You have one unheard message
Hey. It's me. Just wanted to say I love you. Have a nice day at work. Call me when you're on your way, okay?

You have two unheard messages
Hey. It's me again. Where are you? I miss you. It's late and I'm cold and you aren't here.

I know you're sad, but you can't do this. It's not how things work. Please don't leave me alone. Just... Just answer your phone, **** it. I need you. You're important.

You have three unheard messages
Why'd you do it? I needed you. I need you. It's a joke right? A prank? Well, it's not funny anymore. I need you back. I just... I just want to hear your voice again. You're so beautiful. Please come back to-

I ran out of time. I just want you back. Why did you do this?  I want to see you again. I need to see you again. But not like at your funeral. Like you were when you lived.

They said I have to stop calling you. I don't know how to stop. I love you. I can't do this without you. But don't worry, love, I'll see you again soon, it's only a matter of minutes until we're together.

You have no new messages

Everything I touch
turns to gold.
I can't be the one to hold you
or wipe away your tears.
I long for contact,
To feel the warmth of another.
I want you,
I long for you:
But everything I touch
turns so cold,
And I don't want to be the one
to freeze you.

Why do mourning and morning
sound so alike?

For mourning is the kind
of thing
for endings

And mornings
Are more like
Beginnings

I'm drowning in the stiff upper lip silence of the room draped in black.
Mourning, they say. Mourning for loss. Sorry, they say. Sorry this happened.
She was young, so vibrant. There was light and life and joy in her eyes. There was so much for her, they say.
But I saw the way life embraced her and left her skin greying and her breath ragged. She wasn't okay and there wasn't anything vibrant about her and when I begged her to talk to me, or not to me, but to someone, to get help, to please keep breathing, she refused me.
Why was I the only one who saw her fall to pieces?
Why didn't they help her?
why is she gone?
I don't understand.

He told me I was too naive

Someone will take advantage of you. he said.

Innocent and cute, you're going to end up in trouble

How brash,
I was offended.
But he was right
And I should have listened.

Another year gone by;
The only thing I've done
is tell myself that maybe
one day, one day,
I could find happiness.
Where has it gone?

Lately I wake up in the night
and find my pillow
wet with my grief.
Sobbing in my sleep;
that can't be healthy.

I lost my childhood...

Please help me to find it.

Have you slept?
(No)
but I dreamed of you.
     It wasn't really a dream
it was a nightmare.
              Have you slept?
(No)
    Then it wasn't a dream.
Was it a nightmare?
     Are you afraid of me?
(Yes)
            *    It was a nightmare.

I cried out to a merciless God.
Trapped beneath a dark monster,
pleading for freedom.
When you lose faith,
You have nothing.
That monster took everything
I had and nothing remains.

Nothing pleasant happens here.
I'm asking you to stay
but telling you to leave.
I don't want to be alone,
but I want you to be happy.
and if you stay,
you should know
nothing pleasant ever happens here.

I am a monster.
Whether I was born one,
Or became one does not matter.

I never wanted this.
I hurt myself,
This pain spreading to others.

They want to help me
Or so they say.
I fear them.

I fear them as they fear me.
Their fear surfaces as anger.
A mob at my door to burn me at the stake.

My fear surfaces as pain.
Pain and loneliness.
I shall remain in my castle.

For I am a monster.
I only cause others pain.
It's best if I'm alone.

I call him a monster
when I write about him.
Because I can't imagine
a person would do what he did.
Make him a story, a monster,
Not a human, he can't be.
He couldn't understand the word no,
Nor the pleading and the tears.
He cannot be a person,
with a family, friends,
who listens to old rock music
and eats take out Chinese food on Saturdays.
He can't be a person,
I don't understand.

They say that we're lucky,
and we are,
To live in a safe town,
Where nobody dies
and there's little crime.

But it's a lie,
They say it's safe here,
It's better here,
But nowhere is safe.

Because down by the train tracks,
The bartender of a little bar
was ***** and murdered
in the parking lot.
They left her naked,
No dignity, not even in death.

