As in, "*******."
As in the statement made
When I've offended you?

Or perhaps, "**** me."
Because, doll, you just had to ask.
Nicely.

Wait, maybe, "**** this!"
That's a bit extreme for the situation
Breathe out, breathe in.

Or, "****!"
Because that sounds perfect
For any situation.

She's been running longer than I
On this dark, dilapidated road
And you, longer than her
Covered in deep, deep potholes.

And if the night should take you
While you jog just ahead of she,
She will write your eulogy
And continue ahead of me.

But I will not shed a tear
Though, on this road, I will stop
And fling myself into the nearest pothole
And smile until I collide with the rocks.

And when my marathon has ended
She will show me the same respect she did you
But her feet will not cease moving
She will see her marathon through.

And if the night should take you
It's fitting only she will survive
Because you begat me and her
Yet life has yet to dim her heart and eyes.

Oh, if the night should take you
Understand, I would not care
As the bitter, bitter memories
Are simply buried just under here.

And though I would not survive without you
It's more a means of self-defense:
I'd rather slit my own throat
Than return to live with him.

If the night should take you
Mother dearest, mother hated of mine
Just as you promised me
When I spoke of suicide:

I will go with you
You will not be rid of me long
Come heaven or hell or nothingness
I will come quickly along.

Skipped school because I couldn't imagine
Couldn't fathom moving my body outside of the house.
And curled up on my bed
On the couch
In the office
Trying to find something to do.

Dragged weary feet up the stairs
To stare at the emptiness in a full refrigerator
And closed the door
Closed my eyes
Closed my mouth
And existed for a minute.

Outside, nature is loud, boisterous and lively
So I found some death and lit it
And breathed out hurt
Breathed out boredom
Breathed out tiredness
Until it was all smoked up.

Sitting here at the computer I'm trying to find the words
To explain just how tired I am
Of smelling silence
Of smelling loneliness
Of smelling exhaustion
Just how tired I am of these exhaust fumes.

I could sing a love song
And never mention a name
And when I peruse through my mind
There's never a single face

I'm all plurals and dreams
Of perfect unity
Between one, two
Between four and me

I could sing a love song
I could sing them a sonnet
I could serenade them
I could make them want it

I could sing a vision of a perfect home
I could sing of two point five children
That understand our bond
I could sing a love song.

But I'm ever-cynical, I know who I am
When I think of love, I'm not in the plan
I'm ever-realistic, I know my face
I could sing a love song but it'd never take.

Blood parchment, blood parchment
You're screaming and smiling
You're living but dying
Red stains, copper scent
Won't go, never went
You're not even trying
You're always lying
You aren't broken, you're bent.

Crumpled papers, ripped shreds
You're smiling, your hurt
You're killing yourself like this
You're caught up in your head
Just wishing you were dead
I hope you never get your wish.

'If I love it let it go'?
**** that, I say
If I love it I'll pin it down
I'll make sure it ******* stays.

I love. I love so much it hurts somedays
And I'd rather die than let go
Than allow it to slip away
Than to let it bring itself low.

My hands are cramping, I can't let go
I am terrified and I'm crying
But if I let go I don't think it'll come back
So I can't, I won't, I'm not even trying.

I want to scream and tear the world apart
I want to burn every suicidal letter I've written
Because I just realized a letter isn't enough
I want to make it better for him, for them.

I think I lost my mind today
Half of the day is a blank blur
I think I might've been hysterical
I laughed so hard but I don't know what for.

If you love it let it go
If it returns it's yours to keep
But if one can't ******* follow
Where the hell do the ends meet?

I'm angry, I'm furious,
I'm absolutely everything
I'm scared, I'm shaking
I can't let the things I love go free.

I'm sick and tired of begging you
And dropping hints isn't enough
But I'll cry my entire heart out
Because this isn't love.

I don't expect much
Not from you, at least
But as many times as I've pleaded
The least you could do is read.

Read the words I wrote in my blood
In phrases I ripped from my soul
See the punctuation I crafted from tears
Notice the warmth of love or hatred's frigid cold.

