Nyx's blog

Trying to decide what to do with you is killing me.

And so,

that's why I haven't said anything.

That's why

I haven't tried.

I love you.

I miss you.

But I just can't be with you.

I don't want to hurt you.

And I will.

[That's practically a promise.]

Just promise me you'll try not to hate me?

Even if I deserve it.

This is yet another somewhat angsty piece [in lack of better words...piece. Perhaps not poetry. I don't know. This is just my art] about relationships. Sorry for the Language, but if anyone out there is familiar with my posts they can probably tolerate my choices. I apologize for the cliches. Just felt like writing a little explanation. This whole bit seems a little "Grease" to me, which I have yet to decide whether is a good thing or a bad thing.

I love the way you're completely

different

(in every way)

from anything I'm used to.

I love the way that we created

some sort of

reaction.

Not to be an

attention whore--

but yes. It was

delicious

seeing how many people

our relationship

pissed off.

Don't you agree?

My friends,

my family,

and our mutual.

But it was

mostly from my end of the

connection,

which actually is fine.

You'd never be my

family's first choice.

But you are

mine.

As we stand, your arm wrapped around

my shoulders

and my head rested upon

your shoulder

I can only wonder why they care.

They stare,

occasional mutter obsenities underneath their

heavy breath.

They've asked me

with their eyes,

their expressions,

their words,

why I chose you.

And I have yet to come up with an

answer worth

listening to.

But then again, would any answer be worth

listening to?

I doubt you even care.

I doubt you even notice.

I doubt that you even realize,

that I do.

I care.

For once.

And it's written over everything I do.

The way that as you walk over to me and I plant

a small kiss on your jaw,

the way that I punch you softly.

It's been awhile.

You just stand, holding me.

That half-amused, half-asleep expression written all over

your face.

The was you shake your head

whenever you see me.

The way you never hold my hand.

Maybe that's why I do.

Maybe that's why

I

care.

Because for once,

I've met someone else who

usually doesn't.

They don't understand that they are my motivation.

Their the reason for the

rebellion.

They think

that they are stopping me

from the

fingerstwistedinhislovelymessy

long

brown

hair.

They think that by cutting me off from the

bad reputations and mistakes

but honestly,

they are what drives me to

become what I never thought I would be.

Will this last?
This beautiful, lovely, wonderful,
sweet adorable, crazy,
unexpected,
emotion?

I
sure as hell hope so.

[Please?
for once?]

I'm happy.
Thank you.
Thank you.
So much.

So take the red cup in one hand and
twirl your hair flirtatiously with the other.
Bite your lip,
and slowly slowly sip
and take in what you've become.
Messy blond-brown hair
smudgy eyes and twisted smiles.
Crazy party girl,

do you realize that the mirrior
still lies?

*Language. As always.*

You raise your messy eyebrows as the smoke curls from your lips.
"What are you looking at?" you say, jokingly as
always. I scowl, and push your chest softly. You laugh, dizzy and low and pull me in towards you and kiss my hair. Your mouth is sloppy, and you hold me a bit to tightly, but I honestly can't even begin to care.
"You, asshole," I murmur into your shirt. You laugh and shake your head and I allow myself to sneak a look up at you. You need a haircut and you look like you're about to collaspe, but in the end...
who gives a shit.
This is us.

Little porcelain dolls
with their lovely [fake] smiles
dance through these harsh halls
nearly
daily

They paint their faces
[They don't see their beauty]
They
attempt to charm and chase
they
embrace
sweet opportunities
[forbidden
opportunities]

They are rebellious little dolls,
at heart
as they dance through these halls
despite their lovely
[fake]
persona.

Not having any idea what to say isn't normally
but today as I watched your lovely tears roll down you're cheeks
I was silent.
Maybe you were wishing that I'd pull you into my arms
or whisper something
comforting
into your ear.
I'm not sure.
I can't read people I'm close to.
Which makes no sense, but this is all irrelevant.
He shouldn't have done that.
I know you're going to disagree,
but he is an asshole.

And although you disagree,
many others don't.

That's the difference between us.
You don't mind getting hurt.
For you,
it's just a part of loving.
For me,
well,
I hardly ever allow myself to get close enough to even get hurt.

And then you go around saying that I'm the fearless one.
You've got no idea.

And that's what kills me.
You don't even know.

