Baptized in anger in pity and pride
And I won’t sleep tonight
Its only a drink
You only care what I think
When you’re high

what if
what if i never fall in love
what if i never watch the sunrise with someone more beautiful than the view
what if my parents never love me
what if i fail uni
what if no one falls in love with me
what if i never love myself
what if i never wake up next to someone i love
what if i never look in the mirror and see someone who deserves love
what if

picture this
picture waking up on your darkest morning to your kids crying and knowing in that moment you’re on earth for a reason
picture a first date with a beautiful woman
picture your future wife agreeing to marry you
picture looking yourself in the mirror and being proud of the man you see
picture watching the sunset alone because you’re comfortable enough in yourself that you don’t need company
picture looking back at nights like these and being glad your kids have more nurturing parents
picture this

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

You are the picture that paints 998 words because ‘I’m sorry’ just isn’t in your vocabulary

I remember standing where I am now
Looking at the little girl in the yellow sweatshirt
Whose haircut you make fun of now
I remember

She flashes before my eyes then is replaced by you
Her , three years later
This time there is no yellow
This time I cannot see the colors
My eyes are clouded by your cigarette smoke
Your eyes are tired and unsatisfied
They shift around and I wonder what you are afraid of

This room hasn’t changed
But we have

i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)