Know me from this poetry
Because I've instilled my life in them
Judge me or accept me as you read
Reject me or call me a friend.
.
.
.
Or, I suppose, you could refuse
Tell me you'd read them, though that's a lie
And I'll drown in my own insecurity
After you've decided not to read, I'll cry.

Would you finally care enough to set aside an hour?
Would I have to beg you, once more, only to be rejected?
Would you rush to the store and grab the first copy?
Would you write down your favorite stanzas and selections?

Or would you say "Oh, okay, that's cool"
The way you've done repeatedly?
And then tell me about some other poem that's inspired you
While I listen bitterly?

There is something to be said
For a hideousness so potent
That mirrors are perhaps an enemy
Or something to be avoided.

There is something to be said
For a self-esteem so insubstantial
Not even the most excessive false bragging
Can repair a single shamble.

There is something to be said
For a weight so displeasing
That the scale can cause a panic attack
Cheats heaving, troubled breathing.

There is something to be said
For a body so scarred
Not even summer can shorten the sleeves
Or remove the stiff collar.

There is something to be said
For a voice so deep yet not quiet
That it jars the ears, scathes the mind
Until it simply remains silent.

There is something to be said
For a boredom so immense
Not life or love or fun
Can spark a sliver of ambition.

There is something to be said
For apathy of so great a measure
That the thought of suicide
Simply requires too much effort.

There is something to be said
For a face makeup cannot beautify
Not even when applied heavily
Does it become pleasing to the eye.

There is something to be said
For a personality like a punch to the gut
That changes constantly yet remains unpleasant
Mimicking every emotion, save love.

There is something to be said
For a complete waste of space and air; see
Not to be around the bush, it's easier to say:
There is something to be said for me.

Tiny smiles and loud laughs
Summer heat and cool breeze
Excited words and calm thoughts
Deep conversation about meaningless things.

Soft songs and slow guitar
Young souls with long lives
Polaroid photos and alleyways
Sunroofs and blue skies.

Dollar stores and Chinese food
Gazebos and high heels
Doughnuts and Bonnaroo
Tiny smiles and lunch meals.

Is a pack, is a clique,
Is a group of tightly-knit friends
People who can rely on me
The way I'd rely on them.

                                                        Bu­t people these days are plastic dolls
                                                        Car­bon copies, cardboard homes

And paper mache walls.
Disappointing, fake, humanoid clones.

My hands are ******* shaking-
As if this is the worst thing I've done-
I'm just typing in a number.
It's a ****** number and I'm-

I'm losing my mind like
"Doctor, what the hell is wrong with me?"
Like I don't wanna know because this *******...
This ******* can diagnose me.

So I'm ******* shaking until I have to sit down
And deciding everything I have to censor
Because I'm going to hire this Psychiatrist as a friend
But my brain is all warning lights and cries of "ENEMY"

And I've got nightmares thinking about talking about
About anything with substance. Anything I care about
Because it'd take one wrong word in the thick of emotion
For me to be labeled and I've already done that

I don't need another ******* label.

But self-therapy never did me any good and I've got enough bad
And all my therapists were money grubbing shitbags
So I'm going to buy a label from a psychiatrist
With my fingers crossed that I'll get a bottle of complimentary pills

I'm choosing the lesser of two evils that both turn my stomach
***** it, because I've already been ******* by therapy
And even if the psychiatrist is just as bad
It's not like any of them got **** on how I ******* me.

I'll get back to you
In a second, in a minute, in a day, in a month
I'll return your call
Remind me ten times, five times, two times, once
I'm not safe for the public
Not today, not tomorrow, not two days from now
I'm not good at friendship
Ask me when, ask me where, ask me why, ask me how.

But in half a decade
I'll want you once, want you twice, want you a hundred times
Wait on me six years
I'll be loving, I'll be sweet, I'll be adoring, I'll be kind.
Forget me completely
I'll chase you ten, twenty, five hundred miles
Treat me meanly
I'll grovel, I'll plead, I'll beg for a smile.

