This isn't going to go well...

I have no music
no earphones
no ipod

how am I supposed to get all of these thoughts
from a 2 minute session to myself, out out my
head, and make them work together, to form one
true, honest, deep, controlled, blunt, vague
silhouette of a body of words I could never
can never, and will never, understand.

As I sit here, fragile fingertips against strong
keys, an occasional breath of poise weezing it's
way through gripping teeth I can't seem to unclutch.
Should I be offended? Should I even care? Or should
I approach this form with an open mind, a willing heart,
with Alana's grace? I promised myself, through anything
I wouldn't step out of my character, I wouldn't
let myself become the WOMAN I knew would swallow
me whole, lick it's fingers, and digest in a war
exhaust. The substance that exits is a mixture of emotions
I never intended on feeling, expressing, letting in?
I keep to myself for a reason, and a good one at that,
my actions are never what you expect from my words, and
vice versa. I apologize for the polish not being so smooth
for my outskirt not being the shape you remember grasping
tightly. I'm sorry my curves don't fit into the crease
you dug into dearly. Should I be sorry? Should I comfort?
massage? feel you? for you? Should my mind be running around
so much? should I hate you? Should I puncture the wound
over and over again? the one you implemented with force
colted through another? only because, you weren't strong
enough to feel what you really felt? things I see, maybe I'm
expecting them to be true. But, I want them to be such a bold
face lie, I clench my fists, wrinkle my lips, and bite my tounge
unintentionally, but in a sense, on purpose, just to get rid
of the pain I know I'd feel if I let it get to me. Your words,
actions, it's an illness, addiction, all of you. And I'm not
completely sure if I can take it any further, my heart is beginning
to slow down, and it's all fitting reason forward of my mind
being too fast. Don't give me nicknames, you can't keep in
front my healthy eyes. Your feeble feet can't find a true
root to grow. Stop trying to pretend, because pretending is only
feeding the fire. Inconsistency can betray your flow. Find
yourself, love it, live it. So, as I sit here, wet fingertips
on soggy keys, releasing the one breath I can trust, I try
to force feeling, and the feeling of force, it's tiring, I want
my time to stop disquising my words, to let them roam your
atmosphere, orbit your heart. I want them to get to you, I want
you to break down, I want you to listen. For once.

-Weak.