Going going.
my mascara stains the front of his shirt,
(why did i put makeup on in the first place?)
he holds me too long,
(don't let go don't le t g o )
he climbs into the car,
(why did we rent one? if we hadn't rented it you would miss your flight and then-)
i'm waving as he pulls away,
(save me, please, don't turn, change your mind)
the steering wheel turns again,
(wrong way, that's the wrong direction-)
he's gone.
(and cue the breaking heart.)
I am me.
it's a weird thing to have the soul sucked out of you.
the air is hard and raspy as you breathe
and you're choking on your own throat
and your lungs are cold and quaking inside your chest
and you can feel the goosebumps on them.
they feel almost not there
but they are
because they're cold and freezing while
sweat pours out of every part of you
and then i'm on the ground
and i try to swallow the lump called air
but it keeps getting stuck
and i'm suffocating with an open mouth.
then i exhale
and my lungs collapse
and the air is still stuck in my esophagus;
hard.
scratchy.
small.
bumpy.
and the tears get stained on my skin.
You say we’re both little.
so i have these days
where i want to seem more interesting
so i'll do something silly
like running 2 miles after an ice cream truck
like falling as i try to climb onto my roof to look at the sun
like sitting with knees touching and my feet touching my hips
and i think that makes me sort of special.
then i realize that i'm trying to be interesting like that other girl.
so i stop.
and i give up after 2 blocks
and i stare at my ceiling instead
[and i still sit like that cause it's really comfortable]
and i deal with being kind-of-not-really special.
because everyone is like no one and no one is like anyone
because no one doesn't exist
and these are the days
where i feel like i have the world in my hands
and i like the way it looks.

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