It Is

It’s the words and trappings and the romanticide

It’s ink and everything that means

It’s how much I wish I were someone else

It’s how much I thank God that I’m me

It’s how I wonder “What if”

It’s the way I really am so different than you will ever know

It’s in my superiority complex

It’s in my inferiority complex

It’s the circles we will never stop tracing with our feet

It’s how all the emo bands sound the same

It’s in the way punk is a four letter word nowadays

It’s in the way punk is glorified nowadays

It’s in the clichés

It’s in the way not being cliché is cliché

It’s in the way we all want the same things

It’s beauty

It’s crackwhores

It’s how dreams always break

It’s always being second best

It’s the mystery of how everyone can claim to have the “second best” sob story,

When in reality there has to be someone in first place and third

It’s the way we’re all convinced that being an “original fan” gives you so much more cred.

It’s in the way that last one is sort of true in the end

It’s the pussies who shouldn’t be allowed the teenage years

It’s the hell of a “child” to be looked down upon for age

It’s the oddity of celebrities

It’s how we all claim to hate them

And how we know we all want to be part of their little club

It’s how they’re just a continuation of the popular crowds from high school

It’s how everyone has a fucking sob story

It’s how I want to live in a studio apartment in Boston

It’s how I feel like a sell out when I’m ditzy

It’s how I swear I really am just ditzy sometimes

It’s the stereotypes

And how every ounce of them is true

It’s character

And just getting by

And comfort blankets

Motley old couches

Too tight jeans from the gap on boys with sideways bangs and big, bland eyes

It’s how I have faith in finding my someone

Its how I’m actually terrified that I won’t

It’s how I look down on caring so much

It’s how I shouldn’t because the root of being me,

Is that I do care so much,

It’s how I want to fix the whole world

But just can’t

It’s how easily I get confused

It’s how smart I know am

And how smart I know I’m def. not

It’s how yah, I am artsy prep

And yah, that dress in TeenVogue is ugly

And yah, generally the punk scene is retarded and makes no sense

But it’s so in the hilarity of my loving emo/alternative/punk/wtfe

And thinking pyramid belts hanging off the hips of boys who wear tight band shirts is sexy

It’s how I love the 40’s

And the 80’s

And okay, parts of the 90s

It’s how I would have married Bobby Darin

And while I’m in love with one best friend

I secretly can’t stand another

It’s how I have more guts than any of you

And then none at all

It’s wondering if classy is a bad thing

And why “gentlemen” prefer blondes

As well as every other race of the male species

It’s how I wish desperately that I could just travel for the rest of my existence

It’s how I’m still awake at 1 am

And (typical of a 16 year old)

I’m still harboring some resentment towards my mom right now

It’s how I wish I could have stayed four forever

It’s how I’m a sucker for helping people

As well as fucking with them

It’s how I can be such a hypocrite

It’s how I need attention like bottled water

It’s how I want to adopt

because I’m too much of a pussy to go through pregnancy

It’s living behind lies

And fucking up your dance routine

Because your partner is hot and hormones suck

It’s local bands playing in coffee shops

It’s the scene

It’s flesh and blood

And the burn

The burn of alcohol on your throat

The burn of a lover’s fingers on the curve of your back

The burn of screeching, rubber tires

The burn of scrappy, little teenagers blazing brighter than the sun

Matches, campfires, candles, and smoldering embers in iron grates

It’s exquisite

And dazzling

And magnificent

It’s the running wonder that James Dean is my hero

It’s running like you’re uninhibited

It’s laying in sunny, summer grass

And ignorance is bliss

It’s grinning through sunglasses and walking with designer bags

Starving artists who flatmate with ugly slags

Learning from the kill

And picking up the habit after you’ve kicked it

It’s getting through one night after another

It’s being lonely while being suffocated by group hugs

It’s polos

And black rubber bracelets

It’s the drama we love

And refuse to let go of

It’s just my luck

To end up getting stuck

To everything you are

It’s the way I’m just not going to apologize

For feeling alive

And showing it off

It’s the way I like to starve myself

And stare at girls in magazines

Dying for their hips

Gasping for their ribs

It’s pale cheeks

And an angry pout

It’s the way we crash and burn

Cry at the stages

Laugh at the funerals

It’s the affairs I’m obsessed with

It is obsession

And satin pearls

Rusty blood

The broken sisterhood of Red Tents

Braiding hair

And bread dipped in honey

It’s chewing gum

And bottled water

Check

It’s straight hair

Neat and trim

Legs shaved,

Eyeliner nice and thick now

Check, check, check

Legs in shape

In heels

In pain

Ah, yes

Quite the big, black check there

It’s eating up pain

Because pain means:

Whatever you’re trying to do is working

It’s like a trophy almost

Bruises and contusions

And facing life like a woman

It’s courage

And cowardice

Slinging around “Bitches and whores”

It’s the way your eyes make good windows

And your body’s the welcome mat before the door

It’s the way birds are evil

And I don’t swerve for squirrels

It’s paranoia

It’s knowing life will always surprise you

It’s independency

And a deceptive cadence or two

Underground neon

And metalicky purple

White boxers mean the most

It’s the way I have inside jokes with myself

It’s how, if I had retained the same imagination I had in preschool

I would be

On a constant.

Narcotic.

Trip.

It’s how I love to get high off of life

And I wish I were Greek

It’s the way I love clouds

And letting French slip into my daily vocabulary

It’s life

And love

And what the fuck ever

It’s “fear is the mind killer”

And the constant threat of…people

It's glasses and high cheek bones

It's how I love lips

And have a bad habit of always licking mine

It’s demons with red eyes

Angels with grey wings

It’s being a sucker for Southwestern food

But always staying loyal to Italian

And having Buddhist tendencies

It’s belief

It’s being ever so random

It’s being soaked in symbolism

It just is…

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