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hello, its me.

I know you don't want to speak to me, you've made that very clear.
but I just wanted to see my mother once, and listen to her call me her dear.
I want to know how you could deny me of my life?
How you could not even look into my unborn eyes and say "take it away, it doesn't deserve life."
All I wanted was a chance, to understand what happiness felt like, to see light upon someone's darkened day.
I wanted to wake up 4 years old with crayon stain walls, to run barefoot down a long back hallway.
I wanted to yell at the age of 24, front row of a concert, listening to a band I'll never hear because I wasn't born.
The irony in being dead at too young to even be considered old.
I won't get to learn to walk or play, have you told my father that he won't get to see his little girl some day?
I'm sorry to bother, but I just wanted to see how someone could get rid of me, and yet here I am, wondering how I could still love you even after you've killed me.
I understand you don't want to talk to me, but I haven't made things clear.
I guess this feeling inside of me is sadness, I can't really feel. How could you? 3 years down the road, with a kid to call your own, be able to wake up in the morning and not feel alone, like something was missing, a 3 year old.
I guess I will never understand and be constantly wondering why, that my own mother could sit there and lie to an unborn child, who will never get to see the outside.
You go run and sing with your new baby, show them all the things I'll never see, and know that your unborn daughter is waiting patiently, to the day I can look you in the eyes and ask you why.
sjr
He was embedded in the plastic of a moldy lawn chair;
clinging on to his Newport and his facade of popularity.

Nobody missed him, nobody spoke his name, but you couldn't miss the manifest feeling of him that hung in the halls by rusty nails.

He is the feeling of a cough, but when you move your chest to remove him, nothing but dry air comes out and the increasingly haunting feeling of being choked from the inside out over whelms you.

He no longer stood in the back hallway, smoke circling around him as he stood observing, but every time you pass it you get a whiff of polo cologne and tobacco; The invisible memorial of him.

They said they found him, clinging to his heart, on the tiles of his upstairs bathroom. His parents say it was suicide, i know deep down inside he died from the hypothermia of isolation.

They called him crazy, they called him insane but that doesn't stop the fake tears that split from their faces as if they were empty glasses with a milk stain.

Although people can't seem to remember, they can't seem to forget, that the boy in the back of the chemistry class was now nothing more than the ashes of his unlit cigarette.

sjr // 12-18-15
Once its over you think of what you should have said, what you could have said, what you won't get to say.

You get cut off with no real ending.

You shove the blame on each other and go on with your life.

Who knows when it could actually end. Who knows when they will lose what they feel, when someone better comes on through.

Who knows if you've found the one, if its just an high school lover, or if maybe you will get played. Who knows. It could just end.

When will it end?
Our love is a flame.
Flickering as ‘trouble’ uproars upon us.
Burning out when wind grows robust.
Black swirls dematerialize into the air, as if no second existed of prevailing passion.
The ponderous scent still lingering in the blackness; nebulous remains of a love turned cold.
A dusty old candle, situated on a shelf of lost treasures.
The only recognition, a spider steadily making a home out of an arduous love that was never anything more than frivolous.


(S.j.R)
This was the very first poem I ever wrote.
I'll sip my green tea, steaming,
Every sip burning my lips,

but the pain doesn't reach my soul.

For that was lost long ago, in boxes stacked high in the attic.

I could spend a day trying to find it, and i'm sure it would appear,

in the box labeled "past lovers", who no longer are here.

I could spend a day sewing it back together, until it felt just right,

but the fabric would still be loose and the warmth it once brought is no longer here,

for that is in the letter, titled "my dear".

I could spend a day injecting it into me and feel the high your presence once brought

but you lost that privilege the day you walked out on me.

I could spend a day tracking you down just so I could find my happiness that you hold hostage

but moving is so hard since you left.

I could spend a day begging you to let my poisoned heart go

but  you would laugh and send me on my way

for I was nothing more than the bug you killed on our first date.

I could spend a day listening to our song hoping to find any clues of why you left me stranded

with nothing but a box of tea and dead roses.

I could spend a day trying to take off the ring you gave me the night i told you "i love you"

but its still holding on to any remaining hope that you might turn around and remember all those things you said long ago.

I could spend a day saying nothing at all but just sitting and remembering that night at the bar.

I could spend a day crying until my room became the ocean which upon I would sail away,

but i'm too scared the hurricane
named after you would crush my tiny ship named hope

and I would be stranded on the island of lonely & depression.

I could do all these things until a year flew by, and the hope that you would remember would still be standing strong.

I could beg, dig and cry and all the things I could do to win back you

but you would't give me a glance for I'm just the girl who was stuck in pretend.

I'm just the girl, that you once loved, but you can't even remember all the years we spent,

but here I am, drinking my tea, and ever word you said is pressed into me as if I am a newspaper, for the lost and lonely.

I sip my green tea, burning my lips. reminding me of you and your cruel intent.
I am running out of strength to even move myself out of bed.
but when I do I glance at your camp t-shirt you gave me and I slip it on and wear it to school. I get the looks, "she is wearing his shirt."

