Why do all my deep thoughts and personal breakthroughs happen when I am trying to fall asleep
The things that I have buried so deep that no therapist could uncover
Vaguely Creep back into my head
As a young child my soul was whole but now it is nothing but a small fraction of what used to be
I am broken
And truth is nothing will ever fix this ache
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
*True artist is not all about the talent,
it’s the art of loving your craft.*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
Beware of guys with hazel eyes
They have the power to hypnotize
Charm an wit roll off their tongue
They'll steal your breath as you stare at them
They'll take your heart without a care
They'll disappear into thin air
Beware of guys with hazel eyes
They'll make us lonely people cry
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
I need one more
I need to forget a little more
I need to remember a little less
I need to remember a lot more
I just need to remember it differently
Better
The way I wrote it
The way it ends when I'm sleeping
Dear bartender
Make it a White Russian
As white as her dress would've been
One Pina Colada
Tan as the sand would've been
One more Gin and Tonic
Sparkling as her eyes
***** Cranberry
Red as her lips
A triple shot of silver tequila
As clear as my intentions
Marry me
Bartender I want to drink until I forget she said no
Bartender I want to drink until I forget I ever asked
Dear Bartender I want to drink until I remember she said yes
***** til my head rings wedding bells
Gin til my body ticks raw rice
*** til my cheeks flush honeymoon
Tequila til my ring finger itches
Whiskey until she loves me too
Whiskey until she come back
Whiskey
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
When I die,
I don't want to be buried.
I don't want a casket.
I don't want a tombstone.
I don't really want much of a funeral.
I simply want whomever desires
To say something about me
To do so
(Whether it's good, bad, or funny).
I want to be burned
In a cardboard box,
And as I'm being cremated,
I want someone
To read a poem that I have written
For that very occasion.
When I'm all turned to ashes,
I want them to put me
In a cheap little container
And throw my ashes into the wind.
Maybe over a field, a forest, or the ocean--
Whatever, so long as it's windy there.
Mostly,
I don't want my loved ones to have a
Specific place to visit me
Because
I want to be the one
Who visits my loved ones
So I can give them kisses
When the wind
Brushes their cheeks.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
If I was a mountain
That soared towards the sky,
With craggy snow caps
And stormy grey eyes-
Then you'd be the clouds
That swaddled my peak,
That silenced my thunder
When I tried to speak.
If I was the earth
The desert, in fact:
With arid dry soil
And mud, baked and cracked-
You'd be the rain
The downpour that soothed;
The balm to my bruises,
Relief to my wounds.
If I was the Moon
In the indigo night,
With stars as my blanket
And silver; my light-
Well you'd be the Sun
Just always behind
That lent me your glow
And caused me to shine.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
Many of my poems used to be Gold but
now they are covered in fake metallic paint and unrealistic sequins.
What happened?
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
**when i was younger never understood why some people would wear black all the time
i swore to myself that i would never be one of those people
i guess im a hypocrite
i thought that black was such a basic color
but it is anything but basic
its the color i find the most comfort in
it it my invisibility cloak
it warms my soul
my heart skips a beat when i see someone dressed in it from head to toe
it is such a deep and beautiful color
i guess i changed**
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
hoodies and sweaters, hoodies and sweaters
even in the summer, nobody questions it
a couple of times she's been caught bare armed
a couple of people have seen her scars
her secret is safe but when will it end?
when will she be able to wear short sleeves and swim?
she knows she cant keep living her life like this
but shes addicted to the beautiful pain razors give
she loves the blood, she loves the scars
she loves the pain that comes from tearing her skin apart
she loves the fresh pink scars that are new
she loves the old faded brown ones too
most people would never understand
if the knew they would think she's an alien
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC