Cats

I am frozen. All I think is "cats" and "coffee" because neither go together but they float around simultaneously. Their relationship is platonic in my mind and I think I like it like that. Sleep threatens to take me under but I hold my breath for awhile and the feeling passes like a searchlight in the night sky. I am safe and small under my tarpaulin of cats and coffee and I think right here is where I'll stay. For now. But I'll stay.

The moon and the stars

Maybe you hurt me. We've gone drinking every poison we could find, and that's okay, that's just great. We've lied and screamed and we've been those scared little girls in the grasp of villains. And that's all right. Together, we've run away from it all and promised ourselves the stars and the moon, the whole entire universe's strings to play with, we've promised the world but you know... I never really wanted the world. Sometimes I'm scared to talk to you now because you've changed so much. It's like it always was. You're not waiting for me but I'm waiting so patiently, so desperately like maybe you'll switch back and it'll all have been a dream... Dreams, of course... Dreams I've heard lies whispered that it'll all just work out.
Maybe you've hurt me, but lift up my sleeves. I don't see any wounds there, do you? You're not looking at me, but I don't really want the world. Give me the stars, I mean...I'll cherish them if they're a gift from you, but it isn't the stars I'm dreaming of, is it?

Dreaming

Maybe you're dreaming.  Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe every night we meet in our dreams and live this life, where we are people in love, with friends, who work jobs and go to school, and create novels and music and beats, and then we wake in the morning as something else, something completely different from our dreams.
Maybe this hell we've put ourselves through is all in our heads but like they say, "Take off your clothes and run around--after all, you're only dreaming."
It all seems very real, but if we do not remember our REAL-real selves at night, why should we be them at all?
Day and night are very different and if, in this dream world we've created, we have both, god KNOWS what's out there, waiting for when we wake. If it's horrible and monstrous, if we'll only remember our reverie...who knows if we'll wake as a ghost and realize we are only dead, but that is living in their reality...
who knows, my friend, it doesn't matter now.

Darling

Darling if you love me
won't you please, please smile?
Your voice an ivory locket
but your dinner became bile.
Darling I do love you
but it's this I do not get:
well you tell me you adore me
but in chains your heart is set.
Darling if you love me
won't you please, please shine?
Like many come before me
promised you would ALWAYS, said, be mine.
Darling I do love you but by this
I am perplexed.
Since you claim that you adore me
though the loving you won't let.
Darling if you love me
won't you please, please call?
See you act like you adore me
but we haven't spoke since fall.
Darling if you love me
can't we please, please touch?
You arms are safe and I am scared
but you keep just from my clutch.
Darling if you love me
though I know you really don't
won't you spare me these last moments
to help me stay afloat?

The moon, the stars.

It's simple. Our parents yell, anger and pacing, because they're confined angression. Our friends shout because they're not prone to caring. With jokes and games, I could tell them they look fat today, and they'd just smile. "It's a joke," they'd tell themselves in their head. But not about my fat comment. About life. About the worrying and giving a fuck, because they don't. We don't care. We're raised to take in information and let it fizzle out.
We're raised to take the blame and figure out the issue ourselves, even when it wasn't our fault at all.
No, it's still simple though.
The men in their business suits walking down the streets: they have their block-thoughts, concrete-building-thoughts. They have their salary and kids and wife, or husband and kid, or dog, or cat. They have what they go home to at night, and then the morning hour before they leave for work. They have a shower, maybe their morning coffee at three in the morning. They're prone to sleeping problems, because there's something bothering them. Something missing.
Okay, so they're incomplete.
From the ripped jeans and sideways hats, you have your views of importance. Of what matters is status, what matters is who you are friends with, what you do, what you say. It doesn't seem to matter who you are, though. Just everyone else. Everyone else matters but no you, because you are too outwardly focused. Too broad and pathetically captivated in such a small world. But, for them, what's missing?
The content of their character. The thoughts that bring revolutions. They won't be scientists or writers, or actors or anything, because they are small people.
But nevermind them.
Who you need to focus on is the dropouts. The had-a-cause-but-lost-it. I'm sorry, but they're not disappointments. At least they had a why for a while. At least they had a drive behind them, even if they sprinted too soon and it fizzled out.
They still cared.
The people who you need to watch out for is everyone. The next five people you see on the streets all the way to to the last person you meet eyes with before you die. From A to Z and back again. They all matter. They're all people. Even you.
Even me.

The problem doesn't exist. There is no, "None of us truly care about one another." There isn't any of that, because we're all people and we can all care and if you stopped analysing everything and putting labels on it, you'd have an easier time of actually feeling alive.
It's like my bedroom. It's messy, okay? But I never have the time to clean it, and I don't really think I should. I know where everything is when I really need it, and that works for me. Disregard everything and start out fresh or do whatever.

As long as there's something in there, deep in your heart, you're fine.

You know what makes me sleep a little better? At night, when my parents are yelling at each other, the moon shines through my window and onto my walls. It isn't much, but what more do you need than a dream?
My friends and I are okay, because:


We are the kids who worship the moon.

To sail is to learn

"My goal," he said, quite quietly. "Is to be the boy who rocks the boat." The girl passed this off as a sexual reference, although seeing as she'd never ventured down that alley, wasn't too sure.
"Why do you want things stable when you don't get anything from it? I want to brave the storm and sail the waves and learn how to handle the hidden rocks."
The silence stretched out between them. She didn't know how to answer at all, let alone whether she was supposed to. "What happens if you get shipwrecked," she wondered. "What's the point?"
"What's the point if you don't try at all," he countered.

Eddie's heartless

"I often wonder what makes my heart beat," she said, picking the rough yellow grass out of the ground. Lucia watched, eyes tired from the summer air. "It's your blood, isn't it? Oh...I don't know, Eddie. You heart beats because it beats."
Quiet thoughts told Eddie to drop it. Too quiet. "I think I'd be happy," she phrased carefully. "If it would just stop." But her heart didn't stop beating right that moment. It kept on for years until she'd dragged herself through high school and career choices, and boring days at the office. Until she'd followed the mundane path of everyone else, clawing at herself from the inside out. Enough, it decided one day, and that was it for Eddie.
A sad story if you believe it, because there was no heart to be begin with.