You're a light headed,
lovestruck,
immature,
inexperienced,
boy crazy,
bewitched girl.
You're enchanted and infatuated with every boy the says your name,
they tug on your heart strings like a game.
You think every guy is a new lover,
when truth is,
they're just another guy.
But I do have words of advice.

Keep chasing them.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
Because one day,
you grow up,
time passes,
and you're old and alone.
I don't mean to be depressing,
but the point I'm trying to get across is,
be light headed,
be lovestruck,
be immature,
and be inexperienced.
Be boy crazy,
and be bewitched,
have your heart broken,
but never forget this...

Just have fun while doing it.
Because life is just too **** short to sit and sulk,
or to cry and complain,
oh, it drives me insane!

Nothing is perfect when you're young,
in fact, it's far from it.
But it's not suppose to be, it's suppose to be fun,
so do yourself a favor,
and enjoy it.

Live a lot,
love a lot,
and most of all,
never forget these rambling thoughts,
written down on the back,
of a letter from the bank,
saying I over-drafted some eighty dollars.

(See, growing up *****.)

I'm writing this as I fall I suppose.
There was an intriguing building
far off in the distance,
and I just decided to go to the
very top and jump.

At the very top, I looked down
and saw myself.
I was beautiful.
There was a scarlet halo
that surrounded my cracked skull,
and my arms bent in a way
that made me seem like I had wings.
I climbed striving for that perfection,
and jumped.

In the beginning of my journey to the earth,
I had been content with knowing
that I was about to achieve oblivion.

They say that before you die,
your whole life flashes before your eyes.
My God were they right.

While feeling the wind
rushing past me from behind,
I saw a glimpse,
a sliver of light.
I saw my first sunrise.
I was thrown back into that time,
and I remember feeling
at peace and re-energized.
The sun had given me
revitalizing strength,
to look forward to my day
and to survive.

I saw you.
I saw you looking at me.
That one night when
we forgot about the others
around us, disturbing
every single sleeping creature,
I remember your laugh.
I remember consuming it
with every part of my soul,
and I remember laughing along.
I remember the look you gave me.
You stared at me for a while
and I asked
"What?"
You turned around and said
"Nothing."

I remember my future.
I remember all of the good things
that I could have gained from
living just a little longer.
I remember smiling
with the one I call mine,
and being content with the sunlight.
I remember sitting in the ocean,
and feeling the moon's push and pull.
I remember sitting on the moon,
feeling the tides pushing and pulling.
I remember hearing all of the
creatures of the woods,
laughing and giggling,
and sometimes crying.
I remember the oneness with the universe
that I once longed for.

In the air,
I turn around to face the ground.
I can see my burial.
I can see my coffin.
This cement pavement,
will be my ceremony.
It looks up at me
and salutes my life.
It cries at my brave heart,
coming this far, and ending
all of it.

Oh God...
I don't want to die.

In school, they never really teach you what to do when a demon taps on your shoulder, leaving a stain on your favourite shirt that only gets bigger. They don’t teach you that he’ll have sharp teeth and no tongue, his body transparent and his mind a highway in LA during rush hour. They don’t talk about how the stain he left on your shirt will somehow seep in between your skull and your brain. At first, it isn’t that bad. Nobody warns you that he will be able to place parts of himself in between your ribs, twisting and squeezing until you go to wail of pain, but nothing comes out. Nobody warns you that nobody can see the weights he is placing on your shoulders.
Soon, he will be under your pillow, and when you place your head down he whispers everything you hate to hear into your ears and makes it too loud to sleep. Soon, he will be there physically. He is the bags under your eyes; he is the bones sticking out of your back due to weight loss, because he tells you not to eat. Your doctor will give you medication. But it will only put him to sleep. He is always there.
Do not let him win. You are bigger than him. You have life. You can go to concerts and feel how the bass replaces your pulse, you can feel the sun warm the back of your neck, and you have the ability to create life. You can create anything you want to. There is no such thing as bad art. Let your emotions out. Scream at him to leave you alone, to go away; and soon, he will. Your ribs will be ribs and those weights on your shoulders will be gone. The stain he left on your favourite shirt will no longer be there, and you will be alive again.