You are
close minded
even when you say you're listening to me.
you
condemn my ideas
you laugh when I try my hardest
(and try to tell me to then
try harder.)
You scream.
You may be smarter that me.
You may be older.
That does not mean you shouldn't respect me.

Fuck you.

(Yes. I still love you.)

*Language Warning. Also, this is inspired by 'Sister' by The Black Keys*

So write your love stories
and dance in the tears that you like to think
are similar to rain
and fall
head-over-fucking-heels
in love with someone you
know
and then when he breaks your
'fragile' heart
run back to me
and
try to convince me
that we are still friends.
That you didn't dump me on my ass.
Whatever.
I get it.
You're smart, but
you haven't learned a lesson yet.
Do you get it?
I hate seeing your potential go to waste.
Everyone does.
All of us.
But obviously you don't give a damn...
Or you at least pretend to not give a damn to fit in.
Fit in
I hate that phrase.
Why would you ever
want to be like them?
Any of them?
Where is the
fun
in that?

Or are you above enjoying yourself now?

'Enjoy the good times,
because they never last.'
she always says.
With her eyes,
through her words.
She understands this.
And she is right.

And I try to remember,
because most of my bad times lately
have no way of comparing to hers.

But to reverse that slightly,
why dwell on the bad times?
If you swim in depression
you'll just end up dorwning eventually.
You must find a shore.
I try to explain this to her
but her fogged mind has already slipped into the
blue.
My words only partially resurface her.
I need his help.

But where the hell is he?

**Biffy Clyro reference. Cheers to those who get it.**

Lovely
wonderful
sound
flushing through my speakers
like leaves after the first rain
Lovely
lyrics
dancing
like reverse ballerinas
across my mind
Beautiful
full sound
lush words
entangling my focus

I have no chance.

Lovely,
yes.
Listening,
always.

you can't take that away from me

Lovely.
The word reminds me of
roses
and kisses
and sweet summer nights
and those stupid romance movies
that we watched not so long ago.
(I want a white house with blue shutters)

Lovely
reminds me of
petals.
No petals in particular.
Just petals.
Falling,
dancing
just
existing.

Just
lovely.

We are the faces of summer.

teenagers with
(skin tight higher than mid thigh ripped to near-shreds shorts or baggy dark jeans)
and assorted shirts
(anywhere from bandeau to bikini to loose floppy tee)
and
Long hair
(to busy or lazy to cut it)

We are
JuneJulyAugust
and perhaps even
May and September.

We are
(Or maybe not)
counting the days until that final test is taken
that final bell rings
that last ride home
from the hell/haven/cage
which is also known as
High School

We are free
We are here
We are ready
(mostly)
for it to begin.

i.
I just wanted to thank you for being my best friend.
For always listening
(even when i ramble),
always being there
(even when I'm lost),
and being my shoulder to cry on.
Remember that if you need me,
call me.
I'll always listen.

ii.
Big
Brown eyes
and even larger smile.
If only,
if only,
if only i knew what was going on inside your
head(s).

iii.
We have good times.
I won't deny that.
You're hilarious,
wonderful,
and no where close to being the person I thought you were.
Which is
nice.
Thanks for making me smile.

iv.
You're lonely,
despite what you might think.
A firecracker
with a sparked smile and
even though it's
still
laced with metal.
You've grown a lot.
Which is scary.

"So you're in love again," she had asked, smiling knowingly at me. I blushed.
(of course I did. I blush at everything.)

I didn't want to answer.
I didn't want to get hurt.
Not again.
Not so soon.

"Um..." I murmur. She grins.
Something distracts her before I can answer, and my chance of denying dissolves.
But still, underneath my breath, I whisper a hasty "no".

Because I'm not.
I swear.

Or,
Not yet.

I'm afraid, okay?
Terrified.
Absolutely
terrified.

I'd like to say that this was our first encounter before we drifted, but
Yeah.
I'd be lying.

There was that time when you just walked in out of no where,
a huge smile on your face
and for the first time in a rough month
we
talked.
(and then of course I got involved with him.
Him with his persuasive brown eyes,
and crazy confident air
and open arms.
But hey.
Why not.
You had and lost your chance.
And yes,
I walked away.)

And then there was that other time.
Yesterday, right?
I was innocently just walking up the stairs,
turning a corner,
(skipping class)
and there you were.
With your own large
but soft
brown eyes.
(I swear I'm a sucker for the color...)
And your hurt but somehow still wondrous expression.
I almost stopped.
I almost said something.
But lets remember...
I'm not the loud girl that has evolved out of the
ashes of what once was.
(I am what once was.
What is.
What no one seems to think still exists.)
And I walked away.

