So You Think Your Baby Has An Attitude

you’re scared of the wrong fate,

i’m self destructive, darling

i’m my own .t.i.c.k.i.n.g. time bomb waiting to e x p l o d e

this persistant fuse, desperate to ignite

a match lboxl romance v/e/r/s/u/s a 1s1i1n1g1l1e1 drop of pottery glaze rain

whose purpose is to dive :.down and -stifle- the pain inside me,

a perfect porcelain ceramic coating for the b-l-o-c-k-e-d outlets

leaving me alone and shallow on a high shelf

with a t,h,o,u,s,a,n,d sob stories left to tell and t,h,o,u,s,a,n,d plots left to unwind

and n o w h e r e to l.a.y the inspirational blame

oh but dying is exactly the same

it snatches you a w a y from all your hopes and dreams

and “forever.” means settling down and sucking it /up/

(i’ve always been terribly wonderful at h-i-d-i-n-g how i really feel

so i suppose instead of a razor,

i’ll use “words” to l,e,a,k out the bottled up champagne rage)

then stuffing the p/a/p/e/r/c/u/t kissed pages of my diary

into (just) another grave that’s2small2containemotion

and smiling from inside my lclalglel at how small everything looks

from so f a r away

--i discovered it was fire .a.l.l. .a.l.o.n.g.,

s - t - r - e - t - c - h - i - n - g the distance between humanity and this damp spark

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A/N- It's been a while since I really wrote something I was proud of. But here it is, the product of a life time of bitten back tears and I have to say, for all the pain that went into this, I really love how it turned out. That's why I write, to make my pain beautiful, to make the suffering worthwhile.

This for everyone who understands what goes on behind closed doors, for everyone who cries in the shower so that their tears don't seem so lonely.

Because the funny thing about this poem is that if you know me really well, you won't believe a word of it because I really do keep it all inside like champagne bottle rage. But if you've never met me, this poem could possibly speak to your heart.

I really hope it does speak to you.

After all, I'm begining to think words are wasted if they're left unsaid. Some words can be so hard to say, like "sorry," and "iloveyou." But the words in this poem were strangely harder. Maybe it's because the words I strang together for this poem are my own, coming from the bottom of my heart. I've never seen them rehearsed in a movie or used as an excuse. Or maybe it's because for once, I actually mean what I'm saying.

Love,

The Fourth Fate