Every night,
I read your poems
I read the honest thoughts of your mind
and every night,
I'm still wishing that I was the girl
behind the hidden times that you smile
the girl that makes you want to live
the girl that you hope for
the girl you wish for
and even though you don't believe in God,
I want to be the one that you'll pray for
the girl who can stop your nightmares
and turn them into dreams

I see the way you look at her
like she's one of the rare heavenly bodies
found in the infinite sky
and I'm just another lone galaxy
my elliptical indifference
spiral lies and mistakes
are reflected across the vastness of the void
and sometimes it feels like
I am the sun
and you are the moon
and we are cursed that the sun and the moon
will never collide
because you are too far caught up,
amazed by the stars
amazed by how she seems to shine and twinkle
across the darkness
and you don't care because you never notice
that my shoulders are near to breaking
from staying straight too long
every time I let you climb up on them
so you can try to reach her
but can't
the same way she doesn't care
that you write poems for her
and that you cast her as the princess
in your stories
I want to be the princess
in your stories
But everyday,
I am forced to fade into the background
because life has decided
that I am too broken
to be anyone's princess

Every night, I get pricked from the sharp points of the stars
when I collect them and try to weave them into a blanket
to drape over your body
to protect you
from the whispers and the screams
the truth and the lies
the fallen hopes and the cries
make you look at me
the way you look at her
but I still see you wishing
that it was her that you were hugging
and I am back into hiding
into that space where the superheroes have discarded their trash
the place for the people they've decided
are hopeless
the ones who still need saving
but are too convinced
that they've reached their end

I am the girl
that you share the deepest thoughts of your mind with
the thoughts that were lodged
into the small cracks
along the sidewalk of your secrets
You tell me the phrases
the rhymes and the metaphors
that no one else could decode
but she is still the concept
she is still the idea that comes up in your mind
when you think of writing something new,
writing something beautiful
And again,
I am just here
still the only girl
who can truly understand your poems
but never the girl inside them

saw this on tumblr, had to share

I learned in school that war is what happens

when nations disagree, but the textbooks never told me

that war is also what happens when parents disagree,

and when children throw insults harder than they hit baseballs

and when I cannot force myself out of bed in the morning

because there is a voice in my head that tells me

I might win the battle, but I will not win the —

War is what happens when teachers call on students

who don’t have the answers and they are left

fighting their father once he sees their report card.

War is what happens when it rains so hard

blades of grass bend over defeated.

War is what happens over telephone wires when a son

tells his mother he is gay and her white flag

of surrender is the phone going dead.

I have seen war burst into being the moment girls think

they’re too old to hold hands and again some years later when

they’re too young to do more than that, but charge forwards regardless

only to end up with ***** exploding inside them like shrapnel.

I have seen war across some people’s wrists.

I have seen it in bones trying to revolt from the flesh.

I have seen it in eyes like double whiskey shots

that are drunk off self-hatred.

I was taught that war was loud. It was supposed to be

bombs and a dictator’s speech and the sound of an entire race

being crossed off one by one, like the days of a calendar.

And I can agree that this is war, but war can also be quiet.

War can be as quiet as a miscarriage.

Or the therapy sessions afterwards, which is quieter even.

It can be as silent as a gas leak.

They asked me in sixth grade what war meant to me

and I told them about the Holocaust, I told them about the Jews.

I didn’t tell them about the boy across the road from me

whose father used his forearms as ashtrays and whose eyes

were the American flag: star-spangled.

I didn’t tell them about women that have their bodies claimed

like new worlds, or men who punch walls and wear their bruised knuckles

like honor badges for all the tears they haven’t cried because

they were raised to be soldiers

and soldiers do not cry.

I didn’t mention any of these things because I was taught

that war was big. It was something that happened between countries

and it happened with armies and guns and nuclear weapons.

But if they asked me now—if they asked me now

what war meant to me, I would tell them that war is what happens

inside people, and I would show them this poem as my evidence.

its been so long
since i last seen your face,
that i almost didn't recognize you.
i notice that you wore a big sweater,
striped and made of knit.
and you had on a lot of mascara,
with your long blonde hair pinned back.
your hazel eyes tired and longing for sleep
because you stayed up all night
waiting for me to show up.

and today,
i run into your arms
like we never even left each other.

you thought i hated you,
but sweetie,
it's impossible to hate you.
i can't wish for anyone else to be my best friend.
we've been through a lot.
more than most best friends.

but when i pulled up to your house,
you did not know who i was.
i guess some things were forgotten,
but i never imagined that you would forget me.
Katie, i am not as close to you as i was.
i will miss you.
goodbye, stranger.

{-m.j.}

You suddenly appeared
and showed me something new.
You told me that you’re different
and that I could trust a boy like you.

My walls soon collapsed
then I began to fall.
During my lonely days,
it was your name my heart would call.

I waited for you to arrive
but you never did.
That’s the moment I realised
You had a secret side you cleverly hid.

I built my walls back up again
But still haven’t managed to fill up the cracks
I guess if I had to be really honest
I’m waiting for you to come back.