How
Do
I
Feel everything and nothing,
How
Do
I
Believe in everyone but me,
How
Do
I
Have nothing to hold onto,
How
Do
I
Survive like this,

i came here
to share my thoughts
with the world
without judgement
now i constantly crave
people's acceptance
and understanding
watching the number
of times
something has been viewed
and adding
more unnecessary
spaces between lines
to look more poetic
and be more popular
instead of actually
writing something good

he taught me
how to love myself
on every day i did not
i hated everything
about my self
yet self love he still brought

i used to flinch
when his hand touched my skin
i'd stay still holding my breath
while ******* my stomach in

i'd look away
down at the ground
despised my body
that seemed to round

i'd never rest
my weight on him
afraid to crush his bones
since a saw myself far from thin

but he held me close
against his skin
said i was beautiful
with a reassuring grin

not a day goes by
that he doesn't make sure
i know my self-loathing
is utterly obscure

so now i see beauty
in plain brown eyes
and see something lovely
in big stretch marked thighs

although i dont love it
i don't hate every inch
thanks to him and his effort
i don't see it and flinch

he taught me
how to love myself
and now i think i do
i hated everything
about my self
but he has helped fix this view

s.s

Roses are red, Violets are blue,
That's what they say, but it really isn't true.
Roses are red, and apples are too.
But violets are violet, not really blue.
Oranges are orange, but Greenland's not green.
A pinky's not pink, so what does it mean?
To call something blue when it's not is to defile it,
But what the heck, it's hard to rhyme with 'violet'

Writing is a narcissistic practice.

What do we aim to accomplish
when we touch ink to paper?
Mark something down in eternity,
plaster our thoughts upon and into
being so that they may be recognized,
acknowledged.
Sort through them as we would
a scattered mess of notes.

There is nothing inherently wrong with narcissism,
no matter what people may have you believe.
I've once thought so,
cycled around to the present,
and, perhaps, will go full circle multiple times.
It is in our nature.
We think so much about ourselves.

The only constant is our thoughts
is their inconsistency
so we seek to immortalize them while we can.

We are not our thoughts;
we are the sum of everything within us
when our thoughts have settled and left and
we are empty.

Think your thoughts,
write them if you must,
then set them on fire.

if you are judged
and know
imperfection

if you are aware
of
your weakness

stand with me
let us
stand together

and celebrate
celebrate
our shared truth

leave all the ' I am perfect'
to their delusion
and shine poet, shine.

So, I’m late, as usual.
He smells weird; a mixture
of sweat and cologne.
I ask softly if he wants to meet
my bunny and he turns away.
I am too quiet.
We go to a restaurant and
he asked what I’d like to order
I am too unsure.
I start playing with the sugar packets
build a house, a garden, a roof. It falls.
I am appalled at his lack of appreciation,
lack of poise, he is joking but not smiling
and I feel uncomfortable.
I am too lonely.
And that’s why I keep hoping the
next date will be better
Why don’t you date someone else,
he asks. Twice.
I am too confused.
I leave with a sigh of relief
I am too good
for him.