The cloudy streets of Edinburgh
Provided me with something
To help pass the time, empty promises.

I began to care for a boy, a stranger,
After a mere five minutes of conversation.
I laughed when I was supposed to,

And our arms brushed in the process.
I had forgotten that warmth could be
Supplied simply from sharing space.

I had been numbed, under-oxygenated,
Without human contact, in that way,
Since 2012. I guess it was all my doing,

Constantly catering myself with opportunities
That would account for nothing. And
Knowing deep down so. Yet, the naive,

Still childish part of me, thought it would be
Okay to allow myself this one fantasy.
I allowed myself to study his features,

Thinking that they may one day be described
In my poetry. I spoke to him on another
Two occasions, and allowed him the third,

But he never grasped it. I stood there,
On the Edinburgh streets, watching as he
Didn't watch me. Attempting to

Look approachable. Attempting to look happy.
Because I had promised myself that I wouldn't
Be the one to chase, each and every time.

I'm coming home, love.
I'm coming home to you.

Though I may be hundreds of miles away,
Though I may have to walk on broken glass,
I'm coming home.

I know you feel lonely,
I know you're missing me tonight.
Honey, just think of me,
Feel me holding you tight.
Think of me and know that I'm coming home.

I'll walk through Hell and fields of fire,
I'll fly through the eye of the worst storm.
Even if I'm delayed,
Please just know,
I'm coming home to you.

I see a face in the mirror and wonder,
Who can that be?
Surely that girl can't be me...

Her face holds a happy smile,
Her cheeks have no stains,
Her entire expression is frozen.
I knew that surely we weren't the same...

I am empty and devoid of joy,
I have cried so many tears,
My cheeks are permanently stained.
My face contorts like a monster,
Dealing with conflicting emotions.
Surely we aren't the same.

The girl in the mirror checks her makeup,
She walks out the door.
I'm left with the realization,
I am not me anymore.
The girl in the mirror is who I've become.
Frozen.
Acting.
Reese Witherspoon couldn't have done better.

Everything has changed.
My grandpa could work circles around young men,
He would laugh and play with me.
My mom was my best friend,
My dad was the coolest person ever.
Siblings were to play with,
And my stuffed animals would fight the monsters under my bed.

Everything has changed.
My grandpa can barely walk now and sleeps  all day,
My mom and I hate each other and try to stay away,
I now know that my dad is a cruel, sick *******.
And instead of having siblings to play, I had siblings to raise.
Now I realize that no one can save me and the "monsters" are inside of me.
Everything has changed.

the pumping hurts more these days
lets not even go as far as the nights
this old heart has pumped and pumped
love for the most love for the most
love for the most of its life

Impression of you.
Occupy my mind at night.
Simply little dreams of what I admire and like.

Even your attitudes has a hold on me.
I accept this as part of your personality.
Your makeup traits of reality.

He's sitting on the toilet,
he's late for work again,
he's toiling in the blackened fields
to redress the sins of men.

The letters have stopped coming,
the pen-pal moved address,
the money he had been saving
somehow counts for less.

Mother is calling daily,
mother is sleeping in,
mother takes a pill for her dementia,
and another one for her skin.

Windows are for the sunsets,
windows are for looking out,
windows infer the world's existence,
and yet he is filled with doubt.

Doubt for the academics,
doubt for the pilgrims too,
doubt for days of greener grass
of which he has seen so few.

He's waiting in the orchard,
he's eating from the tree,
he's choosing freedom from superstition,
and he is striving to be free.

This is a poem
for the boys who've blown
Their chances,
And ended up on the taking end of a cigarette.

A poem
for the girls who picked
the wrong one,
And mouth of their body meets the mouth of the bottle.

A poem
For the outcasts, the loners
Who die everyday from the words of others,
And end at the end of a razor blade.

This is a poem
For anyone who
Hurts, cries, laughs, tries,
Who ended their lives too soon.