Ignore my words
I'll panic, I'll shudder, I'll crave your attention
Shower me in love
I'll sneer, I'll scoff, I'll hate your affection.
Beg me home
You may bite my dust, kiss my ***, send me west
Leave me alone
I'll ***** myself out, love you down, bite your neck.

The world behind my eyes is so much prettier than real life
The world inside my head is filled to the brim promise
The world behind my eyes is brimming with a million, million dreams
The world inside my head is where impossible possibilities exist.

I will dive into my imaginary world today
Floating on Zaleplon and Flexeril pills
I will live inside my mind's creation and thrive
While my body is still.

The world beyond my skull is beauty and innocent words
The world within my brain is laughter and smiles and games
The world beyond my skull knows no pain or judgement
The world within my brain is free from tears and frowns, from shame.

I will immerse myself in my second reality today
And I will forget nihilism and existentialism.
Life will regain the meaning it held in my early childhood
And, with Death, they will pull me, and I will let them.

There is no greater curse and no greater gift than to be aware of Life.
There's nothing worse than knowing the pointless routine
And it'll send a thinker to the grave, thus I chose the world
Behind my eyes, beneath my skull, inside my dreams.

im losing my mind
i have finally gone round the bend
ive hurt and cried and **** near died
it isnt important now, wasnt important then.

i have no inspiration
ive lost my creativity
im absolutely ruined
and it tears a word from me:

****.

"What are you feeling?"
I don't know.
"Why are you angry?"
I don't know.
"Are you still sane?"
I don't know.
"Are you okay?"
I don't know.

Because this smile on my face is not
An accurate representation of what I feel.
And the mirth in my voice is possibly
Even more false than a mirage.
And the anger is all-consuming yet
There's nothing in me to catch flame.
The sadness settles in like a winter night
And fades away as though it was never mine.

I don't know.
I don't know why I can't cry.
I don't know why I can't care.
I don't know why I can't rage.
I don't know.

I don't know why I idealize death.
I don't know when life became tedious.
I don't know when I lost my dreams.
I don't know when I stopped needing friends.
I don't know when it all began to seem so pointless.

I don't know.
And, at this point, I'm too far gone to care to find out.

"Are you getting better?"
"Why are you sad?"
"Do you still cut."
"How do you feel?"

"Worse."
I'm getting worse.
I'm not sad, I'm distraught.
I don't cut, I hack.
I feel worse.

"I'm not actively suicidal."
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
"I'm feel okay."
"I feel nothing."

Worse.
The thoughts have gotten worse.
I care less because I want more.
I feel like I'm drowning. Constantly.
Apathy is so much worse.
So much worse than emotion.

I don't want to be here.
I don't want to wake up.
I don't want to breathe.
I don't want to see.
I don't want to hear.
I don't want to smell.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to think.

Everything's so much better
So why am I so much worse?

My mother has regained her maiden name
And there's no father to beat me up
And tell me how worthless I am.
My sister has come to terms with her sexuality
And there's no serious vitriol between us
For me to brood and cry about;
She hasn't hit me in years.
My family has been cut off from me
And there's no disappointed looks
For me to escape from.
My best friend is trying to rekindle what we had
And there's no faux pas or jibes
For me to be hurt over.
My mother is in the process of buying a house
So there'll be no panic attacks living in close range
To strangers in an apartment.
My senior year begins soon
And there'll be no adult to command me soon
While I'm holed up somewhere for college.
I've weeded the fake friends out
So there's no person whispering hatred behind me
And I won't run myself thin trying to please them.

So why am I worse?
I have everything in the world one could ask for.
I may not be rich,or even well-off
But I have an IPad and a phone
And several gaming systems.
There's food in the house and clean water.
I have a bed to sleep on and a roof over my head.
I have an Internet connection that's reliable.
I have usage of all my limbs and
I have music to listen to constantly.

So why am I worse?
I have nothing to complain or whine about.
I have nothing to cry and scream over.
I am living a life some others would envy.
Yet, here I am writing self-centered, pitiful poetry
And considering suicide.

I disgust myself, in this aspect.
I woke up this morning with life I'm not sure I want
And someone, somewhere, would value it more.
I bemoan my appearance and obsess over my weight
But I am symmetrical and healthy.
I have nothing to justify my pity-parties.

