Fade.

I'm tired of long, drawn out stories.
The ones that illustrate everything,
every person,
every action,
every single irrelevant detail.

Let me fade into the background.
Just keep me from being in focus.
I don't need to see or hear.
Or feel or smell.
Let my lack of sense inspire.

But if you really feel the need,
maybe you can convince me
to get on the dance floor
and for once, just once,
be the center of attention.

Dance around me as if we're
the only two on this damned earth.
Know never to follow my advice
or you'll end up like
someone I know too well.

Claritin Clear.

Tangled in the sheets of a dream some other girl is living,
I lay here, entrapped by these four solid, unbreakable walls,
wanting you more than I ever thought was possible.

Wrapped up in the words of your sweet poetry,
I sit here, captured by your melodic lies, by your bittersweet cliches,
waiting for you to realize that I'm here for you and only you.

How long must it take for you to take a step outside
of the perfect world you live in for a brief sense of reality?
There's too much out here for you to miss. To miss out on me.

But I can't help it if you're hardheadedness gets in the way
of thinking clearly. Darling, there's no medication for that,
no "Claritin clear" to rid you of your cloudiness.

I can't resist the temptation to just sit here and wonder, wonder how I fell for you.
Wonder why I still stick around when there's no hope left for "us."
Wonder how I could ever think there could've ever been an "us."

But don't take these words too close to heart, as they are just
a matter of my own opinion. It's never counted too much.
Just remember me when you're writing that new poem of yours.

Because I've never forgotten what it feels like to forget.

Cinderella

I've always been the kind of girl
to see those sappy movies and wish
I had my own prince to fawn over.

Now that I've been rejected of my
petition for some company, I despise
such far-fetched fairytales.

Then you came along and made everything
right again, as if the world had been
designed for you to redeem it.

But you need to convince me that all my
superstitions can be dismissed as my
exhausting and unreasonable lack of optimism.

Remind me that there once was a
Romeo and Juliet, a love strong enough to
keep looking to live and to die for.

Remind me that after a sunset there is
always a sunrise because those hours in
the dark are hard to get through alone.

Remind me that even when it rains,
two people can still find love in the
dark clouds that hover above them.

Remind me that I don't need a
poet to realize that there's still a
little magic left in love.

Change.

Many have seen you transform drastically
from the national anthem of our troubles
to an unfamiliar melody I can't follow.

But I'm starting to let the clouds of prejudice
drift from my view, unveiling your identity.
They dwell on your ghost and refuse change.

Now what I see is a whole other side.
One that was in you since the fog thick days,
but only shown when you chose to do so.

There has always been the second chapter
to the story your timeline has illustrated.
It took some time for you to see what the inquisitive saw.

I'm proud to say that though your critics disapprove
of happiness you have long awaited and deserved,
you continue to be what you lost in your agony.

Boys, I know of your suffering.
How your days were so alike
in the sense that all they provided was dreariness.

I know that those days are now behind you,
nothing but mere dust in the mountains you've overcome.
I could not feel more ecstatic for you.

Don't let the nonbelievers discourage you.
They fight for nothing but a memory
of a reputation long and happily discarded.

Pushing Weeds.

Someday, you'll be walking
down the street of some
old, beat down neighborhood.
You'll trip, lose your balance,
and land face down, flesh broken.
But only for a minute, of course.

Because you'll find a tiny,
barely visible weed, growing.
Making it's way, like a strand
of lost hope. Of lost dreams.
Of everything you can't recall.
And realize that crack,

That miniscule, broken thing.
Was a reflection of me.

Unsaid Goodbyes.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that we didn't spend enough time together when I got older, because all I cared about was spending time with my friends, even though I knew how old you were. I should have not called my dad when I got bored of being at your house. I should have taken advantage of the fact that you could remember my name without my father's assistance. When Carolina didn't have to help you from your bed to use the bathroom.

I remember a lot.

I don't know if you do. There were days that I would spend all Sunday afternoon at your house, building forts with your furniture, eating cream cheese straight from the container. Then my dad would come home from work and I'd beg to stay for a little longer because I hadn't quite accomplished frisbee-ing with the yellow thing I had no idea had a real use.

I almost didn't go.

To your funeral, I mean. The night that you passed away, I knew it had happened before my mother had even explained to me. When my father calls at four o'clock in the morning to get us up and out of bed, something must be up. I couldn't imagine you, however fragile and tired you had become, another to be buried amongst so many, including grandma. My mom tried convincing me to go, to see you. People would be there for me, but I just kept crying and saying I didn't want to go.

They tried.

They really tried to keep me away from the sight of your lifeless body as you got pulled away in that hideously white van. But I saw them. They don't know how conspicuous they really are. I didn't cry that time. The thought of my father even allowing a tear to escape his eyes was impossible to me before that day. He trembled so hard, you fought so much. I don't know what you ever did that made them take you away like that. So unexpected, without warning, without a proper goodbye to people you loved.

I'm sorry.