tin men ( Read more... )

hell has made its home in my belly ( Read more... )

Fall ( Read more... )

i remember them in lines of poetry. strange, isn't it? that they should fit so neatly into journal entries or memoirs as lines of poetry ( Read more... )

the end of a fling
... a terzanellewe no longer love, but stare out windows ( Read more... )

distaste

of what use to me is the thought of love?
wearied with words and acts of derring-do,
i scoffed at the foolish idea thereof:
of what use to me is the thought of love?
it's more like a curse than a gift from above
i, in this fight, am decided: i'm through--
of what use to me is the thought of love,
wearied with words and acts of derring-do!

to the boy who once loved me ( Read more... )

i am not courageous ( Read more... )

one day, when i'm pretty, i'll walk around my house in a tank and a pair of boxer shorts because i'll be comfortable in my skin.

( tl;dr )

you hugged me ( Read more... )