I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

1392

Hope is a strange invention—
A Patent of the Heart—
In unremitting action
Yet never wearing out—

Of this electric Adjunct
Not anything is known
But its unique momentum
Embellish all we own—

The lonely is the only place I go
probably because isolation is the only friend I know
Broken-hearted but kindness is the only feeling I show
Because the saddest people find a way to smile til tomorrow

With a damaged heart and a wounded soul
I find the strength to breach the cold
Eyes red with tears, heart full of pain
My mind is lost, fighting to be sane
Intrepid but my heart is no fool
Wise old soul, experience's school

The lonely know the wilderness best
The lonely are the kindest, the saddest, the wisest

Clutch tight the tail of the sun.
Shed your tethers
and take that ride into the next.

Redeem the possibility
of limitless tomorrows.
Because today was meant to happen
and yesterdays were never meant
to weigh you down.

darling girl,
why do you cry yourself to sleep every night
praying for someone
to come along and give you love,
to stay up with you till three in the morning
and listen attentively
as you list off all of your
passions, worries, burdens
to be envious of your attention
to kiss your forehead
and hold you without judgement
to be there for you
when you feel alone
to assure you everything will be okay
and remind you
that every sunrise and crashing wave
is a chance to make things right

when I’m right here
waiting for you with open arms,
ready to replenish
every empty space in your heart
because although you’re imperfect
and you hate the way
your front tooth is slightly crooked

I see you perfectly

darling girl,
why haven’t you opened your eyes to realize
that I’ve been here for you
all along

pried veins. gutted thighs. slashed wrists.
dull blades, first-aid kits, and little droplets
of blood.
burnt fingertips. piercing eyes. racing heart.
the cheap alcohol you pour down your throat at night to numb the pain burns like the intensity of a thousand white suns,
as the sounds of lies and sweet nothings pour into your ears, down the back of your neck causing the tiny hairs to stand on edge, and trickles down your spine.
slit wrists and bubble baths by the candle light.
sinking in further and further
until the lukewarm water creeps out from the edges of the tub. still, the sweet nothings whisper.
prescription pills and suicide notes, tear stained pillow cases.
the bed you once ran to for comfort, soon feels like sandpaper. scraping away at the innocent layers you built to keep others out.
and yet you continue to build.
why? why do you add these layers to yourself?
why are you so afraid of being vulnerable? of opening up? of revealing your true self to the world?
you hide your inner self like you hide your undergarments.
the dark, lace underwear you put on under your dark baggy clothes exemplifies the intricate depths of your desire to be "normal",
and the intricate wonders of the mind.