My body
                                        Worthless
                                                  ­            A blank canvas
                                          Too small
                                                           ­   Thin
                                           Scrawny
                                                         ­      Lanky
                                            Wasted
        ­                                                       Potential
                                         Disgusting
                                                      ­         Imperfect
                                          Unhealthy
   ­                                                            Fine
                                        Disgraceful
        ­                                                       Awkward
                                    
                                    What they see
                                                             ­  Doesn't matter
                                       Whether a 4
                                                               ­ Or a 7
                                     My 108 lbs
                                                             ­    Isn't what I am
My body
Isn't me

I'm not much for conversation
But so much can be said in silence
It can convey awkwardness
Anger
Content
Concentration
Sorrow
The way your face lights up when you see someone
Or the way your smile fades as you pass each other by
Eyes can give you so much insight
Into how a person is feeling
So when people say that I don't talk much
They really just don't speak my language

I am an open book
So take a look
Maybe you'll like what you see

Or, maybe you'll ignore the message
And only see the typos, the grammar infractions
The mistakes I made along the way
In my little novel of a life
Because the book isn't about the order or meaning of the words right?
It's whether or not they are done "correctly"

You could read me so easily
I don't try to conceal it
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter
Read the material I've provided you with
Even if it doesn't tell the whole story

My heart is on my sleeve
Look at it, anyone could tell I've been in love
By the scars in its flesh
You can tell it's been broken
But that's alright
You can also tell that someone has mended it

I make my intentions clear
I'm not here to hurt anyone
But myself
But that isn't intentional
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter
I'm here for you
Talk to me, I'll listen
I want to help

Do you think of me?
I think of you
Yes, you
You who are reading this right now
I might not have ever met you
But I can guarantee that you have crossed my mind
Mentioned in my prayers
'Cause I'm thoughtful like that

One of these days, someone is gonna read this book
And be spellbound
Glued to the pages
Can't wait to find out what happens next
Desperately wanting to be a part of the story
At least, that's what I hope
And I'll be happy to include them
You don't have to watch from behind a glass pane
It won't hurt you
For the most part
Sometimes
Occasionally
But that doesn't matter

Just, don't burn the only known copy before it's even done
I don't want to disappear in a puff of smoke
Not just yet

Read me
Tell me what you see
Because when it comes to myself
I am tragically illiterate
The illiterate author
Of a tragedy

When I am described

Average is a common word

Just another person

Just another face in the crowd

Just… Me.

But aren’t I?

Me: The only true word to describe myself

I am me

But I try not to be

When they stare or laugh

There is no one I’d rather be less

Than me

I hear their voices talking

About that dreaded person

Me

But the voices aren’t real, in my head

And still...

But I’m just like you

Or at least close enough

But to anyone else

Just being myself

A sin, a crime

But at the same time

They couldn’t care less

Just me, just another lost soul in this messed up place

Looking for love, receiving none

Caring to a fault

But, that isn’t me

It couldn’t be!

Not for what they see

A character, an extra

Seen, not heard

With no explanation

As to why he’s there, or who he is

Ordinary in every way

Slightly above average at best

But, I lower my gaze

My time alone has ended

No more out loud thoughts of dejected rejection

I shut my mouth, bow my head

I need my rest

After what wasn't said…

I, am Me

The average schmo, I’d rather not be

I have a problem
It isn’t a secret, but it isn’t something you’re likely to know
You see, I can’t cry
I try and I try
But, the tears never come
And my riverbeds stay dry

I don’t really remember when it started
This isn't how I was before, I know
But, did something happen?
Is it something I’d rather forget?

Did I break?
I don’t remember breaking
But, I’m broken nonetheless

Are tears like glue?
Could they fix what shattered?
Am I scared that if I repair myself I’ll remember?
Remember?

It’s not that I don’t want to cry
It’s just that, the tears don’t flow
They build up in my eyes, and it aches
I want to cry… And it hurts

They say real men don’t cry
Well, I guess that makes me a man
I suppose I became a man years ago
But, it wasn’t my time!
I had no choice
Just like that, I grew up
And now I feel old, worn
Tired, torn

Did I use all of them?
Where did they go?
And, what exactly made that river flow?
All these thoughts and questions run through my mind
The headache has already begun
I want to cry
But I can’t
They- the tears
They don’t flow
Don’t flow
Won’t flow
Can’t flow

No one would suspect
No one knows
It’s not a secret
But no one ever asks why you’re not crying

I'm waiting for inspiration
And I'm left wanting
Wanting my writing to be well thought out
And pleasant to read and hear
Even if the subject itself is not
But I hate to wait
It takes too long
I want to create poetry
But my creativity can't keep up with the demand of my twitching fingers
The want, the need
To create something
But not knowing what that something is
It's infuriating to say the least
So I rush
I put out unfinished, not well thought out pieces
In order to satiate that itch
I swear I'm not a boring person
I just tend to feel the same things
Over, and over
So all my poems start to sound the same
Monotonous, restating old ideas
Because I don't think about it
Or I think too much
I try too hard
To sound different
Unique
But that's not who I am
I'm just a boy
Who happens to fall in love too easily
And has a voice
But no clear message

I've opened up
My heart for you
I've let my guard down
I've let the fragile remains
Of my shattered pieces
Rest in your hands
You hold me so close, so tight
I feel safe
And yet...
I don't want to sound paranoid
I'm sorry
But I'm terrified
I trust you with my life
But I trusted her too
And you hold the result
In your hands

I remember you
You were the sun who lit up my day
You were the stars that lit up my nights
You were, for all intents and purposes, my guiding light
So how come I can't see now?
It's dark where I am, cold
What happened to you?
Where did you go?

I remember you
You were the warm coat on my trek through the tundra
You were the breeze that cooled on those hot sunny days
So why can't I get comfortable, no matter what I do?
I find no solace here
Where did you go?

I remember you
You were the wind at my back
The staff in my hand
My driving force through this thing called life
But now, I don't want to move another step
The path has become twisted, gnarled
Where did you go?

I remember you
You were all I thought of
When I imagined the future
You were the wonderful today
The exciting tomorrow
But now I cannot imagine seeing you again
So I write this lover's lament
Where did you go?

I remember you
And all our wonderful memories
I remember you
And the love we shared
I remember you
I don't want you to forget
I remember you
...
Where did you go?