just call me Claire.

it’s funny
how I can see my evolution
through my handwriting.

I’m not talking figuratively.
there’s a distinct difference
between now and then
through the pen in my hand.

those sunny-eyed days
with an immature imagination.
scrawling, messy notations
before my thoughts
galloped away from me.
cartoonish, almost.
a childish exaggeration.

but now?
a reserved interpretation,
as the subjects on the paper
grew with gravity.
with each curve, I can see
that my creativity still runs free -

but my handwriting’s grown up
alongside me.

shut the hell up.
you’re giving me a headache.
you reflect your intelligence inversely
with the sounds of your voice.
you batter and rant –
I rage and you can’t
find the power within yourself
to zip your lips for one glorious second.
your baboonish laughs contrasting
the Eden inside my head.
but those gates are crumbling down.
every word, every noise
is yet another gunshot to my brain.
to say you’re disturbing me is an understatement.
pick up a dictionary and learn the definition
to QUIET.
trust me – you’re very far off from the mark.

shut the hell up.
you’re giving me a headache.
you reflect your intelligence inversely
with the sounds of your voice.
you batter and rant –
I rage and you can’t
find the power within yourself
to zip your lips for one glorious second.
your baboonish laughs contrasting
the Eden inside my head.
but those gates are crumbling down.
every word, every noise
is yet another gunshot to my brain.
to say you’re disturbing me is an understatement.
pick up a dictionary and learn the definition
to QUIET.
trust me – you’re very far off from the mark.

eye contact is the funniest of things.
it’s like a make-or-break deal.
I tend to top mine with smiles.
even if bad feelings are to stir,
I’m no soothsayer to see that truth.
we live in this moment –
not the ‘possibility’.
not the ‘when’.
she could be having a bad day.
his girlfriend might’ve dumped him.
she might be feeling fat over her lunch.
but one little smile could brighten their whole mood.
even if it’s for that split second,
there’s a moment of joy in their life.
it’s amazing how silent treatments
could be so verbal.
so powerful.
so… nice.
don’t ever forget to smile.
you never know who’s day you might make.

let’s be blunt –
you have nothing.
you have no redeeming qualities
to your antagonistic values.
you’re a character in a terrible piece,
a half-baked idea in a cliché-ridden book.
the tests give one point for each tragedy,
and you’re just loading them on
like shopping at a grocery store.
you’re not a victim, I promise.
you do not fall out of the tree dead.
there’s no crime-scene investigation,
we’re not enhancing your blatant, storybook lies.
puppy dog eyes do nothing
when you’re batshit insane.
you are a joke, a laugh, an audience roar,
caked in deeper than orange tans and makeup,
lost for miles in your own mind,
still trying to put together
the imaginary puzzle pieces.
there is no story.
you are a little girl
in this perfectly sane world.
you have –
no.
you are nothing.

bee-tee dubs,  THIS is how you write a poem.

do you mind if I list out my aching frustrations?
well, not quite a list - more an exaggeration.
let’s start with numero uno, the only one:
I’m tired of being left out of the fun.
she tells me I’m strong,
not like the others,
but I just can’t help but feel a bit bothered.
even the purest wants to be everyone else;
what’s numbness if I don’t even know how it felt?
at least, that’s how I see it.
don’t feel it.
know it. respect it.
show it. protect it.
I have a defective.
a social class distortion that sets me apart
from the yin in myself
and the yang in their hearts.
like oil and water,
refusing to mix,
there’s no room for me
in their exclusive cliques.
she tells me I’m strong,
and I know I should listen.
I’m not just another toilet to piss in.
I have depth, I have meaning,
something they don’t.
and maybe that feeling
is like breaking a bone.
know it? regret it.
show it? forget it.
after this year, there’s no more frustration.
I’ll live out my life sans their confirmation.

you tend to forget there are eyes everywhere.
this is why we distance who we are
and who we want to be,
because the wrong pair of lips can part –
even with such virgin eyes –
and write novels with the story you tell.
a whole news broadcast dedicated to you.

you turned to the corners to whisper,
but you must’ve missed the microphone hidden there.

I always feel so impolite,
that words I say are said in spite
and despite the many thanks I give,
they’re never, ever just as big
as the ones I wish to say.
 
and even if I say it all,
surging like a waterfall,
it’s not enough to make the grade
and often then I feel afraid
and thus my words become dismay.
 
but maybe it’s just in my mind
and I am, in fact, just that polite
and sweet and charming – oh, I wish
to have it all to be my niche.
my feelings on display.
 
this anxiety should go away.

consider this the last hurrah.
this is the point of no return,
where we enter as children
and exit as men.

who knows how long this tunnel will stretch on for?
maybe a few more months.
maybe a whole lifetime.

each day I fear that when I crawl inside,
I’m never coming back out.
maybe somewhere down the line, I’ll asphyxiate.

but I can’t let that stop me.
even with my senses blocked,
my hands tied,
my eyes blindfolded,
I feel I’ll make it through.
and even if I do die,
I’ll die trying.
and that’s the best way to live.

you’re kind of pretty
in the way
that 0.99 is pretty much 1,
and that small of a difference
is just close enough.
you’re kind of pretty
in the way
that you’re totally not,
but you have such a great personality
that it makes up for your looks.
you’re kind of pretty
in the way
that my eyes hurt when I see your face,
as does everyone else’s,
but no one wants to be mean
because you’re just so nice to everyone.
you’re kind of pretty
in the way
that you’re the scum of the earth.

