Cassius- I Love U So

I'll See You Around the Bend

I'll see you around the bend.
Not of the river, but of one of the many twists and turns of our incessantly confusing dynamic.
Until then I'll be swimming in a sea of opiates and tears that really should be shed over pretty much anything else.

This is about love,
But it is not a love story.
This is dedicated to the times when you would say you miss me,
But those words were just a placebo to distract me from you drifting further away.

I've always seen you as the sweetest thing but now that I look at you more closely I realize...

You're a full-on Monet.

 

You put on this appearance of independence and originality while, in all reality, you're whole demeanor has been soured by your repeated realizations that no matter how hard you try to be different you will always be who I know you to be.

 

And that kills you inside.

 

You read our messages (more like pleas) begging you to come back,

Yet you still tell yourself we don't want you anywhere near us.

 

We reminisce over you and you over us and all of us over the memories we could have made if you weren't so distorted.

 

 

 







I Wish I Lived in the Golden Age

How to be a Good Writer

To be a good writer you must read.

You've All Been Misinformed

"You need to have a passion for roller-skating to be cool."

"You don't have long, bushy, almost dreaded hair; there's no way you're hip."

"Do you even own a Subaru?"

"You love art? Pretentious. I mean, I'm allowed to like it though."

"I didn't see you at the Velour on Saturday...."

"Banksy is my favorite artist, have you ever seen his stuff before?

I bet not. He's pretty underground."

I'm sorry I don't skate habitually, I don't want to fall.

I'm sorry my hair doesn't reach my waist, I chopped it off when short hair was "in."

I'm sorry I don't own a subaru, I take what I can get.

I'm sorry you don't agree with my methods of self-expression.

I'm sorry I don't need to love all underground music to be cool.

To all you people who are offended by another person with the same taste in music,

the same taste in fashion, 

the same taste in hobbies, 

the same taste in "films."

There's only so many things in the world to like. 

You've all been decieved. You can't copy someone else to be different. 

The Catastrophic Endeavors of Angst

When I was enthrawled by you it seemed as if I could never get enough.
Now that I am older and know better I want nothing to do with you.
What I'm battling with now is not my own frigid self-image but rather the acceptance of life's conundrum: you can only get what you want when you're finally over it.
I'm over it. I'm over you. I'm over the crippling status of independant fool who can't seem to keep her knees from giving-way whenever you walk within a 50 foot radius.

We sat in the back of your car talking about how "God won't let you have a girlfriend," and how you just can't seem to get a girl to like you even though I was sitting 20 inches away desperately trying to keep my lips from trying to touch yours and my eyes from falling in love with yours over and over again.

Others described you as psycho, while the only words that came to mind when I looked at you were charming and charismatic. That description slowly wore off due to the repeated occasions where you would ask me how to get a certain someone to fall for you just as I was mustering up the courage to tell you that I was more than willing to be that certain someone.

If only you knew how many journal pages I have dedicated to you. Many of them nothing you could read without feeling immediately morose and the others a mixture of giddyness and infatuation with topped with a thin crust of appreciation.

Now all of those pages consist somewhat of animosity and pity. Not pity towards myself but towards you and your inability to see what's right in front of you. I've repeatedly thought about lighting it on fire but I feel like that would ruin the structural integrity of the book and that's worth more than any potential relationship with you; which you so clearly pointed out.

 Here's for the many hours we spent together laughing and you playing guitar and me attempting to follow along in harmony. Here's to us going on endless drives and talking about where we'll be a year from now and hopign we're still best friends and spend every second together (because that's not misleading at all). Here's to you teaching the value of sarcasm because as of late it has come in pretty handy. Here's to us going our seperate ways because I am much more solaced with knowing that I am no longer chasing after something that never wanted to be mine.