I miss you and I haven't even lost you yet, I can feel the pain of having lost you before I even lose you.

HOW DO YOU PREPARE.
How do I prepare for losing you when losing you is taking part of me with you.
I’m looking, for what?
I do not know. Maybe answers to the questions, I’ve asked you so long ago. Maybe a little hope or maybe a little love.
Or maybe a sign that can help me cope.
Maybe I need a little time to find myself.
So as I stare at my reflection all day, understand I’m looking for a stairway, to lead me to a world far away from all my fears.
Understand this is my window, looking upon my Manhattan view.
I know it’s not the same as the glass square in the wall but this is my window to a world where I no longer have battle scars.
I’m doing as you told, find the answers inside myself.
I know this isn’t what you meant but if it helps, it is.
In my darkened eyes, I see a world where flowers glow at night and the sun is golden and rain cloud drift far away, taking all my sorrow and pain.
So please understand, that I am ok, I’m just looking in a window, to a world where my darkness seems to hide away.
I’m finding the answers, inside myself, through the girl who has been diagnosed with cancers, the cancers of hating herself.
Understand, my eyes are the door to my soul that I’m searching for any remaining light that might glow. 
So please don’t feel bad that this is my window, you see?
This is my safety and aren’t I lucky, that I found this inside of me?
You would be amazed that in this pit of darkness, you find hope, a tad bit helpless.  Look into my eyes, like I do, and you will go to a world far away from the busy streets that run below.
They are not a window or a mirror, even though both are the same; each taking us into a world where fears hide away in coat pockets and behind the eyes of the innocent.
Sjr// 10:34
Glossy lost eyes meet you in the back hallway, your carrying a box to the rehearsal room and she is walking back to grab more.
Alone in the hallway, only seconds before someone will turn the corner and your moment will be a blurry memory of the 300 hall.

¨do you regret it?"She asks, voice like the sound of a mouse, You did that to her. She cant even make eye contact with you. You ruined that friendly relationship between you two.

You were drunk you tell your self, its not your fault.

You did not know that it would ruin her,

and soon its too late, another student is turning the corner, calling her name so he could catch up.

You turn away, and keep walking, and maybe if you had a little more time you could tell her:

Yes I regret it, I regret every day hurting you and ruining our friend ship over a picture. I miss your hazels eyes looking at me while you laugh, I miss it all.

but thats what happens in high school **** love.
I honestly have no idea what I just wrote, I guess its what I would want this boy to say to me right now but its not like that. okay don send nudes girls, just dont.
You come and go,
like a ocean wave, the victims of gravity game. I am a child running towards the water, as the moon pulls you away, but as soon as it comes rushing back; I am running away from the manifest roar of you:

It lingers in my ears, like a the ringing of a bell as you walk'd into my world. I can seem to escape you, you haunt me. Every where I look, run or go to hide you are there with your piercing words and lost smile.

Giggling like a fool, you soon stop and for a perfunctory moment, you realize I am not worth the chase. I am not worth the foot ache, the lack of breath, the wind stinging your eyes, that create golden tears that trickle down your face.

You begin to flow away, effortlessly gliding away from me, towards the moon. Your lost lover, the intruder in our game of two. I close my eyes, and take my place, because once again this is my game and you are mine to chase.

sjr 1/14/16
I wrote this randomly. With out any corrections, and I believe that is the best poetry, the raw unedited version. The painting of dyslexia.
I always considered myself a strong person, until I couldn't smile. How st5range it is to have people I don't even know come up to me and say "are you ok?' because the girl who has smiled everyday for the past 4 years is no longer smiling. Teachers have stopped me in the hall, ones who don't even know me, and ask if i'm ok. The girl known for her smile and cheer and full of bathroom stall tears. I asked you to swerve and you ran over me. You didn't even glance up from your phone to see I was standing in the road. You hit heart on, ripping it out of me, not even time to prepare for impact. I keep closing my eyes and hoping I will open them and I will be on the stage of numbness but with every breath I take my chest grows heavy. I feel sick.
I have tried to write a heart breaking poem, where people feel what I feel. I have tried, but last night as I sat in front of my type writer, trying to figure out what to say, I realized I didn't feel anything.
I am hollow.

You took every emotion in me. You took everything and the only thing remaining is the memories I have of you.

Like the day in the car, where you hand strummed along to the country song on the radio on my thigh.

or the time you sang "Whatever it is" to me in my living room.

You were scared, You feared what we were becoming. You became too scared to look in my eyes because you felt something different. Something you can't place, You still can't.

Was it a friendship or relationship, but now watching me flirt in the show choir room with people who aren't you, something about that makes you feel sick.

And that look you give me across the room leaves me hopeless and confused. How ******* dare you look at me with those eyes of yours, they once said goodbye and now they look at me like I am ripping your heart out,

Rewind.

Can we rewind.

Rewind.

Your hand in mine, Lips on my cheek.

Rewind.

"I like you."

Rewind.

"Hey I'm.."

Rewind.

No more pain.
I don't know anymore

— The End —