three years to a boy only to have him break my heart.
i am disconcerted because i never had the opportunity to(more) careen down the highway at 2 in the morning, fingertips flying out the window.
its never been me who received a call at four in the morning to drive into the city to meet up with people.
i just stay at home, day in day out, where is my wild youth? (less)
i don't wear half the things in my clothes drawer.
they are mere mementos of a time that could have been, things that i have no use for but cannot bear to throw away.
i cannot give up the past. i am the perpetual five year old, the girl(more) who reminisces of childhood, which wasn't that great anyway.
the thirteen year old who wanted to grow up did, and now she's miserable. (less)
my biggest fear is that i'll become like my mother. stuck behind in the glory days thirty years prior instead of living in the moment.
sometimes i fear, i am already her---thinking about times when everything wasn't so difficult, childhood, times before my biggest problems were a c o(more)n a test and a boy with a message unanswered. (less)
when you try too hard to be something
to be someone you're not
it makes you as fake as the people you mock
hiding naivete behind a pretentious aura
makes you as vapid as the rest of them
a book filled with gibberish
(more) full of useless fluff
i look into your eyes, and all i can think is:
is it my eyes, too large for my face?
is it my hair, not sleek and sheen but frizzy and wild?
is it my arms, too spindly to be deemed a nice skinny?
is it my skin, not(more) clear enough, my thighs, too big for the rest of my body, is it this, is it that?
but i know you are thinking of nothing at all but your own perfection. (less)
i used to have a document on my computer entitled "please read this when i'm dead." i toed the line between life and death, never committing to either, just like i could never really commit a boy i liked, but part of me wondered if anyone would ever comment on(more) the document on my desktop, or if anyone even cared.
sometimes i don't eat. it's usually something that just gets lost in day-to-day, as i am perpetually hungry, but i wonder if anyone really notices. friends comment on how i never eat lunch and how my wrists are shrinking but they never tell me to eat, tell me that it's unhealthy and "things do taste as good as skinny feels."
i've started wearing long sweaters. they cover the scars along my arms that i get when i help my dad trim the bushes in our backyard. when we were changing in gym class the girls stared agape at the crossing cuts that xed their way up my arms but no one, not even my best friend, asked me if i was okay, even when i offered no explanation.
does everyone keep to themselves so much that no one cares anymore? (less)