There is a bird on my window sill

So indecisive, sitting still

She could have been up on that tree

Instead, she came and talked to me

“Oh pretty girl you know things well

So tell me which one would be swell

To sing for a crowd that isn’t there

Or to die for a crowd that doesn’t care?”

I didn’t know quite what to say

And so the bird, she flew away

I am the first line
I am a different line
I prefer the first line
Well you’re wrong, the second one is better.
Nah nah you’re both wrong, line five is amazing.
Can we all just agree that line five is full of it?
Yeah I think most of us can, but line two might
Disagree.
I am the last line

i haven’t slept in 36 hours,
it’s given me time, well- It’s given my brain time enough to deteriorate a bit and drop all my filters.
And i know now what the hell has been in my head whispering to me.
i hate myself.
   i hate myself because i have such a **** hard time trying to figure out if i feel, feel as in caring for someone. Wanting someone whenever, regardless.
i hate myself because i can’t beat myself, it’s like fighting a mirror, you throw a punch, the reflection goes right back at you.
i hate myself because of my life, 14 years isn’t the problem, the next 50 is.
i hate myself,
  Because i am myself, i’m me, and that’s all

A penny for my past,
A nickel for all my life.
That's all of life's worth

Up in the trees,
Wind in the air,
Doesn't get much better.
Living without much care.

a poems like a book,
or you can say it's something more.
like a diary, or journal, shared out for the hordes.
you could say it's something less,
like handled wire and mesh.
nothing new and quite bored,
but I know it's something more.
our poems are our thoughts.
( let's be honest- ours are mostly moors)
they show just how we've fought,
the waves and tumbling chords.
many bring apart the strands,
of a rug so riled and ran.
something like our hearts,
flowing out between our hands.
it's a wonder how much they hurt,
to write- to read- to find.
it seems it's just the way,
that poems like to be designed

miss a few beats,
mistime a jump.
make a mistake-
it's part of the fun!