i've got some summer time blues.

the sunny rays,

and not cloudy days,

give me the summer time blues.

my days are free,

nothing planned for me.

i'm bored,

and lost,

and lonely.

i seek

for something,

someone in fact,

to get rid of this feeling.

this oh so blue feeling.

the warm breeze,

and soft grass isn't enough,

to ease this aching,

and numbness.

i miss my friends,

i miss him,

i long for an embrace,

for a quiet hug,

for cuddling in a cozy bed,

without watching the time.

these summer time blues,

i can feel it creeping into something

more familiar.

this feeling inside of me,

it's festering and pestering,

it's foreign,

alien,

unpleasant.

i feel it whenever you talk about...

her,

about how she hasn't talked to you,

or about how she's been gone.

that feeling just rushed through me,

like an arrow racing to its target.

i sit there,

stewing in my thoughts...

what about me?

what happened to us?

i miss us.

i miss you.

i miss you a lot.

i hate this feeling.

i hate more than anything.

not longing.

but the feeling of someone adoring another,

that moment when you realize they maybe don't care anymore,

but...

you're the one seeking me out,

you're the one wanting to talk.

and every. single. time.

i somehow pick up my phone,

and reply,

even if i tell myself to not.

although,

it seems like you forgot.

you forgot us.

you seem like you erased the notion that i cared for you.

which sucks,

because i still freaking do.

I still love you.

and i think...

the only thing that's keeping me from not letting go of you,

is the hope that you still care.

you probably don't,

maybe.

maybe you never really loved me in the first place,

and you were never truly mine in the first place,

and i wasn't yours either...

but it's the way you talks about her,

i want to know,

"how does it feel to be adored by him?"

i would like to know again...

i would like to feel that again.

did i really throw away my shot?

either way,

i'm stuck searching for answer,

that will either destroy,

build me back up,

or leave me scattered.

and yes,

i feel j e a l o u s.

out of no where,

i get that feeling,

iʼm freezing,

then,

evaporating,

like the misty gas of dry ice.

i donʼt know.

i donʼt know why.

you're still in my head.

i knew that.

try all that i might,

you wonʼt leave.

not yet i guess.

or never.

you pop up at random times like these.

you sometimes appear in my sight.

not good.

no alright.

you gave me panic attacks.

you… ugh.

anxiety for a different reason.

i see you out of the corner of my eye.

i hear you when i hurry by.

i smell the same fresh laundry scent,

it'sʼaching when i remember those times…

it's times like these that make me confused,

and frustrated.

isn't it over?

aren't we done?

why…

why can't i mʼve on…?

sooner or later,

you'll fade away.

but i tend to forgot,

only to remember.

now i'm not afraid,

of erasing memories,

or feeling i use to have,

or the pictures i use to have.

you need to leave,

you need to go,

i can't take anymore of this,

go away,

never come back,

we haven't even talked in weeks,

and yet you're still causing pain.

i don't want to see you,

for my sake alone,

my own home isn't enough,

you aren't worth the pain,

to get rid of this,

this aching you know.

so please,

get out of my head,

i don't want you anymore,

you didn't want me,

i let go...

so why aren't you gone?

and you came back...

you messaged me out of the blue.

now i don't know what to do.

so please,

please get out of my head.

i'm begging you.

i don't want to be dragged around again.

not anymore.

it's lunchtime with friends,

i expected the mall,

something cheap,

but no.

we're at a restaurant.

i don't complain.

or at least,

i try not to.

we order.

we eat.

we chat.

then comes the check.

the bill.

the receipt.

i am the one who deals with it.

$10,

$20,

$1,

are thrown at my hands.

i am the one who counts,

and hopes,

and sighs.

i pay extra,

because we don't have enough.

18% gratitude,

more like,

"you're paying for another person."

and now,

i'm loosing,

instead of gaining,

those weeks of washing dishes?

it went down the drain.

my mom was displeased,

when she found out i used up my $20,

which she had just handed me today.

i felt bad,

and she said,

"you obviously don't known how to handle money."

maybe i shouldn't go out after this week.

yeah.

that seems reasonable.

my excuse?

"i'm saving up money,"

which is true.

i seek refuge from my thoughts,

my doubts,

my insecurities. 

there's something about, 

soap and suds,

with a wet sponge. 

the clattering of glass, 

against metal pots and pans. 

there's something about hot water, 

wearing gloves because if i don't,

my skin will crack,

and that makes me,

well,

not think. 

my mind does not wander,

nor does it contemplate, 

all i focus on is the task at hand. 

or in my hands for that matter. 

it numbs me to an extent. 

i don't enjoy chores. 

and most of the time i loath it. 

but for some reason,

when i don't want to feel,

or don't want to question,

i head into the kitchen,

blast the radio on,

and wash the dishes. 

dim light,

nighttime,

only this screen illuminates my face,

red,

tapping of the steering wheel,

green,

we're passing buildings,

and trees,

and people,

as i gaze out the window.

my feet propped up,

against the shot gun seat,

my younger brother sniffles,

half asleep.

the radio is on,

although nobody is listening,

no one is talking either.

we're all in our own little worlds,

as we head on the highway.

there's so many places we could go,

but in a blink of an eye,

we're already home.

but the world keeps on spinning

and my head keeps thinking

nothing else has changed

not even the will not to live

not the urge to stop breathing

not living up to expectations

i feel the same

yet nobody notices

It's one of those days,

When I hate my face.

Then my skin,

Next my teeth,

Fourth my hair,

And finally my legs.

Mirrors,

Mirrors tell it all,

That one on the wall,

It's beckoning me with its call.

A step forward,

Sudden regret,

I wish I could forget.

My face.

Flaky lips,

Sunken eyes,

A shiny nose,

With some dull red cheeks.

I've told my mom I never liked it.

She said there's nothing I could do.

My skin.

Discolored beyond my original hue,

Faint scars,

Scratches everywhere,

Dry,

Dry,

Dry.

Plus,

Open wounds.

My teeth.

Crooked,

My smile doesn't look right.

Not a dazzling pale white.

So I'll hide it.

My hair.

Stringy and disobedient,

Only one color,

Black.

Frizzy as it can be,

Dead skin can be seen.

My legs.

Short.

Bruises are scattered;

On my knees,

Shins,

Sometimes calfs.

So yeah,

This is me.

It's just one of those days.

the past is a book, 

some people take a look, 

others for their sake, 

never.

however, 

reading sentences,

will display repentance, 

and dismay. 

you can reread,

rethink,

but not,

rewrite.