IceGalaxy

i love you.
i swear i do.
i will always love you,
no matter what.
but i don't love you
in the way that you want me to.
i don't love you
in the way that you love me. 

i can't tell you.
i want to,

i sit on my bed,
a pencil in hand, 
a notebook balanced carefully between my legs,
not a single idea about what i should write.
i can't think of anything.
the pencil won't write the
words in my brain that i 

i'm standing on a rock
staring down at the world and
i feel like i could destroy everything
with a simple flick of the wrist. 
off with his head!
the wind throws my hair over my face,
inviting me to jump and

They all think they know me.
They think they know the kind of music I like (punk/rock/metal).
They think they know the kind of books I read (horror/mystery/Ellen Hopkins).
They think they know my gender and sexuality (cis and straight).

It takes two hours to hike to the top,
provided you don't stop along the way.
For the first hour and a half,
all you see is brown.
I hate the color brown, unless it's a
soft shade of mahogany. The last half hour

I don't watch the news anymore.
I can't, because
every single time I turn the TV on, 
there's either a story about a 
rape,
kidnapping, 
drug abuse,
fraud, or
shootings.
I don't feel safe anymore.