I don't have the right to be worse than I was.
See, no, I may not prosecute someone for being happy
When there are others who are happier
But I will prosecute myself for being sad
When there are others who have it worse.
Because I should be grateful for all I have.
I should smile everyday for waking up.
I should hold my life in high regard.

But I do not.

There's no rhyme or reason to this long winded spiel.
I do not expect or care if it's read.
I believe, in a way, this is part one of several
Of a letter to my mother, sister, and friends
As an explanation. As compensation.
I used to say I wanted to die, but I'd never do it.
Because I know me, and 'me' is a coward,
Terrified of her own shadow.
But now I see myself slipping and this is...
This is the best justification I have:

I am doing worse. Though I have no right to be. I wake up in the morning listless. I wake up and nothing seems better. I wake up, sometimes, gasping and scared from nightmares. I wake up, sometimes, missing my father. I wake up without motivation. And I go about my day without ambition. Writing no longer brings me pleasure. Nor reading. Nor running. Nor speaking. Nor silence. Nor music. Nor singing. Nor gaming. Nor thinking. Nor pottery. Nor poetry. Nor people. Nor solitude. Nor anything, really. I wake up searching for something. I do not know what. And I go about my day understanding that I have not, did not, and will not find it. I wake up lonely. I wake up starved for comfort and a listening ear. And by the time I've swung my legs out of bed, I am numb and I feel nothing at all. It is sweet agony. I am engulfed by my own mind and I rip myself apart daily. I never remember which piece goes where. I go through my days like this; breathing, alive, but not living. I am tired. I am sorry, because I know what I promised, but I am tired.

-Nadia (aka. Chaus)

We did friendship all wrong
We ****** it up and down and over
Six years of trying and it's still gone
We did it all wrong.

You're not on my list of 'Important Things'
And I'm nowhere on yours'
You're not a part of the songs I sing
We did it all wrong.

I'm not at your soccer games, even when I'm invited.
I'm never on your mind or your 'Recent Call' log
I'm not someone you remember or even miss.
We did it all wrong.

You don't read my poetry, even when I've linked it.
You don't speak to me the way you used to.
You don't like me or you hate me, I've not decided which.
We did it all wrong.

We did friendship all wrong.
We don't know each other anymore.
We're not forever, not even for long.
We did it all wrong.

It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.

It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.

Gripping to you is the best workout I've ever tried
Because you're slippery, elusive, when I've got a hold
Returning to water when I thought I had ice.

I've developed an emotional carpal tunnel over the years
My hands are leather hard and my knuckles bleed
And it hurts so much it brings me to my knees; to tears.

I've never let go though; the day I saw you was the day I--
The moment I saw you was the moment I knew I--
The words that elude me now will be said when you're mine.

I've found pity in the eyes of every person I've confided to
Which I can't stand because you've never been anything short of,
Never been anything wrong, the best thing I've been through.

There's a strain on my muscles from holding onto hope this way
My shoulders are ever-tense, my back bowed under the weight
And I'm vulnerable in this position, but come what may.

I'm not fool enough to pledge to emotions for you with a common phrase
But should you ever return everything I've yet to say, yet to accept
I would gladly accept a loss of commonsense, would gladly change my ways.

I hurt through the day, yet it is no matter, I hurt through the night too
But the pain may be worth it in a decade, or less, as I hope
For a day when I can without fear whisper, scream, say, "I-        ."

Until then, my knuckles may bleed red until I'm dry and dead.
Until then, my hands may harden to rock until they fall off.
Until then, my body may hurt and ache but I will wait for the day.

Let's be children for a day (for a year)
And forget where the hell we came from
.
.
.
Forget where we're going.
We'll run and play and smile
And leave our nihilistic thoughts coughing in the dust.

Then we'll grow up all over again in a second
And files taxes while staring at a blank TV screen
Until we realize there's nothing more to do besides cry
Besides scream
Besides laying down and waiting for death to visit.

