Archive for May, 2015

Well I’ve got a thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard
But I may snap when I move close
But you won’t see me fall apart
Cause I’ve got an elastic heart

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Lonely float got in the way
You are the feel, and knew it anyway
Take a chance, it wasn’t what you know
Take my hand, and don’t let go

You can do it,
Don’t break
Yeah, you’ll pull through it,
You’re safe
Yes, you can do it
Don’t break
Yeah, you’ll pull through it,
You’re safe

Tell her on how you feel,
Give her every say she needs to hear
Give your heart, and say come take it
And she will see you’re a good man

You can do it,
Don’t break
Yeah, you’ll pull through it,
You’re safe
Yes, you can do it

Don’t break
Yeah, you’ll pull through it,
You’re safe
Yes, you can do it,
Don’t break
Yeah, you’ll pull through it,
You’re safe


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Look me in the eye.
I am not
some wounded animal
that has been shot
and is bleeding
into your hands.
I am not a dying specimen
whose last chance for survival
was to stay by your side.

I will not die
because you left.
I will not bleed out
because you broke me open.
I will survive because I can heal.
I will survive because I am human.

I am human.
Start treating me like one.

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I hope one day it hits you. I hope on a Sunday afternoon, you sit on your bed, stare at a wall and forget how to feel. I hope that what everyone told you, about how I kept breaking down to the sound of your name and about how I couldn’t go ten minutes in a conversation without bringing you up, finally registers with just how much I cared about you and how much I wanted it to work. I hope you sit there for hours thinking about calling me and apologizing; wondering if I’d be asleep, out with friends or with the family. god, I hope that it gets to the point you start crying and you get so angry and mad at yourself for what you did to me. I hope you see me in the grocery store walking down the aisle not looking at you because I realized at some point you were never going to be looking back. I hope you break down.  I hope you try and talk to me and I speak to you as if you are the world again. I hope it tears you up in side how you can see my eyes still bright up like that. I hope I have the strength not to go back to you, but I hope you come back to me.

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I cry in silence.
 I miss you in silence. 
I love you in silence. 
You can’t handle my noise.

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The Forest

As you’re traveling through the forest alone the wind blows up to you. you welcome this company because you feel so alone, exposed in the elements. you’re looking for home, but you can’t find your way. The wind knows your name, knows your intentions and breezily, like the wind does, tries to convince you that you are not alone in this forest.

The wind is with you. This is fine for some time. You continue on.

As time passes you are convincing yourself that you are making progress, that each step is towards something of substance and not away. The wind, nimble and lithe follows you, maybe even goading you along at times until you realize that the wind isn’t with you so much as it’s just near you, you were really alone the whole time.

Each step you took a song, and each song a story and each story a tear drop each tear drop has a heart each heart has a wish. As you turn around to see how far you’ve come you see clearly that each step you took, you were alone and how you will remain alone, lost amongst the trees.

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The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them – words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?

The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly…. only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it.

That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller, but for want of an understanding ear.

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