a sense of shame brought upon by old social media profiles
a glimpse, a gaze, a window to my past,
and the cringe and depression comes flooding back.

a quick purge to the page shall do,
but im not sure thats good enough,
but it helps to know im in a better place,
the one that "she" was searching for.

lonely and confused i was,
but now that i'm mature,
i can love myself more.

It's rather easy with encouragement
to fill the pages with words.
Typing not deterred,
Quiet air with frantic typing,
And my ideas and words just flowed.

Poetry I thought was awkward,
Hell, it still quite is.
I didn't think it was my calling,
But to be honest, it was calming.
A class of five, it's rather small,
Yet it's quite fun and there was bonding,

Not the reason for my class,
Yet I'm here with frantic typing.
I wanted to write a story,
With- or without- a happy ending.
I'm just glad I've learned,

I could do that here too.

I shovel the dirt in the ***,
    And white rocks for display.
I start to dig an empty spot,
    In soil, my plants lay.

A small obsession has grown large,
    My love grows like a plant.
As roots stem out, they start to lurch,
    In hopes of sun, they slant.

After time, they will get bigger,
    And demand attention.
My small connection to the Earth,
    For only plants, I’m patient.

Time and time again I’ll check,
    And watch all my plant’s growth.
The roots are long and stems are thick,
    And bigger than I’ve hoped.

They have been dead but back to life,
    So easy to revive.
My mother’s plants have had some strife,
    Yet mine always survive.

Attempts of sleep,
To no avail.
Surrounded by silence,
And silence broken,
By slow ticks.

Hands always move, always constant,
Yet, slowly coming to a close,
With never ending movement.

The clock is worn,
It’s old,
It’s exhausted. Like me.
The clock strikes four,
And I’m still here,
Suffocating in near silence.

We've been apart for months,
Six months, to be exact.
I tried to be okay,
After what you have done.
After all of this time,
You just had to come back.
I thought that I had won.
I thought that you were gone.

I tried to forget you,
Yet you're so desperate.
You fail to see your flaws.
Wondering why I left,
Yet, I'm glad to be rid,
Of that man that I hate.

Go away.

I’m reclined in the chair,
For the very first time.
My anxiety at its peak.
It’s black and uncomfortable.
My arm resting on the side.
I begin to bite my cheek.
The equipment sitting there.
Standing by are the people,
Preparing for me, now all set.
I get brave and ready for the needle.

Clear tubes now red,
From my blood running through,
A strange, tingly sensation,
From my blood donation debut.
Racing to the pouch,
Or like a large silly straw,
With some sick beast enjoying
My blood at the end.

Alert at first,
Blinking tiredly soon after,
The room starts to spin.
My eyes playing tricks,
Is all that I could gather.

Suddenly falling,
But deep asleep.
The faces appear,
Absolutely appalling,
Dark orange and black,
Dripping and oozing,
But what flows from them?
My blood, perhaps.

Wait, why am I asleep?

Emotionally unavailable
During dark and dull days.
A long lasting boredom,
Slow day in a dreary haze,
And gradually hitting rock bottom.

Lay there in the silence,
Struggling with self hatred,
Too tired to change my clothing,
Why bother with hygiene,
With such a self loathing?

An uneven balance,
A ratio of hate.
Again lonely at heart,
Emotionally desolate,
Tearing myself apart.