My favorite time to go to the ocean-
Is when the crowds leave,
The umbrellas go away,
And the darkness of night falls upon the sand.
The stars glisten like the diamonds they are,
And I just sit,
And listen to the waves pound against the shore.
Because no one else is around,
They tell me their secrets,
And speak to me stories of long journeys.
I listen for hours until I become tired,
It makes me sad to leave,
But I can only wish,
To come back tomorrow.
i know this is just what i'm like because this is how i've felt every time i've gotten emotionally close to someone and i don't want to tell you what's wrong and i don't want to admit that i am sad inside because you like me well enough as it is and i don't want to ruin that. i don't want you to worry about me because i know i'll be fine and i'll be better and this sadness i've felt inside for the past six years doesn't define me and doesn't determine whether or not i should be loved. if anything love is something i know i deserve and maybe will help the effects the sadness has on me but i know how it feels to be hurt and my mind tries to pick and choose certain moments to try and disprove everything that you've told me because how? i look in the mirror and i can't see what you see and although that doesn't mean it isn't there they say seeing is believing and how can i believe something i don't see? my legs ache and my stomach hurts and the emptiness in my chest wants me, begs me to find some sort of control and i can't. this isn't something that is able to be controlled or manipulated. it happens or it doesn't, and that's just it.
I am adding more and more poems
No matter what they are supposed to be called
No matter what numbers would define them
This is a life; not yet mine, but
I am building a home
A place where I can feel safe
A place where I can feel ugly
without being ashamed of it
Here is a life; not yet mine, but
I am still fighting
I am fighting
And I am planning to win.
With a pretty face and a pretty smile,
You're probably one I haven't laid eyes on in a while.
With your bags all packed and tickets all set,
You're probably one I'm not ever gonna get.
With confidence and a sheer pang of anxiety,
I wish you a fine time with your coming journey.
But a person like you, so strange to me, so new to me,
could do so well with company like me.
How strange is it, that you're on my mind often?
I guess I'll never know when you'd return.
Roses will fade and chocolates will go raw,
take a piece of my heart as you stand I keep standing in awe.
So here's my poem, with love for a stranger;
saying this probably incites your confusion.
But you're leaving so soon to lands far away,
and all I'm thinking about,
is how I'd regret it if I didn't kiss you today.
Another lonely night,
And I'm staring at the vast black sky.
It is the eve of my twentieth year
And I cannot help but compare it to yours.
A text at midnight; a present wrapped with a bow;
An I love you waiting, if you wanted it.
Here I sit, waiting as the hours roll by,
Jumping every time the phone rings
Because I hope not hope it is you.
You call me up so often, usually,
Just to break me like a promise.
You are back in the country,
I hear. Back to see me? No.
It is the eve of my twentieth year, dear,
And now I think I should stop writing to you.
This has gone on long enough, don't you think?
It is the eve of my twentieth year,
And a part of me left broken and unruly,
Not yet healed by mountains of therapy
And kisses and love,
Is aching only for you.
It is the eve of my twentieth year
And a part of me knows
That tomorrow I can kill myself.
No broken promises on my part.