I remember one of my favorite moments
Was laying in your bed listening to poetry.
You would wait until Andrea Gibson was done speaking
To announce all your favorite parts.
And I wanted to let you know,
That I would love to kiss you in the ocean
And I would love to be your lightning
As long as you promise to shake me like thunder
Because the sound of your voice makes my heart race
And you are such an naturally beautiful phenomenon
That I'm afraid of you, but you don't scare me, no,
You just make me nervous with excitement and awe
And while I pick my jaw up off of the floor,
I see you standing in the kitchen,
Pacing and wondering what I'm thinking,
And me, sitting silently, watching you,
Loving every aspect of you, and you
Never cleaning up the mess at your sink,
But just rearranging it into new chaos.
We were new chaos,
And I'm sorry if that scared you,
But isn't there something exciting in being so scared?
No one has ever been here before, they can't tell you how it will be
So let's accept the mess and brave it together.
And it's times like this where I wonder
If every time you were scared, you'd look for a safe bet,
And if I could ever live my life like that.
If I could ever treat my heart like that.
I wish you wouldn't, and I just couldn't,
Because all of my stumbles and falls and scrapes and scars
That I wear unapologetically and brave
Led me to that bed with you listening to poetry
And I was lost at sea, thunder and lightning,
And I was so scared,
And I was so excited,
Hoping we could be lost at sea forever.

O stony grey soil of Monaghan

The laugh from my love you thieved;

You took the gay child of my passion

And gave me your clod-conceived.



You clogged the feet of my boyhood

And I believed that my stumble

Had the poise and stride of Apollo

And his voice my thick tongued mumble.



You told me the plough was immortal!

O green-life conquering plough!

The mandril stained, your coulter blunted

In the smooth lea-field of my brow.



You sang on steaming dunghills

A song of cowards' brood,

You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,

You fed me on swinish food



You flung a ditch on my vision

Of beauty, love and truth.

O stony grey soil of Monaghan

You burgled my bank of youth!



Lost the long hours of pleasure

All the women that love young men.

O can I stilll stroke the monster's back

Or write with unpoisoned pen.



His name in these lonely verses

Or mention the dark fields where

The first gay flight of my lyric

Got caught in a peasant's prayer.



Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco-

Wherever I turn I see

In the stony grey soil of Monaghan

Dead loves that were born for me.

All my life I've been lectured to stay away from the dangerous things in life.
Stray animals, unknown substances, drugs, alcohol, and the things in between.
But no one ever warned me about the dangers of falling in love.
The way it resembles all the listed dangers.
Oh how love can wound my heart as if it has clawed it bit by bit.
Oh how love is so world known yet so strange and confusing.
Oh how love takes me to the highest clouds with addiction being the aftermath.
Oh how love can make me fumble, release my secrets, and bring me a pounding ache the morning after.
But no one ever warned me about the dangers of falling in love.
Maybe because love in all reality is far worse than any spiked drink.
Worse than a pill that drives me insane.
Worse than being mauled by sharp teeth and claws.
Love is more of a carcinogen.
Flowing through my bloodstream, unwanted, hurtful.
A substance I can't remove, despite the many attempts.
Love is far too dangerous for one to speak of.
Love is something so dangerous we refuse to accept it as an actual threat.

I use to hope that you'd keep that
photo of me tacked by your bedside
but you took it down, (vengefully)
I know this because you tore out the portraits
of me from your sketchbook the first time around

so I hope you find bobby pins still within your clothes
catch whiffs of my old perfume on the streets and feel your
spine cinch softly, I hope a single earring rolls forward in the
desk drawer, but I really cannot hope these things anymore.

so i hope the earring stays lodged in the crack, that all stray bobby
pins find their way back and that my perfume is never worn, never worn
never worn. I hope that my perfume is never worn
around
you.

so there's this girl,
with a huge grin on her face,
walking down the devils corridor,
her eyes gleam,
with shade of green you've never seen before,

so there's this girl sitting on her bed,
with tears spilling over one other,
and wrists ridden with blood,
her weak hands trembling form the searing pain of her reality,
her eyes they hold your gaze,
the gaze you can't seem to pull away from,

and as you stare,
you still have yet to figure it out,
you still have yet to finally SEE
even right here in this moment that will live on forever through eternity,
this moment that will mean absolutely nothing to everyone and everything else
in this world,
you still do not see.
you still do not comprehend.

so there's this girl walking through the doorway, leading to her inevitable blood bath, her inevitable jump,
with her head held high,
and laughter ringing throughout all their ears,
and generic confidence oozing out of every vein leading them to believe that she truly is confident.
words of wisdom flowing from her mouth leading them to believe that she herself actually uses her own advice,
leading them all to believe that she is strong.

