to shoreshe spent her dayswith ears pressed to sea shells.she didn't listen for the ocean;she listened for the friend she never found.
starchildshe was born from the sun;kissed by the moon.eyes like a night skyand lips like roses.she walked on airand slept on clouds.she came down to earth when I called her to dinner,and floated away before I said goodbye.
you always told me I was melodramaticI was cleaning my room today(I know, a real shocker).In the back of my bookshelf,folded and tucked away,I found your pictures,and your letters,and "best friend forever!"s;All the birthday best wishesthat something deep inside me misses.I was afraid of being lonely,but now I fear a change.The thought of possible rejectionkeeps me tolerant of the pain.So maybe I'm just crazy,and maybe that's the whole problemthat keeps the same old story on repeat,of how I've found 'best friends' and lost them. Though writing this isn't easy,I think it must be said,for the more I avoid reality,the more my soul feels dead.
IVdrag this pen across my skinscream sweet soliloquiesbleed ink and weep metaphorscold knife to hold me tightrhythmic rambling at its finestno one reads my letters, anyway