I know that I'm far safer
than a lot of others,
But the truth is,
Nowhere is safe,
Not here, not in the country,
Not in the city,
Nowhere is safe.

There are two types of tears.

The hot tears that pour from you eyes, suddenly before you realize you're crying. The violent , unrestrained sobbing.

And the cold tears that slide down your cheek as you fight the urge to cry. Quiet, and choked back tears.

We used to fly,
We used to soar.
Our laughter danced across the sky
Our strong wings never faltered.
We never feared falling,
We knew we could trust our feathers.
But our wings are gone,
Our faith had been stolen,
They broke our trust with their lies
and they took away our freedom.
When we fell from the sky,
we were never the same

I picked the skin off my lips when they weren't looking,
so maybe I could forget your touch.

Most girls who get bullied,
are bullied by other girls.
It's a harsh kind of thing,
The words and the looks,
And when they ignore you.
They pull your hair and take your things.
They might even hit you.

The one who bullies me,
is a guy, so much bigger than me.
Intimidating and he knows it.
He plays with my mind,
Shoving me against lockers
like he's going to hurt me
But he walks away.

I'm left to make sense of his words,
And stop the shaking,
Sometimes, I wish he would hit me,
At least then, I would know what he's doing.
I don't know what he wants,
But he says some frightening things,
I'm afraid he might make good on his promises.

You asked me why I let myself hurt.
Because I don't know how to fix it.
and maybe, maybe, I like it
Just a little, in some little way,
I like the pain.

I tried to write a horror story
But the paper bled crimson with each stroke of my pen.
I swear I could hear it scream as I marred it's snowy white skin.
It crumbled in my hands and blew away in the wind,
Its blood curdling howl echoed in my mind,
I never wrote again.

Just as there is no lie
without a kernel of truth,
There is no truth
untainted by human tongues.

"Are you okay?"
No, not really. "of course! Everything is peachy!"
Lies, they should be evident,
but they are not, it seems.
I am drowning in my own self hatred.
Demoralized by life, but of course,
I'll just tell you that I am okay.

I was a tragedy
But you thought
I was a comedy

I've been awake for too long again.
Take the pills and sleep?
Risk the nightmares?
Or stay awake...
Again...
I'm kind of sick of not sleeping
But I'm sick of the nightmares.

It terrifies me,
truly, utterly, completely
terrifies me.

To know that
someday, I'm going to die
and not be able to save all those people
who I've never met but desperately planned to save.
There will be sunsets that I never see,
light that never touches my skin,
grass I will never walk on.

I'm a drop in the ocean,
a grain of sand,
a pebble.
I wanted to make waves,
but I cannot even manage a ripple

It scares me that I am going to die,
and the world will forget me,
more than it already has.

I don't write for pity,
or attention or friends.
I write for myself,
I write instead of bleeding.
My poems are personal,
Not written for others.
I share them because
I want to touch someone.
Maybe we can all stop being alone.

I should say Bon appetite
when I hand you my poems
because I know how you
devour the words.
Perhaps I should be honored,
But I'm a little afraid that
You'll know me too well.

My writing is not
pudding cups,
spring picnic in the park.
It should hurt
Like burning your tongue
and getting a brain freeze.
Does it cause you pain?
Can you actually feel what I do?

A poet should keep some to herself
because life is hard to swallow.
I can't forgive you for
reading my choking poems
where there's nothing but air
To take my breath away.

I should be honored,
but I am afraid that
You'll know me too well

Have you ever felt helpless?
Well and truly powerless?
Do you know how it feels?
A hand wrapped around your throat,
Someone else is in control.
You cannot breathe
Unless they want you to.
Your life in someone else's hands.
It's terrifying.

He asked me to pray to the gods he doesn't believe in.

He wants me to pray to the gods I don't believe in.

He wants to pray but can't find the floor to kneel on soft enough for his bruised knees and trembling hands.

He needs us to pray to the gods we cannot comprehend but reach for with hands cupped in offering of nothing,