Since then, I've been better.
Looking back now
I realize just how sad I made myself.
I should have been letting them in
I should have been trying to be happy.
But I realize now that I wanted to feel sad.
Feeling sad, it was my poor excuse at a now.
I wanted to be something, so I became a monster.
Only it was too late that I realized I always have been.
Now that I'm letting them in,
I feel happy.
I feel slightly less lonely.
Slightly
There are still those days,
when too many things are running through my head.
All I can think is, "get your razor."
And I'll wait, until it's dark in my room,
until the sun has gone down.
It doesn't happen as much anymore.
They help......my friends.
Friends that I was keeping at a distance before,
Afraid that they'd leave as soon as I let them in.
But they're still here, they're still the same.
Only now there's less hurt.
Before it was hurt, witty words and playful fists.
Empty threats and I hate you's.
Now we have more hugs,
because I finally hugged back.
And she was so surprised.
Now he smiles at me, and I feel butterflies.
But I also feel shame.
Because he used to belong to her.
Even before he did.
They were best friends for years, she'd loved him....
Does she Love him still?
Do I?
Because naturally, as soon as one problem is resolved,
Another must come.

Empty promises flow from your mouth
Like lava spews from a volcano
Oh, how I love it when you do this
As your flaming arrows pierce through my skin
You spark a fire in my forest of dreams

For some strange reason
I must say thank you
Because you taught me
That my creator is the only one I can really trust
Because of Him I choose to forgive you

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f