Amazing

I suppose one could argue that I am ignorant simple because I'm constantly shocked by the ignorant actions of others.  It really is amazing.

Bubbleigh Morgue

Your emotional outbursts are entertaining...truly.  And my stoicism elevates you to a higher level of psychosis.  Feed your need darlin.  Let your hands tremble and fumble over words, spit from your mouth turning to sparkles as they catch the sunlight...so many different ways to say the same thing, all trying to dance off your tongue at the same time.  I'm a bane of your existence....a wretched horrible vulgar heartless thing. 
Could you possibly know that I've fought this battle before?  Yes, we've met.  In other faces, in other chapters of my life....we've met.  You are nothing significant.  Nothing new or original.  The same abuser.  The same intoxicated sharp tongue.  Your anger stems from a frustration at your inability to control me...aggravating, no? Haha!  Know how this battle is won? Shhhhhh, I'll whisper it to you....I've already forgotten about you....and you? You'll continue to brew your anger and you'll remember my name ; )

and this?

i beg of you merciful death, let your cold hand find me in this unending darkness....find me here sobbing in this bed of self pity. i long to feel nothing. i long for the touch of your withered fingers upon my eyes. close them. allow me to slip away into an empty dream. an empty lifeless dream.
the pain is unbearable.  my deniability is lost and my dignity is a distant memory.  a time when i walked so proud....the earth was beneath my feet, -that- i was confident of...no need to stare at them while i walked down streets with hope and pride...but now i stare, because i'm not so sure where my steps will land. if they will land.  i hang my head because i fear catching the eye of another, and having them see the weakness in me...what would they care beyond that moment of a passing glimpse really?  who cares anyway.
oh i'm so exhausted. this race is a tiresome one that has lead no where...and we all rush through it...to what end? here and now.  sooner or later we all lay here, begging for the mercy of nothingness. bring it to me now and spare me the agonizing drone of passing time...

When

When it is morally praiseworthy but not morally obligatory.

The Very Truth

The very truth of the matter is that I'm afraid to fail.  I've come so close now...but the "what if's" have gotten a hold of me.  What if  I bomb the MCATS? What if my financing falls out? What if they actually accept me? What if I'm away from my family far more than I could have imagined? What if they say I'm not good enough.....what if i fail.
I know nothing will change until I decide to change it.  I will continue to feel restricted and frustrated. 
I'll shoot for this moon....

With Hands at Your Sides

Yes.  Thats exactly how they want you to stand after they slap you in the face....and be thankful.  "It could be worse" is what we tell ourselves when it is so hard to endure the now.  Remembering and living in a time that was then...such a sobering realization discovering you are only loving a memory.

Human (an old one that I didn't post)

Please forgive me for my weakness.  I'm waiting...with cold, short breaths...with tembling hands and a burden of shame...
waiting for you to leave.
they have always left.  every one and every thing that i held or that i loved has left.  i know if i fear such a thing...if i fear it then a part of me will make it true.  so then there adds another level to this hell that i try to hide. 
i'm afraid to say that i'm afraid.  to validate my fear means that i will sabotage my own heart and turn my fears into my reality. admitting that i'm afraid says there is a part of me that doesn't trust.....doesn't trust the universe, doesn't trust fate. 
how can we promise tomorrows when tomorrows weren't our to promise in the first place.
but i see your love in the way you look at me.  i see your loyalty when you take me by the hand.  do you know that i know i am the only girl in the room when you hold me? i do know.  i know.  i can feel it.  i know your heart is only for me and when you smile....when you smile at me, it heals so many wounds.  you have a smile that warms me...comforts me...cradles me. 
please forgive me for being afraid...jaded...wounded...
its this world i have learned to not trust...its this world that has given me hope only to watch my heart harden when it is taken away.

Cruelty.

Cruelty is thick in this world.  In the air, it'll choke you...and you wonder if you will ever breathe again.  It can blind you and make you question if you ever took a breath in the first place.  It is a relentless thing.  Completely unforgiving.  It'll coat every decision and every thought with doubt....with indecision and thoughtlessness...waiting for it's time to smother you with consequence.  It is every where you turn...it is in the face of hopelessness...in the faces of sorrow...dry from tears that can no longer fall. 
Cruelty is thick in this world.  It will trap you in time...cement your feet from escape and bind your hands.  No death to grant you mercy.  It chooses instead to preserve you, only to watch you fall to your knees and face humility over and over and over...until you beg for the things you once had, that you had so proudly discarded.  The dignity that you've now prostituted.  Once there was a time, before cruelty found you....where your feet walked proud and your arrogance was polished.  Now, with a face laying on the ground...the body heaving from sobbing...we beg for the things we once were too troubled to bother with.  It will trap you in your mind and hold short your tongue...so you may not speak the things in your thought.
Your lessons are taught. Alas, sweet Cruelty...I've nothing left to give and no other lessons can you teach.  Please leave me now.

I am not black letters on a white page.

There are some things in this life that are meant to remain unmeasured.  Some things do not quantitate, just as they shouldn't.  In such a desperate haste to fit everyone and every emotion, thought or idea into a category...we lose sight of the individual and the hell or brilliance that mind is experiencing.  We are too quick to write a note...black letters on a white page...stripping the life from the thing itself by deanimating it into...well, black letters on a white page.  Close the folder and file it in the shelf.
It takes a greater effort...a higher consciousness to accept an emotion without giving it a name...to validate it enough, to accept it...and understand that it is not incomplete or lacking simply because it isn't titled.