And then,
today.
I swear that I wasn't trying to catch you're eye.
I was just with her.
Walking towards you.
Well,
towards him.
And you just happened to be with him.
(Of course.
That's just how my life works.)
Our eyes met again.
And sorry to be cliche
(But of course I am addressing the
god damn
King
of cliches)
But I got lost.
Again.

And this time, I was still.

It's crazy how just your teary-eyed voice
can make me,
myself,
go teary-eyed.

Sister,
friend,
I'm sorry.
I'll be here.
You can lean on me.
My arms are a motel,
they might not be the highest
or richest
or most untarnished place of
refuge;
but you're tired.
And heartbroken.
And I'll be open long past midnight.

I know that you'd laugh if you ever read this.
because in moments like this
I tend to fall or go off the deep end.
I'm sorry.
But at least now you're smiling.

It'll be okay.
He would want you to keep on
living.
We love you.
I love you.
Everything's going to be okay.
And yes,
it's not okay now,
but that's because it's not over.
In the end, everything will be right.
I'm sure of it.
Absolutely sure.
So just hold on.

We are
Toes in the sand watching the waves crash in. Your fingers entangled with mine. The salt and the sun and the summer in the sweet air.
We are
listening to thunder on a lazy Sunday spring night. My head in your lap and my taste still in your mouth, of course.
We are
the way that the wind tousles the big old maples in my backyard and the splattered white birches in yours.
We are
happy.
Sure.
But most of all,
we just are.

Summer.
HolyFUCKi'msohappy
because
it's almost
(almost)
here.
It means
warm air
and bonfires
and the races
and fairs
and friends
and jean cut offs
and the smell of sun and happiness
and drive down dry roads watching the dust pull up and blarring the radio
and dancing in the rain
and staying up all night so you can just watch the stars on the roof
and
living.
just living.
(In general.)

She used to be a dancer.
All in pale pink and midnight black.
But her body was to much of an
hourglass
to ever fit in with the with the rest of the
tiny
people
and the point-shoes killed her
ankles
and she hated the music
so she stopped.
It's not that she was to
fat
it's just that her body
just
wasn't
typical for a dancer.

Now she's a runner.

She used to play classical music
on her
old
upright.
Bach
and Mozart
and Brahms.
And it's not that she doesn't
love it
and find it beautiful.
She grew up on it,
after all.
It's just that it doesn't feel as free for her,
playing the intense notes.
She prefers
rock.
Not heavy death metal.
Just,
not classical.

She used to be a writer.
Published
once
(minorly).
She still is.
Sort of.
But...
with the people who've
fallen into her life
and the situations that have
dissolved and
evolved and
developed
she hasn't gotten the time.
(And she feels like such a
huge ass idiot
for saying that.)

(You can see it in her face.)

(My face.)

Yes.
I know.
He's passed.
A long time ago.
But of course the pain still
exists.
(This type of wound,
is the slowest healing.)
And I miss him too.
He was my teacher.
(More than that.)
But someone who held as much love for me as the whatever
he was teaching.

Face it.
You know
exactly
what he would tell you.
"If you laugh,
the world laughs along with you.
If you cry,
you cry all alone."
(And the of course he could give you a
huge
grin, and you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from smiling
back.)

He's proud of you.
He still loves you.
He's still here.
And he sure as hell wouldn't want you sobbing.
"There is to many things to be done,"
he would have said.
"No time for that."

And come on.
You would have listened.

Ti vogliamo bene, Papa. Ci manchi. Sarete per sempre nei nostri cuori. Dovremmo hanno ottenuto il trattore quando eri ancora vivoi.

***I'm not really sure how I feel about posting this poem. If anyone can relate or had advice or just wants to comment...it would be GREATLY appreciated. Thanks. I'm not really extremely too(or three) faced. I'm just a somewhat normal person who decided to delve deeper into their different sides(?). I'm not sure if that makes sense or not, but I at least hope it did. Also....any title ideas? I need one desperately. Thanks!***

I should honestly be a Gemini,
for I've got
a thousand
faces.
or so it seems...
(at least to me, when I look back)
You've got the sweet, petite thing that
plays piano and
has a soft voice
and is quiet.

