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Description
Her heart stutters in her chest
like the legs of a gerbil slapping on a wheel.

It wasn't supposed to happen -
She wasn't expecting it;
her carefully constructed thoughts
fading into silence, by the simplest action...

It can't be.
It's not -
attraction.

She's never known love,
besides that of her family -
unless you count her fictitious amores.

She wouldn't recognize it,
even if love danced in front of her,
wearing fluorescent neon-lights.

She's just too shuttered off,
from the world
from herself.

She has no enemies
but herself;
she doesn't recognize most things...

Mistaking headaches for fatigue,
mistaking friendship for love,
mistaking bad people for good people...

She's so doubtful.

DOUBT.
Like a bell, resonating with the frequencies
in her empty head.

doubt doubt doubt.
Describe yourself in one word -
DOUBT.

What more does she have.

Then there's this instance,
where her walls are shattered.

She's suddenly... trying?
But going about it all wrong.

Is she too silent?
Is she negative?
Is she awkward?
Is she annoying?

Perhaps.
Her anxieties-
she is the source
of her own misery...

But does that make her
the source
of her own
social-failures?

So strict, about rules
follow the rules,
she makes her rules.

She never says what she wants.
She's too meek.
She'll say "water"
because anything else is a bother.

She thinks so much,
in secret,
you'd be surprised to hear her thoughts.

As a young girl, she would wear dresses,
leotards,
tutus,
leopard print shoes.

Now she wears solid colors,
t-shirts,
jeans,
flip flops.

Her hair is down.

Suddenly she can't let
anything go-
She's strict about psychological things
and lazy about physical things.

So when it hits her
its as if
her mind
is a blossoming flower.

A blossoming flower that spreads poisonous pollen,
with petals coated in thick layers
of titanium.

She is pleased with her new-found secret
yet she refuses to accept it,

It's as if she ruins herself,
and her opportunities.

For once, could she
be honest
to herself?

Why is her mind so much more
defined
than her voice?

Her heart stutters

Her breath hitches
to see that small sliver of skin

And as soon as the light clicks on,
she shatters the bulb,
and sweeps the shards into
the dark depths,
of her mind.

It never happened.

Life goes on.
She'll be alone.

She'll become cruel.

She'll push everyone away.

She'll feel bad for herself.

She'll smash dishes.

She won't buy what she wants.

She'll move to the country.
She'll become a teacher.
She hates teaching.

She'll be forgotten,
like a hair-tie that falls behind a dresser,
and gathers dust.

One day the
marriage announcement will arrive
in the mail

And she'll put on
a genuine
smile.

And she will dole out her
sincerest
congratulations.

Because she denies herself
her own feelings.

And she'll attend the wedding,
and will make eyes at the couple,
hoping for her feelings to be returned.

But nobody ever speaks for her,
she's learned.

She can get what she wants,
but she can't.

No, she can.
She just doesn't.

Because she's lazy
and doubtful
and recyclable
and bitter and perhaps a little too controlling.

She has no choices-
She is her own cage.
Adieu.

Or not.

"Jesus take the wheel"
has never been quite
so relevant.

She craves control.
Someone to tell her
exactly what to do.

Does she like boys?
Well certainly -
but why does she avoid them

Fuck.
She's just attracted to everyone.
She's going to write porn in 3 2 1.

~~~~~~~~

Her mind is a blank canvas - her thoughts written in invisible ink.

She is Tom Riddle's diary.
Everything written fades -
she is blank;
hiding everything.

Wrong.

Description
Her heart stutters in her chest
like the legs of a gerbil slapping on a wheel.

It wasn't supposed to happen -
She wasn't expecting it;
her carefully constructed thoughts
fading into silence, by the simplest action...

It can't be.
It's not -
attraction.

She's never known love,
besides that of her family -
unless you count her fictitious amores.

She wouldn't recognize it,
even if love danced in front of her,
wearing fluorescent neon-lights.

She's just too shuttered off,
from the world
from herself.

She has no enemies
but herself;
she doesn't recognize most things...

Mistaking headaches for fatigue,
mistaking friendship for love,
mistaking bad people for good people...

She's so doubtful.

DOUBT.
Like a bell, resonating with the frequencies
in her empty head.

doubt doubt doubt.
Describe yourself in one word -
DOUBT.

What more does she have.

Then there's this instance,
where her walls are shattered.

She's suddenly... trying?
But going about it all wrong.

Is she too silent?
Is she negative?
Is she awkward?
Is she annoying?

Perhaps.
Her anxieties-
she is the source
of her own misery...

But does that make her
the source
of her own
social-failures?

So strict, about rules
follow the rules,
she makes her rules.

She never says what she wants.
She's too meek.
She'll say "water"
because anything else is a bother.

She thinks so much,
in secret,
you'd be surprised to hear her thoughts.

As a young girl, she would wear dresses,
leotards,
tutus,
leopard print shoes.

Now she wears solid colors,
t-shirts,
jeans,
flip flops.

Her hair is down.

Suddenly she can't let
anything go-
She's strict about psychological things
and lazy about physical things.

So when it hits her
its as if
her mind
is a blossoming flower.

A blossoming flower that spreads poisonous pollen,
with petals coated in thick layers
of titanium.

She is pleased with her new-found secret
yet she refuses to accept it,

It's as if she ruins herself,
and her opportunities.

For once, could she
be honest
to herself?

Why is her mind so much more
defined
than her voice?

Her heart stutters

Her breath hitches
to see that small sliver of skin

And as soon as the light clicks on,
she shatters the bulb,
and sweeps the shards into
the dark depths,
of her mind.

It never happened.

Life goes on.
She'll be alone.

She'll become cruel.

She'll push everyone away.

She'll feel bad for herself.

She'll smash dishes.

She won't buy what she wants.

She'll move to the country.
She'll become a teacher.
She hates teaching.

She'll be forgotten,
like a hair-tie that falls behind a dresser,
and gathers dust.

One day the
marriage announcement will arrive
in the mail

And she'll put on
a genuine
smile.

And she will dole out her
sincerest
congratulations.

Because she denies herself
her own feelings.

And she'll attend the wedding,
and will make eyes at the couple,
hoping for her feelings to be returned.

But nobody ever speaks for her,
she's learned.

She can get what she wants,
but she can't.

No, she can.
She just doesn't.

Because she's lazy
and doubtful
and recyclable
and bitter and perhaps a little too controlling.

She has no choices-
She is her own cage.
Adieu.

Or not.

"Jesus take the wheel"
has never been quite
so relevant.

She craves control.
Someone to tell her
exactly what to do.

Does she like boys?
Well certainly -
but why does she avoid them

Fuck.
She's just attracted to everyone.
She's going to write porn in 3 2 1.

~~~~~~~~

Her mind is a blank canvas - her thoughts written in invisible ink.

She is Tom Riddle's diary.
Everything written fades -
she is blank;
hiding everything.

Wrong.