I am stupid
And naive
To think this would be easy.

I am stupid
And naive
To believe it would be served
On a silver platter.

I am a complete and utter ignoramus.

I’ve been beginning to think
The entire world has OCD
Match this,
Control that,
They say
Why can’t you all be the same as me?

They just have to match the colors
Laid out on our skin
And scold all the others
Who dare be different from them.

The entire world has OCD
Obsessed with getting their way.
The entire world has OCD
Compulsive because
Apparently
Things absolutely shouldn’t change.

The entire world has OCD
Except for maybe me?

The shadows
Creep up.

I should be sleeping.
The comforter is not comforting
At all.

𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱
But the harder I try the more that my mind
𝑹𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥…

I’m running out of time
And I’m feeling kind of worried.
Then I’m like,
“Hey me, stop worrying!”
And somehow
I worry
That I’m worrying,
Because I know that worrying won’t help me.
But I’m worrying,
And that is bad,
Because I have always been told
To stop worrying.
Oh, but now I can’t stop worrying
Because you told me to stop worrying
And now I can’t stop worrying
About the fact I am worrying.

I spill over my skin
So messy, so messy
I am a puddle
You are a stone.

As you 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉
Into me,
It ripples my entire
𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝖔𝖋 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘
All while you can’t
𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰

It’s like a stone
Being added
To the weight
On your back
And then
And then it just breaks.

It’s like when
As a kid
You would wave
Around the bubble wand
And watch it stretch
And strain
And then
And then it just pops.

It’s like running
Until you can’t anymore
Until you’re on
The side of the road
And you can’t breathe
Because knives
Are slicing
Into your lungs.

It’s laying on your bed
Never wanting to get up.

It’s this.

Bathed in the amber light
I watch these fields in slumber
Resting beneath scattered snow
As the music crescendos.

The mountains gleam in the distance
But every crevice and branch
Is coated in gold
Like a remnant of Midas’ touch.

Peace washes over me
A purifying, gentle force.
The sky’s tender blue
Kisses the horizon.

If I dare
To let go
I release
My control
And I can’t
Be here alone
With volatile
Sticks and stones.

If I dare
To be free
Then I’ll have
No more of me
Because shackles cold
And leashes gold
Are better than
The days of old.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
The words flit past my lips
Like a butterfly

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
I bid you adieu
I’ll see you next time

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
My leaving grows nigh
Goodbye!

Autumn leaves
Summer leaves
Winter’s eve.

Fall is here
After summer’s sear
Before winter’s gear.

Autumn leaves
Crunch beneath our feet.

I walk on the four-est floor
With three scrapes on my knees
Two hands clasped together
As we climb one tree

One sky almost as blue as her eyes
Two clouds that look like sighs
Three times I trace a scar on her thigh
The four-est floor below me

Hope is when
The darkness persists
But the sun may rise
At any minute now.

Poetry
Is our humble attempt
To describe
The indescribable.

It is quiet
It is 𝘲 𝘶 𝘪 𝘦 𝘵 and I cannot fight it
I stare the sandy void
In its 𝘦 𝘺 𝘦 𝘴 and I
And I
And I 𝘴 𝘤 𝘳 𝘦 𝘢 𝘮
At the endless dunes
The grit in my face and my teeth and my hair and I
And I
And I wait for a boon but it’s not coming soon
Who knew that the moon looks like a cartoon
When you 𝘨 𝘢 𝘻 𝘦 at it too long
I could write a song
About it but I’ve ran out of music
Choose it, I would have to choose it
But I can’t make decisions when I have this incision
Visions, they cut with surgical precision
The wind 𝘩 𝘰 𝘸 𝘭 𝘴 at me so I 𝘩 𝘰 𝘸 𝘭 back
And I’ve lost track
Of where I am
Of who I am
But I still
I still
I still must 𝘴 𝘵 𝘢 𝘳 𝘦 the void in its eyes…

Oh, but it’s just another desert night.

F-flippantly finding four friends of mine praying
I-in cages bound wrists floundered hopelessness
N-nevertheless, the day after was flaying
E-everything, it was changing, don’t worry, I’m fine.

