What does it mean to cry
When feelings stay locked from the
Surface
Emotions I fear
Crammed into small tears
The tears that I make myself
Forfeit

What does it mean to hurt
When the scars are from those
Who don’t know you
They’ve watched you grow up
And you feel their love
But they don’t know the real you

When I’m asleep I run
Down a path in a gold
And green
Meadow
And someone’s out there
With true love to share
Then I wake in the real world
Feeling alone

Alone
I’m home
That shouldn’t be so
Where’s the log to my fire?
Because I’m working for me
And I’ll never retire

Bring on the thunder!
Bring on the rain!!
There’s no true life
Without some small pain
So I’ll be the thunder!
And I’ll be the rain!!
I know how to cry now
So I’ll work through the pain

If I’m coming alive
I acknowledge I hurt inside
My tribulation brought me to salvation
I had to suffer to write
I don’t need you to understand my plight
Just know that I’m coming alive

my first crush committed suicide.
i remember the hurt at a young age
from chasing him around his living room
begging him for a kiss.
from my young age i knew i wanted him
in my life forever.
through his weaves and gagging
running around the furniture and up the stairs,
losing him sounded foreign then
and having lost him now, still feels the same.
our fathers drank and our mothers giggled
born three months apart
our future planned together
both saying "i do"
uniting us all together.
life flew on by
us both fighting with ourselves
and downing the bottles underneath the bed
loaded and silenced
family portraits painted in red
long life memories all put to rest.
only one made it out alive
but it's hard to breathe
out of us how was it me
and you in a little box
where a diamond ring should be.
my mind keeps wondering
when will i stop chasing you
then my heart replays
every time you turned a corner
you looked over your shoulder
and how you smiled at me.

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die