SheDreamer

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Joined: March 10, 2012
Last Seen: 1 week
user id: 282597
i'm the sort of girl made up of  a million piece jigsaw puzzle. i have plain and downright ugly colors, but that only makes it easier for you to see the rainbow inside.
im not saying im the sort of girl that needs to be put back together as if she's broken, but i am saying im the sort of girl with a few pieces missing that tries to close up the hole because she's afraid the colors will leak out.
im the sort of girl that likes to inhale starfish and coral because that way, when i die someday, my inside will be beautiful.
im not the sort of girl that craves attention, but i am the sort of girl to take away the microphone and turn the lights off so i when i say something i want you all to hear.
im the sort of girl made of music held together by weeds growing in my cracked concrete exterior.
im the sort of girl who can either be your best friend or your worst enemy- provided you choose to push me away.
and we haven't even touched half my pieces yet...

Quotes by SheDreamer

i. learning to love is

a          l     o     n     e     l     y          t     a     s     k


i am not 
loved like that

"no vacancy" hangs over my chest

"we have no room in this ghosttown for you"

ii. tempted
to trace hot lines of desire
streaking my sheets red
blistering beneath bluejeans

iiiyou were made for labor, not for love.
i whisper, 
pulling compression socks over swollen toes.


you were made for labor, not for love.
i hum,
silence nestling herself into my ribcage.


not for love. not for love.
my mouth is empty.
the endless warehouse shelves vibrate from boxes running along the roller tables,
tumbling head-over-bubblewrap into a truck driver's delivery route.


the bowed steel groans crookedly, promising
only for labor. only for labor.


iv. i've dreamed of summer romance.

how fitting i spend my time in a box
taping boxes shut
sending taped boxes into larger boxes
leave in a wheeled box
to come to a box where somebody lives.

my body-box is damaged goods
where is my sell-by stamp?


v.  i cannot learn to love.
i am only fit for labor.

i set the table for three:
my body-box, loneliness, and silence.

i do not make dinner.

best to leave the table unsatiated.


-help wanted, apply within (no vacancies)


original by shedreamer







"How are you?" they ask, stroking your arm. 

They see the scars. They know why they're there. They don't like it any more than you do.

You shrug off the smiles and the questions. "I'm fine." A thousand other answers spring to your tongue, begging to leap out into the air. "I'm still hurting", "I need to know it's okay to cry", "I need to know why you say such cruel things about the man I love[d]", "I loved him once. And i still love him. And i will ALWAYS love him.", "What do you do, when you've found your happily ever after, but someone else slammed the door shut in your face?", but most pressing of all...

"Do you believe in life after love?" 

You stare into the mirror, when the guests have come and gone, the wine drunken, the bread broken. You stare at your eyes and your nose and your lips and remind yourself that someone once loved not just the body you wear, but also the mind and heart and spirit and soul inside. You stare at yourself and smile. You know the answer.

"There is no life after love. Love never leaves."
That moment when you realize.....

unholy f.cking sh.t. 

i'm fat.

sometimes, breathing hurts.


breathe in the pain. feel the secondhand smoke sear your lungs as your eyes water. feel the panic setting into your mind as you realize breathing hurts. feel the toxic air pervade your capillaries as it presses phantom butterfly kisses along your aching jaw line. breathe in the pain.

and know that you are alive.

sometimes it's in these moments when everything else fades away to a soft, fuzzy gray that you become the clearest. you're the sharpest thing in your life and you're not going down with out a fight. you've been here a hundred hundred times before, and everytime you've stood tall. you've allowed the pain to drive you to your knees with your forehead pressed against the wall, and gone from a woman breaking into girl-sized pieces. you've let your first love be the thing that shreds your will to exist, and still you're standing tall. 

come, my dear. breathe in the pain. and know that you are alive.

you've lost a few fights before, and you will lose a few fights again. you really can't win every time. you've never learned, have you? you've heard the phrase "no one loves a loser" too many times. but what you've failed to realize is that no one loves a loser because a loser has lost love. you're not a loser, darling. but you're not a winner, either. you're facing your worst fear: mediocrity. 

you're afraid of standing on the border between success and failure, because a feather-soft touch can knock you over the edge. you're afraid of what youv'e been doing your whole life, aren't you? 

every night, you walk the serrated-knife edge between failure and living. sometimes, you've tripped and you've caught yourself on your bleeding, blistered hands.

you thought you could climb up the sky, steal the sun, and capture it in a jar. but the sun is not made of fireflies, and every wish you've made on it can happen.

you just need to made them happen yourself. "the world is not a wish-granting factory", and neither is it truly what destroys our dreams. it pushes them and pushes them and waits for the dreams to push back.

breathe in the pain. breathe in your dreams. breathe in resolution. 

you are alive.

you are living.

you are dreaming.



There he was, glinting in the darkness. She smiled. 

"I've missed you, babe. I've missed you a lot."

He frowned. "You left me. I don't even know why I'm here..... except....." 

He caressed her cheek and slid his hand down her arm to gently touch her wrist.

"It felt like you needed me again."

He raised her wrist to his lips.

"And besides, my dear, I missed you, too.

And this time, I promise that I. won't. ever. leave."


She smiled, her empty eyes expressionless.

"I'd like that very much."
So there's this guy....

Who's incredibly gentle, kind, and sweet.

And he spent the entire weekend 

[Thursday through Sunday] with me,

making sure that

i was

okay.

So there's this guy...
       who's generally perfect.
And we talk every night at 11.
But last night, we talked for 6 hours
starting at 6 pm.

And we didn't stop until i fell asleep.
Dear Dad,

Thank you for making me feel so pathetic this morning as you took me to school, yelling at me for not being awake 10 minutes earlier. Thank you for telling me that I should be ashamed of myself and my irresponsibility. Thank you for setting a ridiculous curfew that I will not be able to meet. Thank you for telling me that my insommia is "made up". Thank you for deciding that you would not call in and excuse me from being given detention, even on days when it really isn't my fault. Thank you for calling me lazy. Thank you for screaming at me that I an undisciplined simply because I took a few minutes last night and watched some tv while I ate dinner. Thank you for promising me that I was a failure and that I would fail college because of these 8 am lectures. Thank you. Really, Dad. Thank you.

T
earfully,
-SheDreamer
dear ocean,

you say you are tossing and turning fitfully, trying to see my face. but i am sitting still as a stone, convinced that i have somehow displeased you, and this is my punishment. 

what did i do, ocean, to desrve this miserable existence of mine? the moon cannot give life; she is barren and lifeless and alone and broken and scarred and she's tearing herself apart again.

i'm afraid, ocean, that one evening when i start to peer over the sunset-screen i'll see you holding the sun in your arms, promising her the shoreline no longer has any importance; the moon could never be loved; and the starfish you once stole from the heavens are hers again.

i'm afraid, ocean, that if you spend so much time kissing the shore you'll not want my presence again.

dearest ocean, i'm afraid. and i detest this fear that courses through my star-blood.

perhaps i shall see you tonight, my ocean.

love,
-moon
The sad part....

I don't want to get better.

He doesn't want me anymore...
So I'm tearing myself apart.

And relishing every.

Last.


Moment.