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.  

you need advice,

because,

you keep breaking hearts,

erasing dreams,

forcing scenes,

and most saddening of all?

you keep falling,

getting hurt yourself.

first off,

you have a problem of leading people on.

it's probably not intentional but...

when things keep repeating,

and repeating,

and repeating,

there must be a reason why.

what i'm saying,

is that you're doing the same thing,

over,

and over,

and over,

and you wonder why you're a mess all the time.

if you want to be "just friends",

tell them,

spell it out,

have no doubt.

because if they love you,

they'll let you go.

i did.

or trying to at least.

anyways,

off to the second thing.

don't be scared of hurting someone,

and don't blame it on yourself,

it's how life is.

sometimes your going to end up breaking things off,

and that's just how things go.

it won't help if you blame it on yourself either.

but knowing you,

giving these words to you,

won't do any good,

because look where we are now.

acknowledgement -  

for Rome,

how I wish I could know,

how I wish you could know.

~~~

this was before the fall,

here's a change in pov,

a different way to see,

as the curve ball came along.

~~~~

What am I doing? 

I know I need to do this,

But, 

Her friends,

No more amends, 

Wars? 

I don't want to hurt her, 

At least you,

One of her friends,

Are my confidant...

Thank god. 

Either way,

I'm so done for-

Oh, 

An opportunity,

Here it comes. 

Thus, this is it. 

"So about us..." 

No wit, 

Full of grit, 

I did it. 

I hope she knows this isn't her fault. 

Don't fall back on it by default. 

Wait, 

What do you mean? 

I saw a chance and I took it. 

But, 

For me, 

Could you check on her please? 

What did she say? 

This is what she said, 

"Yeah I understand,"

"Don't worry about it," 

"Mhm that's fine,"

"It's okay, I understand," 

"Alright, thank you."

It's true... 

It's lacking in animation. 

She's acting,

Isn't she? 

Now, 

I'm backtracking,

Playing the conversation again,

With some consultation, 

I realized, 

I had messed up. 

Now you're freaking out on me, 

What do you want? 

What do you want from me? 

Oh, 

She... 

She wasn't having a good day? 

She's... shaking.

She's not okay.  

What did I do? 

What did I do? 

What did I do? 

At least she's not mad. 

More so sad.

She is always understanding... 

I'm sorry this couldn't last. 

welcome to the aftermath,

as rome fell,

july began to end,

even though it had just begun.

So,

i'm ending,

trying too,

he's completely fallen.

i realized,

i was july,

not rome.

he was always rome,

never july.

time has been aiding,

helping,

but places,

faces,

traces of him...

everywhere i go,

does he know?

does he feel what i'm feeling?

part of me wants to ask,

but when an instance arises,

i let it slip by pass.

i know you,

i know you well,

i fell for you,

i hope you know that.

i let myself become bruised,

and scratched,

and cut,

and stabbed,

because i though...

i stupidly,

foolishly thought,

things would hold up.

do you know me?

or did you know me?

social cues,

sigh,

i know you're horrible at them,

but then...

how did you know when to hold my hand,

when i couldn't even hold my head up around you?

when did you know you were going to win me over,

when i didn't even realized i fell in love?

i should stop,

my mind is wandering again,

then,

i know where i'll end up.

i always end there.