When will my
                Weakness become strength,
How do       I become stronger than my
                Hopelessness ,
Yearning      for the peace that
                 Yielding would bring.

I don't know what's eating me alive
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Maybe its because I can't let go
Maybe its because I think TOO much
Maybe its because I don't like the way things are
Maybe its because I'm tired of waiting
Maybe its because I wish I had told you the words I had left to say
Maybe its because I wish I wasn't so shy
Maybe its because I don't love myself the way I wish I did

I don't know what's eating me alive
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Every second that goes by thinking about you
Wanting to forget you

Or

**Regretting things I once felt was
Amazing

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.