The Fears I Don't Talk About.

Exclamation points horrify me.

I'm worried sex isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

I have an odd fear of breaking my knees.

Sometimes I think mind readers exist and get paranoid.

Chickens give me literal panic attacks.

If my mom ever catches me with a boy I will die in terror before she kills me.

Big boobs frighten me.

I'm afraid of being a disappointment but I'm more afraid of doing what's expected.

Newborn babies make me nervous.

I'm still convinced that I am the star of the worlds largest practical joke.

Simply thinking about forgetting my headphones gives me anxiety.

What if I start liking an overplayed song on the radio?

Always happy people scare the shit out of me.

My dear you know these are the things I'm afraid of. These are the things I'm afraid of but I'm not afraid to talk about. These are the things I would say when you would ask. These are the things we would talk about hours into the night.

But my dear, these aren't all my fears.

I'm afraid I will get in a car accident and everyone will die but me.

I'm afraid of who I'll be in 10 years.

I'm afraid of getting raped.

I'm very afraid of getting raped.

But remember my dear? Remember what I really don't talk about? What I deny being afraid of but actually am?

I'm afraid of him.

I'm afraid he knows I'm the one who put him there.

I'm afraid he thinks it's my fault.

I'm afraid of the day he gets out of jail.

I'm very, very afraid for the day he gets out of jail.

I'm sorry, My dear. I'm sorry I lied.

The Sorry and Swollen Lips

My lips are swollen.
My lips are swollen with the words I can't say.
My lips are swollen with the lies I keep telling.
And please. Don't turn on the light.
Please don't look at my mouth.
Please don't ask me to move my hand.
Please don't look in the green eyes that I got from you.

These are the words I won't say.
These are the words I don't say.
These are the words and the words are trapped.
The words are trapped and ready to burst.
That's why they're swollen.
They're not swollen from too much kissing.
I promise.
I promise.
I promise.
Swelling lips.
Swollen lips.
Building a city of swelling lies.

I'm sorry.
I've never lied to you like this before.

I say it how it is but I don't have integrity.
I'm honest but I'm not true.

Of Misses and Masks

I’m scared to push publish on this because maybe you will want to be my friend now. You can go on vacations with me and we will go shopping and order room service. When we go places I’ll drive because my tank is always full and when we go to eat I’ll try to pay because there is always more money. But I'm going to push publish because I won't want to be friends with you.

I’m sitting in a multi million dollar house I call my home wearing $200 boots, $100 jeans, and a $400 pea coat. Everything down to my underwear is expensive. This zebra bra was fifty bucks and I have one in every color. I use designer shampoo and my closet is so full of new clothes that the hangars are snapping. The custom made couch I'm on is worth thousands of dollars. Each of the nineteen pillows resting against it cost a ridiculous amount. She really likes pillows. She really loves this house.

And now you are judging me.

That’s okay.

Please, call me a spoiled brat.

Please, call me a rich bitch.

Because that is what I am.

You see me and you don't see how messed up my life is.
You see me and you want my life.
You see me and ALL you see is the mask The Misses has painted on my face.

The Misses says money shouldn't matter, but it does.
The Misses says every impression counts.
The Misses says I don't care enough.
The Misses says others think bad of me.

The Misses knows the mask she has carefully painted on my face is cracking.

Apparently money can't buy happiness,
But it can buy perfection.
Visual perfection, that is.
And that is what counts.

The Misses says so.

Apparently It's Explosive.

This is probably the worst thing I have ever written.
All because I'm thinking about him.
I'm thinking about him and I can't think about anything else.
I'm thinking about him so much my mind is blank to the point of explosions.
I'm thinking about him so much the biggest word I can think of is explosions.
I'm thinking about him so much that explosions doesn't even begin to describe it.
I'm thinking about him so much that I don't even know.

And if you saw me right now you would be freaked out.
You would see my ruffled hair and wild eyes with a grin no amount of windex can ever wipe off.
You would see me and I wouldn't notice you standing inches from me.
If you were a chubby asian, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If you were Edgar Allen Po, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If you were Michael Angelicas, I wouldn't notice you because I'm thinking about him.
If there were a literal explosion, I wouldn't notice because I'm thinking about him.
These explosives in my mind are bigger than dry ice bombs.
Which aren't that big, but are the only bombs I have experience with...
My mind is exploding and I'm enjoying the view. The colors are pretty.
I'm not even thinking about the 1964 Aston Martin exploding because I'm thinking about his thumb.
I'm thinking about him.
Him.
Him.
Him.

