By the time you read this it'll be too late. You'll never truly know, how in love with you I was. The way your smile made me smile. The way your eyes always smiled. The way you held onto me when you were near your friends. The way you showed the girls how lucky I was. The way you teased me. The way that smirk of yours got me all hot and sent a bolt of excitement through me. The way you pushed me to the edge, dared me. Made me break every rule my mother ever laid out for me. The way you always managed to make me feel pretty even when I wore sweat pants, a baggy tee, and had messy hair. The way you always forgave me when I did something wrong. They way you never blamed me. The way you didn't care who was around us when we were together.

         I miss the late night conversations from sundown to sunup. The pulsing race I got when we went out because I was scared we'd get caught by my family. The excitement you gave me. I loved sneaking around with you. Loved holding your hand. The feel of your skin against mine.
        I just wished we were lucky enough to make it through life together. Why did you have to go and cheat? Why did I half to go and move? Why did my heart have to break in two?

       By the time you read this it'll be too late. You'll have moved on. To a beautiful skinny tall brunette with big assets. But don't worry. I've always loved you too much. Sure if I thought I stood a chance I'd fight for you, but I want you to be happy. Just like when you thought I loved my best guy friend and you broke up with me, because you thought I'd be happier. I'll let you go so, so you can be happier. I only hope maybe one day you'll come back, because I think we were meant to be.

A Wrinkle in Cake

His wrinkles glisten in the moon light
he snuck into the kitchen to steal a bite
the sweet cake sits on the table
ready but unwilling to satisfy his sweet tooth
it tries to move but its glued
not much places a cake can run to
with limbs so short their invisible
how can it get away
it has no choice but to stay
it waits and watches
as the old man touches
the cake knows it's time
to open up and give it up
the cake has no hope
no chance to struggle for survival
the poor cake lets the old man nibble
what choice does it have but to give a little
it's sweetness now corrupt and used
it's no good for the publics use
how will the cake go on
it's broken and torn
with no more goods inside

Don't give me that.

Don't you see

your not worth my changin'

Why should I change

when you should want me for me.

I see through all your faults.

Your screaming voice and your

tight grip on my shoulders.

Your supernatural thoughts and

your need to control.

'Cause

I smile all the time.

'Cause

I laugh at every little thing.

'Cause

I like to dance and sing

and I always dream of stars.

I'm perfectly wonderful.

So tell me why

I should change for you.

I'm perfectly extraordinary

Me.

You'd Think

Books fill up the wall

a guitar leans against the closet door

my piano beside it.

You'd think I'd

be happy

being spoiled.

With my mother being single

it means she had to get married

again.

It means moving away.

Suddenly being spoiled

doesn't seem so good.

This time I'm the poor kid

looked down on.

Passed by.

Banished aside.

The book store clerk

knows my name

I can't seem to remember his

my teachers say I

need to do my homework

I find reading more important.

My 'friend' invites me

to her house.

I invite myself home.

I wish to be alone.

Is that so wrong?

I wish to be back at home.

My real home.

with my real friends

Not my pretends.

She wonders why

I never take her home.

How do I say

'I don't want to'

so it won't hurt her?

How do I say

'I like being alone'

to someone who wont listen?

How do I say

'I don't like you'

to someone who wont hear it?

You'd think I'd be happy

to be away from the drama

the fights and guns.

But I miss the known,

when everyone knew my name,

the screams of my friends,

not doing my work because

I was talking

and not because

I didn't want to.

You'd think I'd be happy

to be alone.

You'd think I wouldn't care.

I wouldn't dare.

You'd think I'd be happy

if you were wrong.

I had a best friend once...

     She meant a lot to me. She was the first friend I didn't have to share. She was a best friend who wanted me in her life enough to cry tears when I misunderstood her and refused her friendship. She was the first best friend who I could lay in the same bed with as the sky decided to descend and laugh hysterically until we had to pee and her grandmother yelled from the other room to keep it down. We'd talk until we feel asleep, her loud snores keeping me up a little longer. And as the moon watched over our sleeping figures she'd mumble in her sleep, toss and turn and slap me across the face.
     She wasn't exactly pure, or smart, or pretty, or a relatively calm and sane person, but neither was I. Where I lacked in anger she lacked in forgiveness. When I failed to produce a vociferous voice she would transform into a lioness, standing up for me while I repeated, "It's okay." Knowing full well it was not okay. It was never, okay. At times I, admittedly, wanted to punch her in the face but I never could because like a perfect friend our souls fit perfectly together, complimenting where the other failed.
     Somewhere in between though, everything began crumbling. Slowly at first. I don't even know when the mirror between us shattered but, when I finally noticed it was far too late.
     I could no longer take away her sorrow. I was the source for her pain.
     Because I lived with my mother. Because my mother worries about me. Because I had an older brother who looked out for me. Because I was richer than her. Because I lived in a house. Because I had the latest phone. Because the boy choose me over her. Because I didn't want her boyfriend.
     Because I couldn't see soon enough to soothe her worries and insecurities. Because she was jealous she didn't see what was right in front of her.
     A little brother who looked up to her. A grandmother with a heart problem who cooked and sold food to buy her only granddaughter, that she had raised as her own child, the latest clothes and jewelry made of gold. A grandmother who loved her so much she couldn't bare taking that last breath until her granddaughters voice rang on the other side of the hospital phone line.
     The jealousy made her cold and disgusting. Discarding and patronizing the women who had every right to hate and relinquish every right to her granddaughter but never, could even dream of it.