W̳ell I guess my
E̳xistence is just a collection of pride
A̳nd failures that I cannot
K̳eep tolerating

The poetry
Claws at my rib cage
Like it’s a real cage.
Like it’s minimum wage
Come to pay up, pay a price.
It 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 like blood
Or bone.
It blooms like a flower
Then crashes like stone.
It flows out of my lips
Like music’s own bile—
Life’s a trial by fire
But this is fire by trial.

Me
My friends
Running backwards around the bend
Getting buried by cute kittens
Instead of socks, wearing mittens
Going sledding in late spring
Here’s the end of the list
Of wonderful ridiculous things.

I just want to let you know
Things are best when they’re ridiculous

I’m 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 everything I need
I’m spoiled and I should be 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺.
“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦”
It’s like a 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵 or maybe a 𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦.
“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦”
It doesn’t matter if it’s just fog and conjecture.
I don’t deserve to be sad, I don’t.
I’ve never experienced hardship the way
My 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 did, my 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 did,
Or the people I read of online.
There is no cause for me to lash out,
There is no cause for me to run away
From my own 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 in my 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.
And yet, they tell me I don’t deserve to be 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 either.
“𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥,” they whisper.
Did you know that whispers can be loud?
Did you know that quiet can hurt?

I can’t be 𝘴𝘢𝘥 and I can’t be 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺-

I can’t be 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 and I can’t be 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨-

What is there left for me to be?

I am surprised
That I
Don’t make whirring sounds
Like a computer come to life
Because I
Didn’t see my life
Flash before my eyes
When we crashed and
I haven’t cried
At all and I know
That I should’ve that I should’ve that I should’ve
Been scared but I just can’t feel
Anything and that scares me
Most of all.

𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴
𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯
𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴
𝘈𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴
𝘈𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥
𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴.

I can’t
I can’t
I can’t
But I will
Do I even have a choice?

Your arm brushes
Against mine and a
Warmth slips between
Your fingers and
Shivers down my spine, I
Wonder if you’ve got any idea,
The effect you have on me.
I wonder if you realize
That you’re a living dream.

One person in this world
That I’ll always trust (it’s you)
Two beautiful brown eyes
That set my soul afire (they’re yours)
Three weeks, and she had me
That’s when I understood my heart (it’s yours)
Four seasons in the year
That are better when she’s around (that’s you)
Five times I smiled today
Because of some brilliant thoughts (of you)
Six times I thought of the future
And it looked so bright with light (from you)
Seven days in the week
But the best ones always have someone (who’s you)
I could count all the way to infinity
Reasons why it’s always (you)

Hi, I’m back and well…it’s been a while since I’ve been on here. I won’t be as active but I will be here.

I think
my dog must be smarter than me
he may chase his tail
(even though he has no tail)
he may sit in front of an open door
waiting for me to open it

but he’s happy

therefore, my dog’s clearly smarter than me

Barbed wire disguised as a sanctuary.
Decay in the comfort of a garden full of foxglove.
How long have I been sitting here?
Nightshade sure looks pretty
When it’s far away.

“Come on!”

The stepping stones
Warm your feet
When you land.
Clear, tinted blue
Flows past beneath them
Like a crystal sky.
Mischievous wind
Tickles my neck,
Blowing the hairs away.
Sweet rays settle
Like a blanket
Over my skin.

“Do you hear it now?”

i have words inside of me
and i can’t say
any of them.
i don’t even know
what they are.
what happened to my voice?
it feels like it’s been a while
since i had something to say.
living underwater, living like a corpse.
i wake up and then go back to sleep
because “awake” is not “autopilot”.

why am i so tired?

Chained here
Watching someone build a palace
Of my broken pieces
And I’m screaming
Because they were mine
I’m being used
My tears for windows
My blood for paint
Every hammerstrike, I feel it
Every hole drilled in, I feel it
The holes in my pieces
Like your stare in my spine
I watch numbly
As you use up what was mine.

I’m trying to write
About happy things
Because I no longer
Want to be sad.

The problem is,
The well runs dry
Whenever I run
Out of bad.

My pen doesn’t work,
It won’t write at all
Because the ink
Was made out of tears.

I have nothing to say
So maybe I’ll try
Again in a couple of years.

It was yes or no,
Black and white,
But I’ve grown
Into seeing the gray.
I realized that there
Is a sky full of stars
In between the night
And the day.

