I keep telling myself that I will change but i think i have convinced myself that what I'm doing is okay. I brush it off saying it's my chance "to live a little" and "get the full highschool experience" but when I walk down that stage I will have more broken hearts in my hands than anything else. I am trying to take pieces of others to make up for the girl who hasn't been the same since April 26th 2015. Clinging for dear life to the hope that i can use the calming melody of these hearts to teach mine how to beat again and the light behind everyone else's eyes to remind mine that they too, are capable of shining. I attempt to gather some sort of recognition of myself when I look in the mirror. I try to cup it in my hands and bring it up from the bottom of my belly where it turns to acceptance as it flows into my heart, filling the fissures of heartbreak once again. Alas, all it does is stain my skin red with the bitter realisation that this girl in front of me is a stranger. I am merely a host who doesnt understand her own mind in the body of one who wishes she were anyone else. I make desperate attempts to console the turmoil resonating inside the walls of my head by kissing boys who smell like the inside of cigarette cartons and look like the perfect bad idea. I don't pay attention to how they taste when their tongue is swirling in my mouth, twisting my insides and thoughts, until both of them are so small I don't even notice them. I lose myself in the wondering hands and the feel of another person so that I do not get lost inside my own mind. I kiss these boys even though I know when it's all over I will go home and vomit my regret into my porcelain best friend and spill the rest of it in salty sentences down my cheeks. I can't remember the last time I have kissed a boy and not cried afterwards. It is so easy to become accustomed to this act of my new, dare I say, slutty, self that I often find it easier to just pretend that's who I am. I act as if I need the attention from all of these guys, i call them cute as if they all share the same name, i go along with the crude words they say as their hands trace my inner thighs. As much as I long for that intimacy, i long for love and acceptance more. I crave someone who can put up with my bizarre music taste in the car, headbanging to Megadeath one minute and singing along to the songs from the Phantom of the Opera the next with everything else littered in between. Someone who understands that sometimes I don't want to talk for hours, i just want to lay my head on them and fold myself in between the pages of a book or even two. Someone who understands when I need to breathe by myself and when I need their soft glance and touch they keep reserved just for me. I need a best friend who knows me, but never more than I know myself because i still need that sense of unpredictability. At the same time a lover who knows all of the places that make me go weak and this time not with sadness. They'll hold my hand as I travel to places inside my mind that they can't follow and comfort me with a hushed voice and easy fingertips when I return. Who doesn't roll their eyes when I freak out over animals and put them over myself sometimes, as well as some people. Not someone who worries more about the next time they'll get to dip their fingers into me, begging for sweetness that I don't think they deserve to taste, than the last time I ate. I deal with those boys though because i have yet to meet anyone different than them. When I do find one, i swear on every empty eyed person out there that I will love them with so much fervor it will light a flame in places of their hearts they never even knew they had.
