Show me how you do it.
How do you keep on smiling through it all?
those nastygossip girls, catfaced, twofaced, giggling at the mirror and you KNOW they're whisperlaughing at your face, at herfatbutt
They do it to you, too. I hear the(more)m talking about you in the lunch line. How do you ignore it? How do you compliment their shoes and hair and ignore the fact that they hate your guts for no reason at all?
if a guy hates you he'll glare or suckerpunch or tell you to your face
but girls fight dirty. whispers. passing notes. grapevines of gossip, madeup lies. perfect slutbarbies spreading perfect littlelies just to ruin you
Tell me how you keep your head held high, how you stay away from the edge that I'm inches away from falling over. What makes you different than me? What is it?
hey. nice shoes.
except they don't mean it at all. they just want to see the happyshocked look on your fatugly face when you think they're sincere. really they hate those shoes. last season's trash, trashtalk jibberjabber poisoning your brain with truthlies
Show me how.(less)
I remember I bought that shirt because I thought you would like it. It was stupid. It had a picture of snuffleupagus on it and referenced a hip hop song, two things I knew you liked.
Reminiscing about it now is like having (more)a memory of a stranger. How could I possibly think a shirt would change the way you felt about me? Or that it would really mean anything.
It was silly but I was so infatuated with you. Love makes people do crazy things. Sometimes they're silly and sometimes they're bad. Generally they're good though.
There are a lot of things in my closet that are there because of you. Some you put there, some I put there. I don't know if I plan on taking some of the ones I put in there out.
But they're there because I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to love because I hadn't found that feeling inside of yet. Some days it's still difficult to find it for myself. But I can always find it for you and that is why I kept going. Kept holding your hand. Kept buying silly shirts with silly words to make sure you stuck around.
Maybe it's selfish and maybe it's survival, but when I know what I want and I know what is good, I have a hard time walking away. (less)
The small boy looked up at me with those big round, brown eyes.
"Please Mister, I need to know."
I bent down on one knee in my dark suit.
The boy didn't look too pleased at that answer. He frowned and something wet began to form i(more)n the corners of those deep brown eyes,
"No, I really need to know. How did he get in there?"
I offered the boy my black top hat. He gave it a once-over and returned it to me.
I reassured him, "I say abracadabra and he appears."
"But where does he come from?"
That put me on the spot. "Teleportation. I pull him out from his habitat -- it could be someone's garden down the street, or a forest across the country -- and I send him back home safely after."
The boy pouted. "But where did that bunny come from?"
I could see this conversation wasn't going to end soon. I scanned the disappearing crowd for the kid's parents, but no one seemed to be sticking around. Great, I'm stuck with your typical garden variety four-year old who has a question for everything.
I took the child's hand reassuringly. "The bunny came from a place called Wonderland."
"A fantastical place full of talking animals."
"Then how come that bunny didn't talk?"
"Oh, didn't you know? All animals talk, but in our world we just can't understand them."
"Can I go to Wonderland?"
"Maybe one day you can."
"Can you send me to Wonderland like you did with the rabbit?"
"I'm afraid my hat just isn't big enough."
"Okay," said the boy, looking at his feet glumly. "Thanks mister."
And with that he took off and followed the dispersing crowd.(less)
"Show me, if you're such an expert." His candy-coloured lips danced in front of her, close enough to smell the liqueur on his breath, but far enough away that she didn't feel too tempted.
She huffed out an exasperated laugh as he pouted from his spot on the couc(more)h next to her. He looked ridiculous, with glitter in his hair, his neon shirt glowing in the black-lit room. The party continued on around them, as they sat in a corner, tucked away from the loudness of the music and the pulsing beat of the crowded dance floor.
"You couldn't handle me," she said, teasingly, waggling a ring-studded finger in front of his eyes.
Those grey-green eyes of his had turned to black some time ago, all she could see were pupils. He looked like a starving man, and she knew if she had a mirror, she would look the same.
"Prove it," he said, smiling a devilishly as he moved closer to her.
She swallowed thickly, suddenly it felt as though the room didn't have enough oxygen. The liqueur had already brought a pleasantly fuzzy feeling over her, but this breathlessness had little to do with anything but his proximity and her rampant desire to show him exactly how kissing ought to be done.
"You've honestly never done it?" She asked, still disbelieving even after all of the time she'd known him.
"Never found anyone interesting enough." He whispered, lips suddenly so much closer to her ear.
She sucked in a gasp of air before pulling back to look at him. Their eyes caught in a tangle of desire and insecurity.
"Why me? Why now?" She asked, feeling strangled by lack of air.
"Why not?" He asked, moving in. "Please, show me how."
Without another word, her lips met his.(less)
i wake up drained and angry
and i can't share that with anyone because you're supposed to put on a bright and happy mask when you're out in the world, right?
you're supposed to hide what you're feeling to benefit everyone else
and you're supposed to make your feelings(more) beautiful somewhere else
except i don't know how to paint my sadness
or sing about my loneliness
dance away my anger
or write out my angst
how are you supposed to make all the ugly things you feel into something beautiful?
please show me how
"Toby?" the boy staggers forward on unsteady feet, eyes pale as silver in the bright light, hands cold and breath unsteady. "Are you okay?"
(more) He buries his head in my shoulder, cold as ice, but I can still feel the faint tremble of his pulse beneath the paper skin.
"You're not real."
"I am real. You are real. We are all real."
"I'm so tired," the voice fades and cracks, trembles at the end and I grip him tighter. Bones are so thin and small and he is tiny in my hands, in my arms, and his body is like a ragdoll now.
"No," I reach for him as he slides, and we are crammed together, his ribs jabbing into mine. The back of his shirt is shucked up, and my hands coming away as red as the late sunset that I watched him die on. He died so many times, his death now unable to reach my heart, my brain, my existence, and we are bloody, both of us. The white shirts we both bear are messy and untidy, and his body steadily becomes colder, but the blood runs hot, never stopping.
We slip to the ground, the white polished floor now swiped deep red with his life. I cradle him, breathing him, smelling of the blood he is, and the faint terror in the back of my throat.
"No no no no," my shaking, slippery hands reach up to touch his cold face, and he is crushed against my body, face nestled into my neck. "No! NO!" screaming.
I wither away in the darkness, the choking scent of copper and betrayal.
"Show me the way! Show me the way! Take me, tonight, to the river and wash my illusions away!" The radio sang on, but my voice cracked and I fell silent.
If only there was a river that could wash away illusions. But things like that are onl(more)y in fantasy stories. Rivers, if you are lucky, will wash away dirt. But the illusions and lies spun by ourselves and others can't be swept away with a tide. If only there was a mountain that could take away my confusion. If only. If only.
"Every night I say a prayer, In the hope that there's a heaven..."
And so tonight, after I got back home from my drive, I knelt down beside my bed for the first time in years and prayed. "Please show me the way. Show me how to make this work. Show me how to make the world a better place, starting with those around me. How do I tell the truth from the lies? How do I know what to do? Please. Help me."
I don't know if anyone heard. I don't know who would be listening. But all I can do is hope and keep going. Try again and again in the hope of getting things right. Working through the illusions and the confusions and finding my way to the mountain and the river. (less)