I'm thinking about him like dentists think about flossing and flossing thinks about no one using it but lying and saying they do.
I'm thinking about him like Angelina thinks about Brad and Brad thinks about flight attendants.
I'm thinking about him like pregnant women think about chocolate milk and chocolate milk thinks about chocolate cows.

And I'm thinking about him so GUESS WHAT LOVE?
I'm no longer thinking about you.
I'm not thinking about you like I used to.
I'm not thinking about you anymore.

I'm not thinking about you like Neil Patrick Harris doesn't think about women.

I'm not thinking about you like dogs don't think about betrayal.

I'm not thinking about you like all the dead white guys don't think about living.

I'm not thinking about you because I'm thinking about him.
Eyes lips eyes lips lips legs lips thumbs lips legs lips eyes hair lips nose tongue lips neck lips lips lips.
I'm thinking about him so EXPLOSIONS.

Explosion is a good word right?
It's 1:26 in the morning.
I'm tired.
Tired AND in possession of mental explosives.
Explosions. Booooom. Cachowwww.WoOwoOwoOwoO(this is a siren noise)
I'm going to read this in the morning and delete it all.
But I'm going to read this in the morning and remember all the explosions of tonight.
And then I'll start exploding all over again.
All because I'm thinking about him.
And I'm not thinking about you.

I'm thinking about him 
and damn boy,
it's explosive.

Dear Best Friend,

Dear Best Friend,

I love you more daily.

I wish you could see yourself the way I do.

I love how you can talk anyone into anything and win every bet even if you're wrong.

I love that when you called to tell me about your first kiss, literally all you said was:

 "It was wet."

I love that when I told you about my first kiss you jumped out of the car frolicking and wouldn't stop screaming.

I love that I tell you I'm in love with a guy before I tell him because then I know if it's true and you do the same. 

I love that I automatically hate your boyfriends and you hate mine simply based on precept.

I love that the man you're going to marry has to ask for my permission.

I love how you hate people for me and I hate people for you, so basically we hate everyone.

I love that you're the prettiest girl in school and you have no idea.

I love that when I told you I didn't think I was pretty you started to cry.

I love how we eat so many chocolate chip cookies that we should each weigh over 200 pounds but we barely weigh that combined.

I love how self conscious you are about your bra size.

I love that you ask me to flip off the football players for you. I do.

I love how we pretend we can telepathically speak to each other and it actually works.

I love that when we go to the movies and I am throwing up in the popcorn bucket, you pretend to have a cough so no one can hear me barf.

I love how I can quote every movie but you can quote even more and I listen to our music loud but you listen to it louder.

I love how I've been called a skank and you've been called a whore, but we don't really care because at least we are sluts together.

I love how both of our moms are a wee bit crazy.

I love how I didn't invite you over to my house for a while when we first became friends because I wanted to see if you actually liked me before you knew I was wealthy.

I love how you don't care about that.

I love how you help me spend my parents money.

I love how my parents love you too so they take us on vacations.

I love how excited you get about ordering room service and getting drunk off the smoothies.

I love our silent fights and how you're still mad about the ninth grade binder check.

I love how I finish your sentences and you do hand motions for stories I tell- we are always laughing.

I love how everyone is intimidated by us, especially with our forces combined.

I love how you always know when something's wrong even if I can't admit it.

I love that if you had to rob a bank I would stand by your side.

I love how everyone thinks we've known each other for life but it's only been three years.

I love how I make you more outgoing and you keep me from doing stupid things.

I'm pretty sure you've saved my life. 

And I want you to know that.

My greatest fear is losing you. Anyone else I think I could handle. But not you.

And I want you to know that.

I love you. Also, I love you. (More than chocolate chip cookies.) 

And I want you to know that. You deserve the world.

You're my best friend.

Playlist for Dear Best Friend: http://8tracks.com/herbrokenbehavior/dear-best-friend

Love and The Cynic

Love knocks on Innocents door and kisses her.

Love does that classic shrug so Love and Affection make out.

Love and Lust get caught so he closes the door and walks away.

Love is the music my mom doesn’t want me to listen to.

Love is the slutty panties, booty shorts, and tattered vans.

Love is the hand painted garden gnome with our initials.

Love was my best friend.

Passion hates Love most of the time.

But then it rains.

Carefree falls in love with anyone if it’s raining.

Love smells like rain and Content is in love with rain.