We'll clean the house until it's ***** and
We'll invite over a party of the entire world
And together we'll dance in a vertigo of color and light...
Until the last soul has gone home.
And we'll grow up all over again for the first time in a second.

We'll remember fear and send that country home.
We'll remember hate and send those people home.
We'll remember society and dress those people like us.
We'll remember money and haggle with that nation before we head to work.
We'll remember anger and fight and take that country's home for ourselves.

Now that we've grown up, we'll sneer at that dropout on the streets.
And that family who can't afford another bill.
And that mother without a husband.
And that husband with a husband.
And that wife with a wife.
And that child who's pursuing art.

See, now that we've grown up, we can't be seen with them.
We've grown too heavy for the clouds our heads used to live in.
Our heads are too dense for us to look up at old dreams.
But our hands are still light enough to tie a tie
And button our dress shirts.
Light enough to pay the train fare
And hand in a daily report to the boss.

I don't need a rhyme scheme to describe humanity.
There's nothing beautiful about it.
There's nothing that incites a beat.
I don't need a rhyme scheme for this.
I don't need to write a song without music
For something that never knew how to sing.

Where's the beauty without the cracks?
What is color without black?
Where's the the love without the hurt?
What is success without work?

I like you better broken
You look prettier when you bleed
I like you better torn open
There's music in your screams.

Where's the happy without the sad?
What is lucid without knowing mad?
Where is life without death?
What is having if nothing left?

I like you better shattered
Sharp edges glitter in moonlight.
You look so beautiful hurting
In too much pain to sleep at night.

The pieces don't fit, who's going to fix it?
You can't stand, can't sit, who's going to fix you?
The bleeding won't quit, who's going to fix it?
Fight or flight, run or hit, who's going to fix you?

I like you better broken
There's nothing here to mend.
I like you better bleeding
With your heart in my hand.

With your heart in my hand.

King come down
The King come down
There's not a single frown
As the King come down.

The people run just like they die:
With a sudden silence
And a cease of non-existent existence
That ends the accepted fiction.

King come down
The King come down
Not a single frown
Oh, the King come down!

Nine, nine, nine
Two, four, zero
Two and eight
Pause. Wait.

Ignore the grafts.
Don't speak or make sound.
Ignore the grafts.
The King come down.

King come down
The King come down
Your people do not frown
THE KING COME DOWN.

I cannot breathe.
I cannot breathe.
My heart beats too quickly.
My mind will not cease.

There is an itch
Under both skin and muscle.
There is an itch
I scratch till I bleed; it will not settle.

This is not a display of my personality
The politeness; "yes, sir," "no, ma'am"
This is not who I normally strive to be
"Thank you," "no, thank you," "please."

I am beyond help now
I understand this clearly
I am lost now
To this itch inside me.

Is craving such a painful thing
Normally?
Is loneliness such a lonely beast
Usually?

Is air this hard to breathe
Normally?
Is it this difficult to see
Usually?

Does the itch burn like hellfire
Normally?
Does the itch attack the mind
Usually?

Is the itch a chronic condition
Normally?
This is unbearable
Help me.

Though none of those who should know me have
Shown any indication that they see
Though those with whom I should be safe
Have never spared the time of day on me
I come to them broken now
I come knowing they may never read
I come to them shattered, beaten down
And this is my plea:

Save me, save me
Don't save me, please
I've lived and loved
And none of it came free

Hold me, hold me
Don't hold me at all
I've cried and tried
To break my own fall

And it's now that they open their eyes
And yet, they do not see
But it's now that I've had enough
Of survival and surviving
I'm ready to stop my heart
I'm prepared, never again, to sing
I'm ready to still my hand
And this is my plea:

Love me, love me
Don't love me, I beg
Until my blood is cold
And the last nail is in my coffin

Forgive me, I'm sorry
Don't accept my apologies
Or read the letter I will write
In the dawn of the morning

It is now that I consider how
Best to spare myself pain
Who will attend my funeral and
Who will attend my wake
It is now that I contemplate
The shock of the unfortunate
Who may find my lifeless body
Long after I've sent myself away.

