I am no poet
For I don't understand
the way people format
or the way people write

I am no poet
For I can't ever find the correct
phrases and words or
why I have to sound
d e e p and meaningful

For I am no poet.
But I do like to put my thoughts down,
no matter how weird or unimportant
Always want to be heard but sometimes
I'm too quiet, can't be heard or I say something, some word wrong

I am no poet
I hate rhythm and rhymes
I just want someone to
l i s t e n

I went to my friend, Bug’s house,
my anxiety was killing for for the first half.
while walking through the windy woods,
We decided to set up a campfire.
Soon the wood was on fire,
gradually sending small sparks
of hot ash into the air.
The cool breeze,
and the heat raging,
the burning firewood was
hypnotizing to look at.

Little darlin’, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter
It feels like years since it’s been here

Now I have baggy, dull shirts with jeans
Then, I’d wear anything but

Now I struggle with communicating
Then, I was a social butterfly

Now I can’t seem to find motivation for art often
Then my stepdad would push me to do what I loved because he said I was “Amazing and talented!”

Little darlin’, I feel like ice is slowly melting in my brain.
It feels like years since my head has been clear.

I tend to miss him and his grayish eyes that always had a twinkle in them when he was cheerful

Now I sit in my room figuring out what to do with myself
Then, Eddie would check on me while I was splattering colorful paint on a bright white canvas

But here comes the sun each day,
I dread it almost every time because the thought of missing loved ones hurts too much.

Now, I wake up before the sun, waiting to see how my week unravels like a red carpet.


Then, I used to want to grow up & move out of this place,
Now I’m not sure what to do.

But it’s alright, soon I’ll start to feel like me again.

For my English III class
             Mr. P
had sprawled                        out
S
       T
    A
                  C
       K
S
       of books       in t h e front      of his
                 classroom.
He had a short lecture and introduction to blackout poetry, then
everyone shot out of their chairs to find a page they wanted

I was the last to go up, the first book I found had a beautiful picture and I decided to use it

                             Months later
the assignment was completed and in the gradebook, he said if we wanted we could keep them

Now as I lay in my room at 2:34 AM on a
  Friday I sit and think about it.
   It wasn't long ago when I created it,
       but it also had been enough time for me to leave the public school entirely to could be                    
                          homeschooled
The­ only thing I regret was not saying goodbye to him
       in person


                    And getting that poem