That must mean Realization is in love with Love.

Love tells Desire he loves her and Desire laughs uncontrollably.

Adoration knows that means she loves Love back.

Infatuation loves Love more than she loves herself.

Devotion didn’t know she could feel this way.

Love writes Bliss letters everyday and Bliss feels wanted.

Love can’t look away and Appeal feels beautiful.

Love knows all of Exposed secrets and Exposed feels vulnerable.

Love is my bad habit that is still there after the three-week recovery program.

Love is the anti depressant I refuse to take.

Love is the prayer I can’t bring myself to say.

Love is making me drunk.

And I keep drinking.

Love tells Attached all he wants for Christmas is her.

Love can have Longing and all she wants is Love.

But for Christmas,

Love gets a “Merry Christmas Shitface.”

And Alone gets a “Merry Christmas Bitch.”

Love gets the perfect wave.

Lost gets the perfect record player.

And everyday Regret is mesmerized by the vinyl’s going round and round.

The sound is alluring, better than falling rain.

But it hurts because all Torment hears is what she and Love could have been.

But it’s okay because Contempt now knows she loves that turquoise record player

More than Broken ever loved Love.

Love is the tent we’ll never share.

Love is the bridge we’ll never play.

Love is the sex we’ll never have.

Love is the poem you’ll never read.

Love is no longer you.

Love and I, we are having an affair.

But not with each other.

PLAYLIST FOR LOVE AND THE CYNIC: http://8tracks.com/herbrokenbehavior/love-and-the-cynic

This Birth Certificate Proves Nothing

I'm alive,
But I'm not
The only one

I tie the skimpy strings and stand in front of the mirror. Mehhhh. I walk out of my room and make my way to the pool. She is around here somewhere and I don't know where. This is an itty bitty black and white bikini and I'm headed towards a pool full of teenage boys. My mother is going to murder me for wearing this, and I've never felt more alive.

I look down at the shimmering water. I'm standing on the edge of a cliff and my heart is constant with a steady beat. I lift my hands up and let a laugh escape my lungs as the wind billows through my wet hair. I'm seventy feet up and my adrenaline still won't kick in. I shouldn't keep climbing. This water isn't deep enough for me to jump. Eh, I keep climbing. I'm leaping off this cliff into shallow water and I've never felt so alive.

He has warned me several times. No burping. None. He hates it. Loathes it. It's his phobia. He will fart on your face until you die and bury your body if you burp within a mile radius of him. But I can't help it. I have to taunt him. I will send him a burp in a jar. No, I can do worse. And hey, now my adrenaline is actually working. I am about to burp and blow it in his face and I've never felt more alive.

I press the pedal all the way to the floor. We are going to break our record. This Lexus is accelerating, and I'm not about to lift my foot up. But I will turn the music up. I'm an idiot. Ah, this is fun. I'm going four times the speed limit. I can't stop laughing recklessly and neither can you. I have no control and I've never felt more alive.

I can hear every word, but what sticks out are the pleas for life. Pure terror is seeping through the walls. I can feel it. I can everything but see it. I don't want to see it. I don't want to know if he has a gun. I don't want to know if his words are going to come true. I am listening to a man threaten our lives and I've never felt more alive.

I curl up at the bottom of your hospital bed. The blankets are warm but your hands are cold. You are dead. These machines are breathing for you. The intoxicating smell of disinfectant can't overpower the taste of salt water tears. Death is laying next to me, and I've never felt more alive.

Now I'm the one deposited on a hospital bed. The nurses are frantically working around me. I wearily watch as they pump more of this and less of that into my veins. A look of worry is etched onto the faces surrounding me. The more they move, the more I remember I can't move. I close my eyes and faintly smile. My body is betraying me, and I've never felt more alive.

I am hooked up to a machine counting my breathes per minute. I am not breathing enough, and it will not stop beeping. I don't care. Beep. Breathing is overrated. Beep. I tried breathing once, for 18 years. Beep. It hurts to breathe. Beep. No one can possibly breathe this much. Beep. Apparently whoever taught me how to breathe was a horrid teacher. Beep. The worst. Beep. Breathe. Beep. I can't remember how to breathe, and I've never felt more alive.

But I can't do this anymore
I don't want to
I shouldn't have to
Shake hands with death
Just to prove-
Prove that I'm alive

 This Birth Certificate Proves Nothing PLAYLIST: http://8tracks.com/herbrokenbehavior/i-m-alive-but-i-m-not-the-only-one