girlchildAGL0W

So there's this girl. She's really confused. I mean, super-confused about herself. She doesn't know anything about who she belongs to, or who she wants to be. [If this were a game, she'd be the last place red piece.] She's got it all mixed up as to what love is, and she can cite everyone else's reasons why. She's got herself all wrapped up in her mistakes down to her Nike-owned Converse shoes. And, god, her hair looks horrible today. [She'll make up an excuse and say it was the look she was going for.] She thinks she's the dirty kind of hot. The barely kind of normal. The flirty kind of wantable. [She's the bad kind of liar and the desperat

The kid in front of you doesn't really know what's going on. He likes idle gossip and the fact that his jacket matches his pants. His eyes are glazed over, and he'd so much rather be fucking than sitting at his plastic-metal shit of a desk. And he can run faster than everyone in school. He's tired, so he sleeps. He's a fucking star, man. The girl in the corner is calm. She's wearing four unmatched skirts to prove she's not as mainstream as her friends. She always does. She's got English class to think about, though. And she wonders what outfit won't go together for tomorrow. And man, does she love that new Britney Spears single. But don't te

There's this dumb, disillusioned fuck standing in the middle of this supposed room. It's not a little room, not a big room. All you need to know is he's in it and surrounded. This stupidass thinks these people care. These are the same kind of people who throw things at him. In the dark this idiot thinks everyone loves him. He plays around and thinks he knows what he's doing. He's not talented, he's not interolerable. All you need to remember is everyone's pretending.

dearest mister mason miller, i am slowly growing dusty, and the clock in the hall doesn't ring quite like it used to. i was hoping you could fix it if you ever come home? oh, do. do come, and quickly. for the children haven't had their dinner since you left. forgive my lack, mary jane madison and a half

dear mason miller, it has come to my attention that you haven't got a clue. perhaps on your way, as your returning home, my sweet, pick one up. and enough for the children. waiting, mary jane and a half

i am island growth,      singing up from shore rock.      questionably rooted, in a raw, electric soil. i am without punctuation,       feet drumming on a hollow ground.              polishing the               chronic angers of                             pulse-beat-scraped-knees                                               constant hatching daydreams.                all the harshness and                     haste of mind                            sands down into nubs of                            abused edges,                      compressed in a frightening emphasis                      with each attacking stride.

I'm pretty sure we can all call it a day if you label me as the immature inexperienced fuck up here. I'm          fairly certain I can miss a few more important parts of my life if you just step back a little and feed me more metal uncertainties. So                     what if I'm the ever elusive skeptic? So                 what? I'm so silly I'm so young and can't handle you. I can handle a little bit more than you'd think, doll. I can swallow sharper than what you've been feeding me, love.