I feel empty inside,
even with such a cluttered mind.
my eyes stalk each tick of the clock.
5 minutes, 4 minutes, 2 minutes, no minutes.
yet no freedom is rung.
and even in a crowded room,
filled with the trite chatter of my peers,
I’m alone.
I wish you were here to clear my head.
make all the noise disappear,
with only our sounds to be heard.
I wish you were here when I’m stressed out to my fullest capacity,
weighed down by last minute devious plans
by those all around me,
who push their laziness onto only us.
or me.
just me.
I wish you were here when he opens his stupid fucking mouth,
with that dumpy voice that makes me want to punch him in the nose
and that hurr durr hi Claire! that sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
you could protect me from it,
with just a territorial look in your eye.
my looks can’t do it alone.
I can’t do any of this alone.
but I’ve still got to wait
11 days, 10 days, 5 days, no days
until I can do whatever I want,
sleep whenever I want,
write whatever I want,
and most importantly,
have you by my side
without anyone’s interruption.

my head feels like it’s spinning out of control.

I can hear the blood rushing and thumping through.

even with the power of blockades I stole,

my mind’s excruciatingly askew.

and you just add more with the lack of your soul

while the anger inside me spreads and imbues.

do you believe a bit of what you endow?

because from here it looks like you disavow.

things aren’t as broken as they seem.
a patina of distress paints the picture
while the smokescreen blurs their vision.
or maybe that’s just their stupidity.

a patina of distress paints the picture
and the children wish to pursue.
or maybe that’s just their stupidity;
to believe a word they say.

and the children wish to pursue
a wish that is corrupted by the future.
to believe a word they say
is to dig your grave deeper.

a wish that is corrupted by the future
speaks no truth.
is to dig your grave deeper
the path you hope to succumb to?

I feel incomplete, closed in
without a barrier in between.
eyes looking over my shoulders.
claustrophobia personified.

without a barrier in between,
I’m ripped apart by silence.
claustrophobia personified
as I feel their gazes on my back.

I’m ripped apart by silence,
save for meaningless chatter
as I feel their gazes on my back.
they distract and confuse.

save for meaningless chatter,
there is nothing I hate more.
they distract and confuse.
I need sanctuary.

Don’t you miss the way you bled?

                Right, when I shot you out of my head.

Don’t you miss that dreadful smoke?

                Is that supposed to be a joke?

Don’t you miss the way things were?

                I’m afraid it seems to be a blur.

Don’t you miss my helpful words?

                ‘Hurtful’ is more like the term.

I certainly miss the way you cried.

                Like how I did over tons of lies?

We used to be such great friends.

                What a shame it had to end.

                Now, get this straight, I’ll say it once;

                What was in my head is dead and done.

oh dearie me.
I’m a hypocrite now, aren’t I?
just like a penny -
two-faced and worthless,
don’t you think?
well, that’s just dandy.
I like it up here, believe it or not.
it’s nice.
the service is great, really.
you should try it sometime.

oh wait.

you do.
and yet still you fail miserably.

what’s this?
the umpteenth time
I’ve beaten you at your own game?
I do believe that’s checkmate.

is it impulse?
every time you open your mouth
and babble incoherent sounds
that are supposed to resemble intelligence,
is it just second nature by now?
or do you know you’re doing it?
is it your trick to knock out the competition?
to annoy the fuck out of them
until they back down
and give you the crown?

no, seriously.
you can just keep your mouth closed,
because I can guarantee
that we’re all tired of hearing you speak,
as is the council you’re trying to impress.
because the truth is,
and pay attention closely now -
wait for it -

…

no one fucking cares.

little hearts line the pages.
annotations stuck in tiny spaces.
together our hands fit like a glove.
I think I might just be in love.

daydreams pushing work aside.
smiles at every sweet ‘goodnight’.
rainy days have come and gone
and happiness goes on for long.

notebooks filled with lame love poems
(and cheesy lines by she who wrote them).
feeling your beat against my ear.
protecting me from all my fears.

cursing this distance in between.
seeing you even in my dreams.
when I’m with you, I’m up and above.
oh, I know that this is love.

I look to my left.
cute couple ahead.
they’re a little awkward together,
but I guess to each his own.
she’s been around a bit.
finally found someone who appreciates her.
or just another arm to latch onto.
but they look happy.
they share as kiss as I turn away.

I look to my right.
my favorite two.
he’s so much taller, and she’s petite.
just like us.
but they fit together.
just like us.
they’re inseparable,
always waiting for each other when the bell rings.
he smiles at her and says she looks pretty today.
they also kiss.

couples, everywhere I turn.
a kiss here, a hug there.
but the only couple I really see –
the one that warms me up inside,
makes me smile –
is the one I see
inside my heart.
you know –
                 you and me.