I.
I don’t have a confidence problem
In fact, I am a little vain
I don’t mean to insinuate
That I think I am perfect
Because that is entirely untrue
However,
I like myself not just physically
But as a whole
And I don’t think that is a bad thing.

II.
I often wish that I could
Be eight years old again
Times were a lot simpler
Way back when

III.
I don’t have a best friend
Right now
I get a little lonely
But
It will get better

1. Unnecessary Sharing
He slides his eyes sideways to capture my reaction
I work hard to keep my face unchanged
It’s okay, no big deal
I didn’t ask for his opinion anyway.

2. Emote
Your face is an open book
You can transform into someone else
In an instant
I’m getting tired of trying to keep up
With your mood swings and changes
It’s too hard to help somebody
Who is so far gone.

Oh wait—I don’t drink coffee. And come to think of it, it wasn’t a short break, either. Hopefully I’m not the only one who’s noticed that I’ve been gone from ApricotPie for a very long time now. I promise, it wasn’t intentional. So first, a brief update on my life, and then an explanation for my absence followed by some thoughts on the future.

I. Regress
I wanted her to turn around
So I could see her face
Confirm in real life
My biggest suspicion
That she was as pretty as she looked
In his pictures
I had met her once, before all of this
She was pretty then, but I hadn’t paid this much attention
I recognized her by her red-gold hair
Neatly curled and tapering down near her waist
Her voice was sweet and smart
I wanted her to turn around
But then she followed him out the door.

He might not.
She may not.
They have not.
You can not.
But I will not.
He does not.
She knows not.
They would not.
You should not.
But I may.

I. Overexposed
Lying exposed in the fluorescent box
Surgical paper crinkles against my back
Impersonal hands press soft tissue
Those intimate parts of me no one is supposed to touch
Inhale, she says, I breathe in hand sanitizer aroma
Exhale, she says, I breathe out the sterile remains
Removes the ice metal from my ribs, the signal of the end
Put on my shirt and I'm no longer a lab specimen
They call a "patient".

DISCLAIMER: Mild language, edited out with asterisks :).

Monday.
At 1:15am the moon will rise over a greenish Uranus, I don’t know what to say to him, I say I’m in love but yet I hate these awkward pauses, football football farmer’s almanac, maybe I’m not as desperate as I thought, yes he is attractive and wonderful, but this is sort of liberating, we’re just friends I am declaring it as true.

Might as well have stuffed explosives down my throat 
They've found a way to blow up my heart
An elephant is sleeping on my chest and it won't listen to me, it won't get
off
The scent of the end has wafted in through my window
We are going to decay
Like a dead mouse hidden by undergrowth
Hold on tight, it's almost over.

Since others also seem to be catching the omgimgettingolderialmosthavenochildhoodleftwhyamisoangstyidontknowwhatiwantanymore bug, I figured that I would toss in my two cents on the subject.
Ever since I was about twelve, I’ve known what I wanted to do with my life. You know what’s funny is that I don’t even remember what that was anymore.