when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss
they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on
they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful
people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time
if you fall in love with a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 6:30 PM UTC
when i was 7 i cracked my head open with glass
and blood covered my head
i didn't go to the hospital
i didn't even tell anyone
i never saw the glass really coming
it happened in just a split second
i hardly even felt it
it stung
but i was too worried about the glass
and how i was going to clean it
before my parents came home
my mom always liked to keep her house clean
so i had to pick it up
when i was 13
my best friend had her first heartbreak
i was doing homework
because i was so behind
but she called me crying
and asked if she could come over
i held her for two hours
while she sobbed into my sweatshirt
and when she left
i didn't even get a thank you
i try so hard to make everyone feel content and happy
then sit in my room
and wonder why i'm so sad
but it's because
all i do is bleed for people
and they never even hand me a bandaid
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
why do they hate me?
i’m not going to hurt them
like they have done to us.
why do they hate me?
is it because i am
a sin in their eyes?
why do they hate me?
they talk in hushed voices not
wanting everyone to hear them say that they're
trans.
i am trans.
why do they hate the idea
of me existing.
i don’t understand.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
Just an average day in my average life
no cause at all for worry or strife.
But then it hits out of the blue.
This terrible feeling is nothing new...
So I sing the
Anxiety song
Anxiety song
Before its over something will go wrong...
In my anxiety song.
My hear beats fast and I can't get air.
I don't think straight. I'm so **** scared.
At about this point, I start to cry.
I really really wanna die.
But I sing
The anxiety song.
anxiety song.
A panic attack can feel so long.
Here's my anxiety song.
You want to have a good day,
but your brain is saying "no way".
Things are not ok .
Why can't it go away
goawaygoawaygoaway
goawaygoawayawayawayaway
[hyperventilates] [gathers self]
It's the anxiety song
anxiety song.
I'm gonna finish it singin' strong.
It's my anxiety song.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
The word emo is used to describe someone who dresses dark and scary.
Or someone who hurts themself.
For me, it’s a word I use to describe my real emotions.
Emo = emotion
I am “emo” because I am emotional.
Sure, I joke around a lot.
I make fun of my own emotions.
I call myself emo just because I like wearing black.
But there’s a reason why I wear all that black.
I’m too afraid to be happy.
I’m don’t deserve to wear color.
I feel like I should always be grieving.
I feel like I don’t deserve happiness.
Why would I?
I always feel guilty for what happened back in the seventh grade.
I could’ve done more.
I could’ve been more useful.
That’s a lie.
I’m useless.
Worthless.
A terrible person.
The point is that I am the original emo.
Not because I wear black.
But because I am emotional.
Does that make me human?
No.
It just makes me sad.
That’s as plane as it gets.
I’m just sad.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
"Are you going to be okay?" The reflection softly asks.
"No," I start to cry. "But I'll keep trying."
"Good." She smiles.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
when i look at my past,
i grip the ground tightly
not wanting to fall back
into that deep,
dark,
canyon
that is teeming with nightmares
more horrible than my words can describe.
sometimes i get a taste of it.
i get a taste of how it once felt
to be in that canyon
and having no hope of rescue.
that scares me.
i don't want to go back.
i don't want to go back.
i don't want to go back
to that canyon teeming with nightmares.
i write poetry to let go of my emotions and move on,
but sometimes putting my emotions
into words
is more painful than keeping them in.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
"The tallest poplar I'll grow to be,"
said the young tree.
"Standing above the rest,
I'll be crowned the best.
Fortified and grown,
the forest will be mine to rule alone."
Ripped from the roots,
and cut down by a man in boots,
the dreams quickly faded.
"There's not much to make of me now"
Thought the tree,
whose complexion quickly changed
from wide-eyed to jaded.
Hauled onto a truck
Off he went.
To the lumberyard,
the young tree was sent.
Chopped to pieces,
stripped of his bark.
Our young poplar was afraid his life,
would never leave a mark.
"Some wooden crates they'll make of me"
"The peaks of the other trees I'll never see"
"I'm useless, I'm broken"
"In the forest my name will never be spoken"
The story doesn't end though,
it's only just begun.
For the life of this tree,
is one that's not yet done.
The lumber was chopped, cut, and carried.
To a town of a man named Jack,
who was poor but newly married.
"I've got little money, but I make good shoes"
"I've got to take care of my wife, I've nothing left to lose"
"I'll open a store, and become a cobbler"
"And with the money I make, I'll buy my family something proper."
So Jack took his life savings.
And off he went, to open a store,
To make enough money to pay the rent.
Our poplar was still together,
chopped into many pieces.
Next to some hardware supplies,
and a vendor selling fleeces.
"I'll take that lumber, it'll do the job."
"Just take my money, and I'll be along"
Years passed by as Jack labored hard.
A few kids came along, a house, and a fenced in yard.
One day a special man came to town.
Not the type of man that you see every day,
for this man wore a royal crown.
"Wooden clogs I need for my feet"
"To keep them dry as I walk along the damp street"
A chance to make shoes for a king,
this was enough to make Jack sing.
He looked through his supplies,
they weren't enough.
To build shoes fit for a king,
would be quite tough.
"I have just the wood, "
he thought to himself.
"From when I first built my shop,
there is some left on the top shelf.
So he took the remaining scraps,
and he made new shoes.
Shoes for royalty,
clogs fit for a man more special than me.
And now our poplar finally got his chance.
To join in the royal dance.
And on the king's feet he stays.
Helping him rule the land for the rest of his days.
So, if you find yourself cut down before you grow.
Just remember, and make sure you know.
Your chance will come, sooner or later.
To become a part of something greater.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC