i am
the lion
under your bed

i am
the noise
waking the dead

i am
the boy
banging his head

i am
the trust
reduced to only rust

i am
the struggle
of going completely under

i am
the life
that broke in the night

i am
the monster
in your open closet

i am
the woman
screaming ****** ******

i am
the lie
that infected everything

i am
the secret
you hide from yourself

i am
the demons
swimming through your mind

i am
the honesty
that you left far behind

i am
the dust
on your recorded thoughts

i am
the allegiance
left trampled in the dirt

i am
the power
given to your pain and hurt

i am
the sadness
that defines your person

i am
the reality
that numbed your heart

it
takes
a lot of
desperation
dissatisfaction
and
disillusion
to
write
a
few
good
poems.
it's not
for
everybody
either to
write
it
or even to
read
it.

there are times
i am supposed to be happy
like when i am with my friends,
throwing my head back and covering my mouth
as i shake with laughter
at a joke someone jut made.

but then day turns to night
and my carefree grin turns into an unexplainable sadness,
etched on my face like a tattoo.
and i lay in bed,
thinking about all the things i wish i could say,
and all the things i'm afraid to admit.

it's nights like these when i realize,
i am many things.
i am happy and sad,
outgoing and shy,
crazy and quiet.

but mostly,
i am just empty.

It's him again. The reason why.
I start anew, my pen has pride
It's him again. The reason why.
My pages are blank and full at the same time
It's him again. The reason why.
My joyful laugh, my sorrowful cry
It's him again. The reason why.
Days where I just can't get by
It's him again. The reason why.
I've cried so much, my eyes are dry
It's him again. The reason why.
Can't bring myself to say goodbye
It's him again. The reason why.

I feel stuck in time, stuck in my life. These feelings wrap around my neck and they float up into my mouth and get lodged in my throat. Making it difficult to swallow, difficult to breathe. I smoke spite this "cat got my tongue" feeling. Quiet; this makes me. Sometimes, I feel forced to make words, sounds that come out of my larynx. For you to receive, to understand, comprehend, accept. Feel for me, not sympathy but ease. I use my manners too much, yet not enough. I'm sorry and thank you. Something catch me, pull me into another time frame, a different world. New feelings, faces, places, concepts, culturally magnify me. Warp me into a new realm. I've never known how long something stable will be here. If nothing else, show me that. I will be happy enough to die then.

I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me.
I but in vain that saint adore
That can, but will not, save me:
These poor half-kisses **** me quite;
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved.

Show me no more those snowy *******
With azure riverets branched,
Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in hell,
But thus in heaven tormented.

Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me;
O, these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me.
But see how patient I am grown,
In all this coil about thee;
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!

Atropos, dread
One of the Three,
Holding the thread
Woven for me;

Grimly thy shears,
Steely and bright,
Menace the years
Left for delight.

Grant it may chance,
Just as they close,
June may entrance
Earth with the rose;

Reigning as though,
Bliss to the breath,
Endless and no
Whisper of death.