Hue in the sky’s
silhouette trees
brighten the darkness
and open my eyes
to a new sunrise

to lay among the grass and flowers
is to speak their language

My breath is stale
my eyes weary
but my brain turns
in sync with my stomach
my mind make a list
of things I need to do
I need to apologize to that person
I hurt two years ago
I need to come out to my mom
(and society, maybe)
I need to tell that teacher I’m sorry
I need to sleep
but I can’t
and I won’t
be I’m just weak

The truth was in my eyes
the whole time
all you had to do was look

If you constantly
remind me of the past
then tell me to be happy
that’s hypocrisy
you opinions are not helpful

i miss you,
not because you left,
but because we don't talk how we used to
I enjoyed being uncomfortable with you

We’ll still be friends,
right?
no we won’t
we’ll grow apart
you won’t like my poetry
and I won’t like
your boy obsession
we’ll break
we were never a good pair

Only been two people
have ever seen through my smile
the first a teacher
also the kindest man I know
a girl in 9th grade
she talked to me
these two
never called me crazy
or said I was weak
because they had gone
through the same thing
we were united by pain
because nobody deserves
to be this way

she choked on the petals
while the rest of us
savored their sickly sweet taste

when your heart is thumping
out of your chest
leaving brusies wher the thumps
falls on your chest
and your wearing the peices
it can't hold on your sleeve
you begin to wonder if this love,
this heartbreak will define this year
if the sorry they tell
will come to ring in your ears
an echo to cooling of the choles
will the sorry come to burn in your throat
with a sting you can't shallow
like the depression pills you take dry

The first time I made a watercolor
was unclear and inconcise
a bleeding between emotions; of colors overlapping
the brush tasted blue and loved it
wanted to spread it across the page
A permanently stained brush always leaves a mark of its first color
bleeding into all others

I sat there thinking
Voices thoughts swirling in out
What does crying cost

Do not lie about the toll
I know full well it price
you will not take my life
but instead my soul
do not laugh
because you will never have it all
it lives in broken
and happy memories
in the poems I write
so you will never have my soul
at least for one more night

A serious suicide attempt
earns you six sessions
that should have been administered before
I tried to hurt myself

Pouring water from a glass
That was never full
Beautiful dangers lie
In what’s impossible
Lovely like lighting
Or a rainbow

We do not say the word love
it is ice we dare not tread for fear of cracking

We say:
Care, cherish, treasure, admire

To say love would be jump into
The fullness of emotion that lies beneath the ice

Why do you stand me?
after every self-deprecating sentence
email, and comment
What do you see in me?

Me and happiness
are not holding hands yet
no,
we are more like an awkward couple
walking our fingers towards each other

I feel your presence behind me,
dragging me down
I see you in my quiet eyes
framed with a deep purple

I fear your whisper
a song of loneliness, laced with lies
as I move through the hours

You sneak up in the daylight,
grabbing wind in my lungs
you never seem to let go

I’m constantly at your mercy
fearful of your defiance
I’m prey and you are predator
and the hunt is almost over

History remembers love
as something that happen
I happened
you happened
us, never happened

My tears trail one another
mixing, and intwining,
asking each other:
Why is she crying now?

Windy streets
quiet towns
let the snow
come
          c
              r
                 a
                     s
                        h
                            i
                               n
                                   g
                       down

Sometimes there are
so many words
I put my pen to paper
and they don’t stop
my brain is screaming
for sleep
yet my mind is too busy
words are swirling
forming sentences
and sometimes paragraphs
of words

What do you do up there
on your podium so high?

Do you ever falter, or cry
at the witnesses story?
Or do you just listen
to all the details,
may they be ghastly, fearful, or gory?

Do you feel for the accused
or ever sympathize,
with a ******
who gouged out his own fathers eyes?

Yes, what happens
in your mind
in that podium so high?
Is it a of chess
when the witenesses atest?

Do you care for us,
do you sympathize, or
do you live up in the sky
in your podium
so high

It’s not your job but it’s nice
Just because it’s not your job
Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it