I've never known how to start a conversation,
Never once in my life.
I've never thought that conversation,
Is like a poem but harder to write.

You start with hello,
Or maybe a hi,
And you go somewhere because of someone in your life.

Poems are like stories that take much less time.
It seems a bit easier it doesn't have to rhyme.
My friends say they've tried it,
But to no avail.

I wonder what they'd do if I told them they could do it.
That writing is just like talking,
You can just write what you're thinking.

It doesn't have to rhyme or flow,
Sure that's nice but it might not be you.
Some poetry is out of order and couldn't rhyme if it had to.

Some poems,
Like this one,
Have different numbers of stanzas.

Different pieces of thought,
Pushed into something almost organized.
Poems don't need to be organized at all.

Some poems,
Like this one,
Aren't even a little bit organized.
They don't rhyme, or flow.

But they're pieces of you,
Thrown onto a page,
Ready for someone to read.
Or just ready for someone to ignore.

It's kind of weird to think.
About how people change.
But it's not generally because of themselves.
Unless they mean it to be.

People around you.
Input pieces of their souls
Into everyone around you.
Every day.

Isn't it weird to think about?
Maybe you saw his fingers tapping,
Or her biting her lip,
Or them saying something that made you laugh.

And then a few weeks later,
You find yourself doing the same thing.

People input pieces of their souls
Into everything they do.
In an English essay, you can hear their voice,
In the way they write.
If you listen hard enough.

If you read the things I write.
You can tell little things about me.
Like the fact that I see the good in people,
And the fact that I'm young and in school.

Or the fact that the characters I write about
They exist everywhere in my mind.
My friends are often in my words,
Speaking through everything I say.

My words shape who I've become,
And the things I do become less fun,
Until you realize your soul is spreading too,
When you see someone reading a poem.

When you see someone covering their face with their hair,
Or reading the book you just read.
When you see someone who's singing classic rock,
Looking at you once again.

If you see someone copying your stride,
Or the way you hold your bags.
Or the way you mess with your fingers as you're nervous.
Just know it's not you who's inside.

We're all different people,
Sharing our souls,
Not knowing exactly where they're going,
Not at all.

Yet it's not hard to tell who someone is.
From the pieces of soul you find.

Oh how does time stop when I look at you

The stars shine only for you in the night

What could I do when I’m in love with you
Without a single reason in my sight


The memories we have together rise

And dance across my mind in the moonlight

Your eyes are amazing green orbs, my prize
Until death can take its ever so cruel bite

If time can stop when I look at your smile
How does time resume when I speak to you
Because you make life worth it all the while
Without you, I feel so lost and so blue


The stars shine for you in the dark night sky
I pray that we won’t have to say goodbye

Maybe I wish I wasn't wrong so often.
Especially when I feel a lot like I'm right.

When I'm with my friends,
It's easy to tell what they do,
And why.

With people I'm getting to know,
I notice things most people don't,
Although sometimes I presume people do.

It's weird that I can do all that,
But I can't even tell if you like me or not.

And now I feel stupid,
Because you don't quite feel the same.

Be happy,
My friends say.
It's not like he hates you.

And I know that.
We're friends,
And I know you.

But that doesn't mean
I enjoy being wrong.

And maybe it's hard to admit it sometimes,
When you're wrong it just doesn't feel right.
But sometimes you are,
And you have to admit it.

Even if you hate being wrong.

You say no offense as if I'm not supposed to be offended.

Guess what.
I am.
But I won't say that to you.

I can feel the tears on my cheeks,
My lips,
My clothes.
They drip down to cover me,
In the one thing that reminds me that I'm still here.

I can feel the racking sobs,
My chest feels compressed,
And that familiar lump resides in my throat.

I can hear the mantra,
Running through my head.
Why?
Why?
Why?

Why am I still here?
Why am I the one who's like this?
Why am I not the good enough one?
Why am I not happy?


Why am I like this?
Why am I doing this?
Why can't I get over the dramatics?
Why do I feel overdramatic for having emotion?


Why does this always happen?

I missed it.
This feeling of happiness.
This feeling of strength
And that little burst of joy.
Each time you pop into my head.

But I didn't miss people.
"He's not good enough for you."
"He's into bad stuff"
"I thought you were a rule follower."

I don't miss that, not at all.
I don't miss being criticised,
Every time I try to be happy.
Every time I think of your face.

I miss thinking about the way we first met.
Letting that memory and others flood my mind.
Every single time I'm bored.
Your hair, voice and manner are all adorable.

And I miss thinking someone is adorable.
I miss thinking of someone when I get good news.
I miss talking to someone and letting it get better every day.
I miss talking to someone and almost not going to bed on time.

I missed talking to someone,
To take my mind off the day.
Or even just to make a good day better.
My day is tiring, and you tell me to sleep.

And that's what I miss the most.
Having someone who cares.

But of course,
"You're going to get hurt."
Is the only thing I hear.