Constantly Drunk On
The Thought Of Thinking
Why,
You'd Actually Want To
Be With A Miserable,
Lonely, Drunk Boy
Like Me.

My Thoughts Are As
Dead As My Body
Decomposing In The
Coffin.

* Rest In Pieces.

Maybe I'm Just
A Little Afraid
That Whenever
Someone Gets
A Little Closer
To Me,
They Always Have
To Leave Me
And Find Someone
Better,
Always.

My Mind Is Full Of Dead Words
Decomposing Onto Books,
Creating A Vivid Picture Of
You That I Never Knew Existed.

Scars

One. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of sky. I would sacrifice this body to the earth, hoping to resurrect someone that doesnt have the heart to  care about you anymore.

Two. Staple me to a table. Pierce my side with your broken promises and I will bleed all the pathetic reasons why you deserve one more chance.

Three. Loving you was the last thing that I put my all into.

Four. You wanna know how I got so bitter? Well, I ripped every last piece of you in my heart and soul and all that remained was regrets that you didn't care.

Five, I whispered you into my dreams.

Six, I spoke you into my heart.

Seven, I dipped my hands in a future that didnt exist, I touched you until you were imprinted on my very soul, treated you as if you were the only molecule of oxygen I needed ; I was good to you.

Eight. You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, I cut out my pride and then it crawled it’s way out of my mouth and I begged you to make me happy.

Nine, I realized that I was never really your girlfriend, I was just your ******* convenient-temp.

Ten, I hope your next girlfriend gets stds.

Ten, Yes I said stds.

Ten, I really hate you.

ten, I never want to see you again.

ten, I still love you. Wish I didn't.

ten, it’s hard for me to keep count when I get emotional.

Ten I heard that over 90% of human interaction is not verbal..so.. I guess the signs were right. You don't want me. You don't need me.

Ten, if I could, I would tie your arms to a wish and then auction you off to my best and worst memories. To the random girl who will start dating my ex boyfriend two days after we broke up (yes, I know you're going to move on real fast.)
When I realized that you were in a relationship with the one guy that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with, I broke into a million pieces. I said to myself, “Kevin Hart would say he wasn't man enough for you. Or you weren't good enough for him."
I swore I would never love again, it was all a joke to you. Some twisted game you won.

One: Everytime I see you with girls in a picture, I want to take my entire arm, shove it inside your phone and smack the happiness right off of your face.

Two, if I ever see you around me, I’m probably going to punch you in the throat. Or forget I ever knew you.

Three, I apologize in advance. And I know, I know that it makes no sense to have this much anger toward a man that I love with every bit of me,but my definition of love isnt being stabbed in the heart over and over as you watch me bleed out and hope that this time it won't hurt. There is nothing
logical about putting the most important parts of yourself inside hands that can't support you and shake, tremble, and drop you.

Four, there is nothing rational about love. Love freaking hurts. It lies. It leaves you wishing you had never met the person who makes you fall over and over and breaks you till you are a mess that can't be fixed.

Five, you're ******* irresponsible, and I’m tired of you using me for target practice.

Six, I was told that time heals all wounds. But what exactly should I do on days when it feels like my clock stopped cause you're gone?

Seven, you always said I loved you too much. My mistake.

Eight, I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her dreams. Like I’ve heard you talking to her and being happy together in her laughter. I’ve smelled your cologne on her thighs. Cause am sure you will be all over her like you can't be for me. I bet if we dusted your heart for fingerprints, we would only find hers. I wasnt the love of your life.Nine, you see I have this envelope in my head and heart.it’s full of all the butterflies I felt the first time you touched me, kissed me, admitted you loved me. It's full of memories for when I thought we had a future. Most of them are still alive. I can still feel their wings through the paper. Guess it's my hope. Here, am giving them back to you. I suppose they belong to you, too.

I wonder if he knows his words saved my life.
He sees things the way I see things—
it’s the kind of music the deaf can hear.
Salvation in words, an alter for art,
sound soul reinforcements for those of us
who almost couldn’t dig our nails in
deep enough to hang on.
Almost.

