If tomorrow was my last
I'd do nothing.
I wouldn't skydive
I wouldn't travel
I wouldn't do everything
I've ever wanted to do.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd do as always.
I'd get up
I'd read my bible
I'd go to school
and have an average day.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd act as normal.
I'd smile to others
I'd say "hello"
I'd do my best
as I try every day.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd tell no one.
I wouldn't shout it
I wouldn't scream it
I wouldn't sing it
from every single rooftop.

If tomorrow was my last
I'd never know it.
That's why my usual
day to day consists
of all things I love
the very most.

If tomorrow were my very last
what I do today would be enough.
It would make me smile
It would make me laugh
It would make me happy
Because I have learned always
to be content in the ordinary.

Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.

You can always tell a self destructive writer
By their poetry

Because sometimes they are redundant
And other times they are expressing pain

But they always tell a story of being hurt
And locked into their own head

But this my dear, is why they write
Because the person in their head is trying to get out

Self destructive writers
Are usually dark

But when they are light
They tell you how perfect you are

So that you don't do the same thing
That they did to themselves

Self destructive writers
Don't want you to make their scars
On your arms

"why are you writing
poems and prose?"
asked a guy out of nowhere
while staring at my pen

"to breathe."
I answered with a smile

for writing lets me indulge
with metaphors and similes

it is my escape
the key toward my fantasies

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

You call me an inspiration
Overcoming all this devastation
I don't feel any different
Beneath my skin
Is every hurtful word said
Laid out in chronological order
Starting from the day I decided to be myself
Instead of hiding behind doors meant for clothes
And you can say I had it easy
You can say I took all of the glory
But you know my name
You don't know my story
And my story is written on my arms
Written in notebooks
Where my notes should be
Instead I have outlines
About how much you meant to me
And I was told to pay attention
Listen to today's lesson
But I had already learned mine
I was two days ahead of time
And why apologize
When all you do is speak lies
I don't want your pity
Or your comments that you think are witty
So please save your half hearted words of encouragement
I don't need your secondhand prayers
Just let me be myself
And I won't need to cuss you out
Or live with doubt
About the way people see me
Everyone wants to be seen rather than heard
But my words are the only way I'm visible
So why cut out my tongue
Then ask why I am not outspoken
Or some lesbian token
Just because I don't shed tears in front of you
Doesn't mean that I don't feel pain
You asked me why I wanted to **** myself
And I told you I wanted to be happy
A life without me seems almost perfect
But people tell me I'm worth it
So it must be true
I can look at the sky a thousand times
And still wonder why its blue