Take a walk
Inside my head,
I’ll give you the grand tour!
Ignore the darkness
Skulking there
Behind those closed doors.
Don’t worry,
You’ll be safe and sound
My thoughts are quieter now.
They speed right past—
Now watch your step!
Once lost, you can’t be found.

We are all blind
We all are wearing sunglasses
With shades so strong
That we can’t see the light
Of the world anymore.

Everything is boring
Nothing is new
We walk through a world of nothingness.

We have mediocre awareness
We cannot see past ourselves

I wonder how the human race
Got to be this way.

What is love?
If I may ask.
Is it butterflies
When they walk past?
Is it warmth that seeps
To your fingertips
When they gift you
With a soft gentle kiss?
Is it the trust
That gives you comfort
Or the peace that they give you
That you only used to have in slumber?
Is it the bond that you share
That can’t ever tear?
Is it dying for the one you live for?
What is love?
If I may ask.

Drift away
Watching the sunset
Feeling the wind blowing on our backs.

As the aliens
Watch us, they say,
“What a fickle nature,
To fall in and out of love,
Like it’s a doorway:
An impossibly liminal space.”

Don’t call me pretty.

I am not a delicate
Rose to be plucked
At your fleeting desire.

𝘕𝘰.

I am
Visceral
Venomous
Vibrant.

I am not a willow
Bending in the time
Of your gusts.
A pastel shade
Of pink, meant to be
Seen, but not noticed.

𝘕𝘰.

Don’t you realize?

𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦.

I’ve waited
I’ve waited so long
Since the day
I asked you to stay
And I looked for you
Do you know how long?
I looked for you
All these years
But you never
Looked for me once
Did you?

I’ve waited in this Wonderland
So long that the lush flowers and plants
Rotted, so I was left here alone
With yellow grass and sharp thorns
I’ve been waiting for my knight in shining armor
For so long, but he never came
Where are you now?
You said you’d come back for me
But you never did.

Rhymes are liquid,
That I know.
They are as liquid
As melted snow.

Rhymes are liquid
They can flow
And take the shape
Of what you shape it so
Rhymes are most definitely liquid.

Rhymes can leak
Out of your mouth.
Just like water
Both liquid, no doubt.

Just like room temp. mercury
Is rhyme’s liquidity.

Rhymes not contained
Can be a mess.
Just like how
Spilled milk
Is not the best.

This poem here
Is evidence
That rhymes being liquid
Makes so much sense.

When the floating moment passes
Everything crashes down.
A second, a millisecond, a microsecond
It’s short and long and short once more.

Nobody expects the end.
But we know it is coming
Because it always does.

The wind whispers to me:

𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒

“Hello, old friend.”
The lines in his face
are streams of white sand
Falling through the hourglass.
“It’s been a while.”
He says to me
But we both know
That he never left.
We walk together
On the worn path.
He holds my hand
Not in comfort,
But to drag me forward.
He’s a swift current.
He’s a companion,
Traveling by my side.
He’s an ocean,
The eternal and endless tide.

Remember the beauty
Of silence.

It’s not the words—
Not the melody.
It’s the spaces
In between.

Let it break
Every now and then.
When the chamber is empty
Don’t scream at the walls.

It
Will
Only
Echo
Back.

One step at a time
1...2...3...4
One task at a time
5...6...7...8
One day at a time
9...10...11
One second at a time
12...13...14...15
Maybe I won’t break down this time.

Contradicting concepts
Are the essence of my being
Yes, it may not make sense
But it makes sense to me.

I love the things that can’t be seen
Or touched or heard or smelled
The type of thing that’s not tangible
That I am always seeing.

I love the way it sparks my fire
Of kindling curiosity
I don’t know if you guys agree
Or if it is only me.

I cannot decide
If I am totally numb
Or oblivious.

i don’t even know
what to say.
all i know
is that i want to say it.
i’ve got words inside—
i swear i do—
but i haven’t felt
enough to stir them
in a while.

i suppose there isn’t any
poetry lying within the cracks
of daily life
when every day
is the same.

“𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢?”
“𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.”

If I had a dime for every instance
I self-sabotaged my own existence
I would be richer than Elon’s kids and
I would be shiny, and I would be drippin’
Something is missin’, you got my permission
To take a blade right to my wishin’