I will not beg for a savior
I do not require pity
I will not be persuaded to stay here
Not in the country, suburbs, or city
I will not think on those who will hurt
For what I've decided or the words I've spoken
I am shattered irreparably
I will leave as I came: broken.

I cannot reach my Muses
And I'm beyond terrified
I can hear their voices
But there's no spark inside

Perhaps I've found another
And have not realised it yet
But the possibility doesn't halt the panic
I worry and I fret.

It seems muse has become affection
It seems inspiration is admiration
It seems awe is now infatuation
It seems I cannot deal with this situation.

Muse, I am searching
Dear Muse, please come home
Muse, please stop hiding
Please see this blockade gone.

My Muse, do not remain silent.
My Muse, are you blocked from me?
My Muse, my love and inspiration
My kingdom for you to be free.

I'm in that mood
When I want a collar round my neck
Though I'll still be in control
Two bodies writhing, one bed.

I'm in that mood
When I shiver at my thoughts
And I prowl ever-restless
The house is freezing, I'm blazing hot.

I'm in that mood
When I'd beg for anything
And time is too slow
My eyes are open, I'm blind with need.

I'm in that mood
When shame is a foreign entity
And humiliation is impossible
Or perhaps exhilarating.

I'm in that mood
When I can't contain the desperation
And I'm far past coherent or sane
So very rushed yet patient.

I'm in that mood
Where I'd curse anyone who set me free
And my mind is an unending chant,
'Collar me, collar me.'

Drinking bottles of Guinness
"Only socially, I can't stand the stuff"
Fatality in the finesse
Of 'classiness' and *****.

Smoky rooms and jazzy tunes
A cigar hanging from the lips
Fatality in the finesse
Of small talk and swaying hips.

Winehouse's drawl pours from the speakers
That are modern in their vintage style
Fatality in the finesse
Of hidden grimaces and fake smiles.

Every conversations the same
In it's lack of personality
Fatality in the finesse
Of sociability.

I will see him tomorrow
And we will restore the status quo
Because I can't sort through the mess in my head
Can't find a topic that won't let the worry show.

I will see him tomorrow
And this heartbroken poetry will cease
Because I'm better at controlling what I want
When it's physically in my reach.

I will see him tomorrow
And I'll see her image hazily beside him
And I'll put down my metaphorical sword
Because it's not a fight I can win.

I will see him tomorrow
And my heart will see them both together
But I won't say a single undue word
Won't even ask if he's doing better.

I will see him tomorrow
Like nothing ever went wrong
And I will wrap my arms around him
And remember his favorite songs.

I will see him tomorrow
But I will not break down and cry
Because, beyond the hurt, I understand
The ever-present want to die.

I will see him tomorrow
And, my previous poems be ******,
I'll keep my mouth, heart, and mind shut
As I cope the only way I can.

I will see him tomorrow
And reach out for another
Because I never had and I never will have
The right to claim or tether.

I will see him tomorrow
And I won't speak of Summer or Fall
I'll remain detached though I am not
Though I'm not calm or collected at all.

I will see him tomorrow
And she will not be there in person
And I will not yearn or reach for either
If only because I love them.

The first thought in my head
At the sight of the two together
Was, 'they don't match, but they fit,'
Like the beginning of Fall meeting the end of Summer.

Bright and outspoken
Warm summer days
Beside the quiet thoughtfulness
Of Autumn's leisurely change.

It's beautiful and intriguing
It's not meant for paper alone
So I'll shout it from the highest mountains
And write it in the most-heard songs.

Summer's heat speaks of joy
Though the nights talk of pain
And through the smiles and laughter
Is evidence of life's strain.

Autumn is quiet but opinionated
And riddled with hurricanes
But the light of Summer
Will never let Autumn fall again.

Summer writes of beautiful chaos
Autumn writes of simple existence
They don't match, but they fit
I'm amazed every time I see them.

See, the first thought in my head
At the sight of the two together
Was, 'they don't match, but they fit,"
Like the beginning of Fall meeting the end of Summer.

I miss you more than you seem to know.
......She misses you too.
We talk more often now though
Because it helps that we get it, I think.