But then of course,
there's the loud, outgoing and rather
jealous
creature that escapes on more occasions than i
might
like.
She is crazy.
(crazy...is such an understatement.)
She is a bitch.
She runs out and does shit and doesn't really care who sees
or who wish they saw
or what people will think of her after she does it.
(Which is something the rest of me is
so very envious of.)
She's a singer.
A performer.
Confident, sure.
Fearless...
perhaps not as much as the world thinks.

Another face,
is the indifferent one.
Easy going.
Laughs at
literally everything.
(I mean, literally
everything)
nice enough,
caring enough,
but not as sweet,
or as harsh.
Still cares what people think.
Tries not to let people know, though.
She is the most common one.
A default.
Comforting.

There are more,
yes.
More.
But why document them?
They don't break free as often.

(But then again, why not?
Maybe then people will understand that
'being yourself'
is hard
when there is so many of you.)

(But then again,
I don't really choose which part of me shines
or trickles
or runs
out.
They just become
with circumstance.
They're all me.
I'm all them.
We're probably all mentally ill.
Oh well.)

*Language Warning. Overuse of a certain word. I'm feeling somewhat sarcastic right now. My apologizes.*

Some music removes you.
Blocks shit out.
And other times,
it's the doorway to other shit.
It can start shit,
make you realize that you should probably end shit,
and turn a shitty day
into something
slightly
better.
But honestly...
what I'm trying to say through this
shitty
scrawl
is
Music
is
beautiful.

(No shit.)

Dance with me

Hold me

and possibly maybe please

(i'mseriouslybeggingyouhere)

forget what I've told you.

That I lead you on. And on. (And on.)

I'm a shitty person.

Sorry to just be blatant

and not mask my words

with a light dusty of poetry

and sweet (but always angsty)

appeal. I hope you understand.

You probably would.

(Will. You probably will understand.)

You're more than I deserve.

Just saying.

You should agree.

Even though

I truly hope you don't.

(Told you I was shitty.)

Okay.
So hate me
and
cry
and
throw your fists up
and
scream.

I'll just sit here,
tipping back in my chair
and
yes,
of course stare
at the utter mess that you have had become
half
fallen
into.

I mean...
Yes.
I should care.
And
yes,
I should at least
want
to care.
But honestly,
All I can do right now is laugh.
Laugh,
and Laugh.
Not loudly, but
yes.
I am aware that you can
hear
me.

But really.
I
don't
care.

After all,
they described it the best.

Caring is Creepy

*Basically how I related to a song titled 'No Future' which was written by Craig Finn. I love this song, but I'm not going to use all of the lyrics to it. I'm not really sure what my idea was here but I just wanted to try it because I felt as though if I twisted the lyrics, they sort of applied to my situation. Hope anyone reading likes.*

By the way that you picked up the phone
I could tell that you weren't gonna die
February's about as long as it is wide

It honestly lasted forever,
between you
and your melting chocolate eyes and
words that were nearly as sweet
and
the bitter cold that licked my bones
and then the sweltering sun that apologized and kissed me dry

I guess that I've been getting pretty good with it
Trying hard not to get too obsessed with it
I guess I shouldn't've been surprised

I tried not to drown in you
(not your eyes this time,
or your words,
but just
you
in general)
But of course I failed.
Miserably.
But I didn't show it.

I suppose you thought that I'd be shaken up
I suppose you thought I'd be gushing blood
Not true, I only died on the inside
I suppose you thought that I'd be taken out
Back behind one of those bars downtown
Not true, I'm still alive on the outside

You hurt me.
Sure.
Of course you did.
But no,
I'm not dead yet.
(Which is apparently unfortunate in your eyes.)

Best advice that I've ever gotten was from good old Johnny Rotten
He said "God save the Queen"
He said "no future for you, no future for me"

And yes. There is no future for us.

I'm definitely no Queen.
And you are no god.

Although I do hope to be saved.
Someday, perhaps.

So...

Good bye.

No future for you, no future for me

And it's spring time.

Flowers blooming,
raining pouring,
birds singing,
school almost out...

It's honestly like a breath of fresh air.

If only I wasn't being suffocated.

Just go.
Clear your head.
You really,
really,
really,
need it.
And you know it.
So you should just go
and not worry about
what's happened
and what's going to happen.
Or how bad the music's going to be
and how much that this crappy half ass music is going to
remind you of him
and make you miss him
with
every
muscle
in your body.
You need this.
So.
Freaking.
Bad.
So get over yourself and just
go.