It is in the quiet hours of the night
When I consciously choose to cry
For memories lost
Experiences gained
Another's love
Another's pain
And it escapes my mind
The reason I do not cry for myself
For the space under the bed next to the wall
Where all the sad thoughts go
But if I chose a reason, it would be
That I choose to be strong
For others
And myself

It is often said
And agreed with
That left-handed people
Are the only ones
In their right mind

I feel it
That itching
That aching
That yearning
To break out
With a toothbrush and spare clothes
And hop on a plane
Or a train
Become a stowaway
See the world through different eyes
Things are bigger than what we grew up with
And culture goes beyond
Pencils and polos
I can observe that world of keen minds
Inhaling the aroma of savory finery
Find elegance
Strength
History
In the grand scheme of things
We are very small and
Insignificant
But we are watchers
And creators
So we watch and create
And re-create
And this is how we can change the world

Now you've done it.
Why do you like stealing things?
First it was my pencil.
Then my notebook.
And then you took both
And wrote me a note
A message
That I remember distinctly said:
"Hey. We should go out. Want to?"
And as I grabbed for my purple ink pen
To write back "Sure,"
I realized
You had stolen my pen as well.

The other night I had a dream about us.
I snuck into your chemistry class
And we talked and laughed, ignored the rest of the world
It was a happy dream
Only one of the few that have ever made sense.
But when I woke up, it was snowing
A punishment for the month of April,
And possibly, for dreaming.
It's depressing, really
That even my subconscious has jumped the bandwagon with the rest of me
Except for that small, small part that keeps telling myself
You hate him
You hate him
But how can I hate you?
I almost hate myself for feeling.
I keep telling myself,
"Your emotions are encased in a steel box
Locked- no, welded shut
Nothing can get in
And nothing can get out."
Many, times, I feel as if I have succeeded in keeping them stuffed in a drawer
Deep inside
But the second you pass by
I feel you there
The steel box disintegrates into red-brown dust
And my heart lurches in response to
That stupid emotion.
I hate to call it what it is
That
Paralyzing feeling of
L
O
V
E
Love.
Is it really love at this point in life
When I'm still figuring out
Who I am?
I don't want it
But I do
And I must have it
Like asparagus, even,
But this kind tastes like chocolate.
Laughing about it
Makes my abs hurt
Right in front of my gut
The part that churns
When I think about you
Or rather, how you don't think
Or care
About me.
Do you?
If so, then just tell me,
Because I am sick of this dilemma
Plaguing me
Keeping me wondering if you do care
If you want me to fall into your arms
Like in fairytales.
I wish I could tell you myself,
But even if I tried,
I would be rendered speechless
By love and fright
Because I am both enamored
And terrified,
Enamored by you
But terrified
By what you could do
To my heart.