crazysingergirl

i have come to the conclusion that you and i and everyone else are nothing but waves, undulating disturbances in the vastness of existence's still canvas, creating sounds that bump and mingle into a cacophany of meaninglessness. blindly we fling ourselves into this space of endless sounds, where the laws of physics dictate our interactions and our downfalls. there are infinities of waves of different velocities and amplitudes and we see them, but they are white noise. they pass us by. how rare it is to encounter another wave that vibrates at a frequency that matches your own. together, you resonate as one and amplify into something

i have yet to fall asleep in a boy's arms, not for lack of intimacy but for a lack of security as though each touch disturbs my solitude, rendering my nerves too tremulous to succumb to melatonin's sedation alarm system ringing through my bloodstream i yearn to feel safe, to be so comfortable with someone that i can trust him with silent flesh and defenseless limbs, entangled in the folds of slumber, no thumbs exposing my naked forehead from beneath my bangs, no intrusive hands scanning the topography of brastrap to waist to hipbone, a tactile x-ray taking my measurements not to dress, but to undress without undressing, no, onl

i want to be gone, to dissipate into the breeze like a breath of dandelion seeds a thousand infinitesimal possibilities scattered beyond the realm of perception caressing mortal souls, yet elusive to their searching grasp floating tranquilly until the wind settles, and i am at home in the world, free in the open embrace of forgotten nothingness at last.

Some friendships end abruptly—maybe over a love interest, maybe over money, maybe over personal ambition. There might be drama, complete with some exchange of screaming and crying and hysterical reminders of past promises. It's true. Breakups are often ugly. Not us, though. One of my favorite authors, John Green, liked to talk about numbers and infinity and how some infinities were bigger than others. Take 0.1, for instance. Then suppose you follow it with 0.11, then 0.111, 0.1111 and so on until you have an infinity of ones. But this isn't as big as the infinity of twos, with 0.2, 0.22, 0.222, 0.2222, and all the rest, each number add

you is soft you is fat and you is fluffy.

my mother is forty-eight years old and dying. not in a gunshot-wound-to-the-chest sort of way or the slow but certainly terminal cancer sort of way. it's a slightly less fatal but much more gradual sort of way, one that takes the form of a herniated disc that pinches nerves in her back when she sits. it's the sort of way that requires surgery because the physical therapy sessions aren't mitigating the pain, at least not enough. she tries to keep doing mom things like preparing food and doing the laundry, but most of the time i see her, she's either making a fetus of herself in the cushioning of our living room couch or slowly hauling her body

i am volatile, jumping up and jerking down with the temperature until pressure can no longer be contained and the toxic stress explodes into silver droplets splattered across the floor, a mess that no one wants to approach for fear that too much exposure will make one go mad.

call me unique as any flake of snow whose crystal structure is "one of a kind" yet vanishes once on the ground below where man to these intricacies is blind. my common snowflake's dwarfed by the great hail-- all hail to zuckerbergs, einsteins, and kings whose forceful impacts are of larger scale than any lasting name my toil brings. yet when earth's season of mankind is done, oblivion to the legacy we sought! our presence will melt underneath the sun, our history's snowscape rendered all for naught. so with souls transient as the morning frost, let's seek infinity before it's lost.

i liked you because you were like einstein one of those wide-eyed people who never stopped thinking with the curiosity of a child. you wanted to be one of those superheroes who combated the villainous rod blagojeviches of the world saving our country, saving integrity, saving babies. but upon examining your slicked-back coif and 2 a.m. escapades into the regular vulgarities of distraction, i miss your capacity for tenacity and decide that you, my friend, are not the young man i used to idolize.

the worst anger to feel isn't the hot fiery metal that glows yellow-white and spits curses all over the floor like stray sparks of heat, uncontainable. no, the worst is formed after emotion has colled into calm, structured iron, molded to a bitter, metallic sharpness that rests dormant until planned revenge employs it, striking the world in a series of calculated stabs and blows like a fencing foil only darling, this is no game, because when it's game over, somebody's going to get bruised so badly that they will be too tired to get up and walk. maybe they'll heal. maybe they won't. maybe they will feel the burn, and lash up and o