I'm not really sure how to react to all this
You being so....lost.
I sort of got into the habit of looking at you
For directions. Because I wanted to be like you, somewhat.

You're amazing, you know that?
You're the moon and the sun and autumn and
....and all the little things that bring about large smiles.
I wish I could put it to a rhyme scheme.

She's breaking. Not as bad as she could be
But she is breaking.
I don't want to watch that. I didn't sign up for this.
I didn't want to have to watch my friends crumble.

Friends. I can't even label you two as that.
It doesn't fit.
You're so much more than that. I want. I need.
The point is, you're more than 'friends'.

You're both so ridiculously beautiful, y'know?
It's not even fair or okay because people like you don't exist.
But I'm glad you do.
It's pretty ****** that I only managed to write this now.

I shouldn't even be writing this, honestly.
I should be biding my time until you get back.
I should wait maybe two weeks before I call you both.
And then I should sit you down and explain it to your faces.

I'd probably lose some friends doing that, though.
I'm terrified of losing you guys.
Like, legitimately, panic attack worthy, terrified.
It keeps me up at night, sometimes.

Because I love you guys. Scary, right?
I'm not used to saying that and meaning it.
I love you guys.
I want to see you two for a long time.

While I'm emptying my heart, I should mention
That I wrote a lot of poetry about you two
Including this, and it saved me,  I think.
I get where you are, and I've been there. I am there.

But it'd be great if you'd stay. If you'd both stay.
I don't wanna stick around without you guys.
You're something special and amazing and addictive....
And so, so, brokenly perfect.

So yeah. I guess I just wanted to say "I Miss You"
And get all this off my chest.
Because I need you here and she needs you here
But until you can be here, I can write poetry.

I'm all sad poems and broken songs
It figures it's my birthday
I'm panic attacks and sleepless nights
And all the words I won't say.

Things should be normal, shouldn't they?
Things should be okay; it's my birthday.

Seventeen isn't going the way it should
Can I have another try?
Seventeen isn't right, right now
Somebody hit rewind.

Things should be fine today
Things should be right; it's my birthday.

Nothing revolves around my birth
I know that, I swear I do
But all I asked was to be happy
When the day was through.

Things aren't right, are they?
Even though it's my birthday.

Seventeen began with listless apathy
Seventeen began with broken promises
Seventeen began with fake smiles and laughs
Seventeen began with hurt friends.

Seventeen may go away
I don't want it here.
Seventeen isn't what I like
I'll try again next year.

Until then I'll be wondering
How seventeen began so wrong
It's my birthday, today
I'm all sad poems and broken songs.

You are golden
Please don't ever think differently
You are capable of being all you wish to be.

Please smile
Smile and mean it down to your soul
And keep smiling and laughing until you're aged and old.

Be selfish
Because you'll survive so much longer
Because being selfless will never make you stronger.

Live life
Like no one is watching
Like you've the means to have everything you've been wanting.

You are gold
You are the diamond in the rough
The needle in the haystack; it's time you came home.

Because, perhaps, with a rhyme scheme, your words will mean something.
Because, perhaps, your words won't fade like the memory of you in a century.
Because everyone listens but doesn't hear at home.
Because no one listens or hears at home.
Because someone you know may read and understand.
Because someone near by may read and love you.
Because someone may care enough to ask.
Because it's the only way you're brave enough to tell.
Because a response may chase away the loneliness for a second.
Because someone may disagree with how little you think of yourself.
Because you can't express what you're feeling.
Because you can't articulate what you aren't feeling.
Because you want to scream.
Because you want to cry.
Because you want to laugh.
Because you want to love and be loved.
Because you want to die.
Because you want to sleep.
Because you're restless.
Because you're listless.
Because you're lost.
Because there's too much order.
Because there's to much chaos.
Because it's cathartic.
Because it's painful.
Because you're lonely.
Because you want a friend.
Because you want ***.
Because you're proud of being broken.
Because you're ashamed of being broken.
Because you're jealous.
Because you're hateful.
Because you hate yourself.

Because there's nothing else you can do.