Thank you for having the courage
to write it all down
to say it all out loud
for allowing me
to relate.

You see, I, too, am still learning to love
the parts of me
that no one claps for.

I was born on a Sunday.
My eyes change colors
depending on the weather.
I am 5' 2'' but feel like I am 5' 6".
I don't know how to do Calculus.
I am okay with that.

My first name means "one who listens".
I wish my middle name meant "one who speaks"
because my God, I am a wishing well
and people have the tendency to toss
their secrets into me. And their loss, their pain,
their anger, their sadness, their regret
it fills up a part of me that I thought was infinite.
I am on the constant verge of spilling over and
when I walk I feel like a garbage bag, dragged
against cement, one sidewalk scrape away
from coming undone. I am expected to keep
everyone's mess inside.

My friends tend give me **** for the amount of
time I can spend staring in the mirror.
The secret here isn't that I'm vain,
it's that approaching my reflection is like
ripping off a band-aid because looking
myself in the eye still makes my stomach flip.
60 pounds of weight lost does not
silence the echoes of words that
convinced me that life as a size zero
was the only life worth living and
I had been alive nine sizes too long.
I can't always remember that I am beautiful.

And I have this collection
of words that I should
have said. When I am alone,
I bring them out from
my closet and introduce
them to the ghosts of
people I have lost,
of the people I could not fix,
of the people I should forget
but can't forget because I
don't want to forget because
there's something about keeping
wounds open that feels better
than letting them heal—
I have always been one to pick at scabs.

This is my declaration of honesty—

My name is Sam.
I can't ride a bike
but I can write you a poem.
I am afraid of perpetually falling
in love with people who won't  love me back.
There is a man in a cell I live to forget.
I am convinced Heaven looks like Ireland
and that soul mates come in multiples.
My voice shakes when I say what I think.
and for once,
this poem isn't for you.

This is a poem for me.

emptiness that is in my heart
still I don't know where to start,
because of the lies and hatred
I chose to be unloved and isolated

one day I became a freedom writer
then realized that people are liars,
that everyone left for a reason
but there is no explanation

until every broken pieces of my hea......
..
..
..


*A freedom writer that has a missing part of a poet and a missing heart..

my pills smell like a hospital
this bookstore smells like my grandma
the faint reminiscence of old memories
cloud the only five senses I own.
I start to wonder if this life is becoming idle
if this IV lining my arms is broken again.
If I have enough will to stay.
These pills smell like a hospital-
and I'm worried you will find me there someday
withered from this world I can't tolerate enough to stay.
But these pills seem to help me stay.
Remind me why I'm alive-
this smell reminds me to stay away.
When the blade calls my name I don't listen anymore
when you call my name I don't listen anymore
I've been seeing your face too often
and not hearing my own voice enough.
I start to think nostalgia and you share the same interests
like you both started a google drive document
and shared the file with me and now it's all I see.
You can edit my life for me
and no matter what I continue to write
you change the font
and reformulate my sentences.
I wish I didn't exist.
Then I smell my grandma in this empty bookstore
and feel the pages against my fingers again.
I'm here whether I like it or not.
You were here whether I like or not.
Paying too much attention to madness
and not enough to bliss
I take up too much time thinking
and not enough doing.
25mg isn't enough anymore
and each time the clock strikes 9
my mind likes to contemplate quitting you.
But I smell the hospital again
convince myself to stay away from that place.
The pill hits my tongue and travels down my throat.
I don't think anymore.
I don't want to know.
I am home-
here in this bookstore
with the smell faintly touching my nostril
with the pills lining my nose
with you writing me apology notes
that sound too **** familiar.
I wish to erase you from my retinas.
I don't want to see you anymore.
I hoped these pills would help-
but they make things more clear for me.
You're face has been all I see
now I seem to be losing me
where did I go?
where am I again?
why are you the only face I recognize?