The flicker in her eyes, the slight crack,
finally taking a home run for her heart,
is what they believed her to be brushing something off.
Her retaliation and rude finger gestures make them believe that she HONESTLY does not give one ******* **** as to what they think,
her quieted yells and invisible blows to their sensitive ego's,
convinces everyone that she is bold
she is strong
she is confident
that when she goes home
she does not think about their words
that when she goes home it is a Norman Rockwell scene everyday
that her smile does not leave her face,
that it is imbedded into her entire essence.

so there's this girl walking through her front door,
ready to drop,
ready to fall,
to finally breathe,
yet she cannot.
as their words replay through her head
over
and
over
and
over
and
over
and
over
and
over
and
over
again
she cannot take it.
the slits in her flesh
they are not enough
anymore
well I suppose they never really were

so there's this girl walking up to a mountain

so there's this girl calling the one her heart and happiness lies with,
the one she met through an accident,
the one who's touch she never felt,
the one who's oh so much older,
the one who made her smile through tears,
the one who CARED,
saying that she loves him and is sorry.

so there's this girl throwing her phone away
down to the ground where her body will soon lie

so there's this girl running
off
the edge
and free falling
throughout the
                                                           A
                                                                       I
                                                                                   R
until her fragile body slams against the bottom,
and her last breathe is exhaled,
and her head is finally awoken.

as she sits up in bed,
she realizes that this is what our world has become.
that this is how so many people live their life.
no, this is not living
this is taking one step in front of the other
this is one huge big lie
that never ends
this is not what it should be
yet
it
is
for
all
to
many
so here I end saying
WAKE UP.

and the boy asked "What was your new years resolution?"
as the girl replies "To be happier."
"Your the happiest person I know though."
as the girl thinks  I should join drama what a great actor I am. as the words almost fall from her mouth, escape and end up dictating her near future, she ***** them back in. to never be told.. whispered to any other soul. what that boy didn't realize was how much it broke her inside to realize no one looks had enough to actually see me.
so she just replies with "ha-ha" and of course one of those famous class A smiles......

sometimes you get tired.
of waiting for happiness to sprout inside of you again, no matter how many "fun" things you go out and do.
of those comments drowning out the thoughts in your own head until you yet again, go numb inside.
sometimes you get tired of watching people talk about other people,
for no better reason but to, make them feel better about their miniscule, petty little egos,
of people being cowards,
of people thinking that hey this won't matter in 20 years.
of people thinking
that picking on someone everyday won't change their entire being,
their entire future,
life, happiness, love
of believing that its okay to be in agreement with the general opinion of our decaying society, just to be thought of as "cool".
of thinking mediocrity is something to be proud of.
hey sometimes you get tired.
of people.
of their lack of effort.
of their ignorance.
of their ****.
of people thinking it's okay to sit there and watch someone get beaten down by somebody who's really just as fragile on the inside.
sometimes you get tired.
of society's disregard for any kind of just act.
a moral code.
sometimes you get tired of it all.
sometimes you can't take it anymore.
and sometimes
you just get so **** tired of it **ALL

These days lines express,
A meekness of the heart,
With intent to impress,
No longer for the art!

Loss of honest zeal it seems;
Introspection is in style;
But writing yourself in reams,
Loses appeal in passing while.

“Oh, my sorrowful heart does bleed!”
I read it rewritten by all,
But what purpose do you lead,
Beyond pity for your fall?

If nothing provoking you draw,
Your Passion Play will swiftly fade,
Slipshod, despite your emotion raw,
Worth little, and time must be paid.

If love may be thy sweet rose;
If love may be truly sweet,
As the perfect flower grows
In the garden, how may I greet?

As a budding rose yet to unfold,
Would thy love not be true,
If as somehow it will be bold,
And blossom not red, but blue?

I will never gaze thy rose’s shade,
Lest I tend with care for now;
I take care thy rose and wade,
Until her blooming petals show:

I shall greet her with the same affect;
As with budding roses, love I can't detect.