You can find me waltzing at an ungodly hour under a blood red sky
with tears upon my pain stricken face and terror in my eyes.

You can tell me to stop, tell me how I’m hurting myself,
and still I will pick at the same seams until I find comfort in pain

You can hear me singing “So don’t let me cave in” in a basement at a party,
and know that if I do, it’s not your fault.

You can talk to me and I will listen.
And here. In this moment. In this interaction, I will smile. I will lie.
I will say that everything is fine.

But what makes you stand out is that you never believe me.
You have no idea how much I need that.

I told you to do what you wanted, to make your own choice, and you left me alone.
So I sat by the lake by myself and sang a song about how you let me cave in.

later, when the sun was fully submerged under the lake water, and my sadness had left me, you came back to me in that same spot,
and gave me a memory of a waltz, a kiss, and a reason to smile. I will truly never forget.

On the walk back, with my bare feet pressed against the concrete and my converse swinging by my side, I thought about how you have such a beautiful way of influencing my emotions like the pendulum they are.

It wouldn’t be living  if there wasn’t some sadness.

I spend most of my time staring at blank pages and listening to a snare on 2&4. I carve cuts into the tips of my fingers and bite nails off out of boredom. I also wonder how I should be living, because something feels wrong. Should I be this sad?

And every adult I have ever met talks of High school as the best years of their life, so what am I doing wrong? I have friends, I have time, I have people who care. So why do I pace up and down alone in an abandoned theater and feel grim under Friday night lights?

I wrote songs about change last year. I wrote songs about getting better. And every single ******* one of them still applies today. Now I just write to cope, and I'm trying to write better, but it's hard when I'm so jumbled. It’s hard when I get scared.

And Daniel told me to draft my work and avoid contentedness, and I trust him and I tried. I was never content. My time is flashing before me and I have the guts to wear a frown. I'm in the "good ol' days" right now, so why aren't they so good?

The sun was out.
The grass was green.
there was a sprinkle of rain.
And a sky full of blue.

You wore a calming yellow.
and a smile that showed in your eyes.
and when I wasn't thinking of your freckles,
I was thinking of how nice these little moments are.

Dear God,

I know that we don't talk that much.
or at all.
I also know that I kinda don't believe in you.
sorry...
I just wanted to say that I'm happy where I am.
I know my other writings sorta contradict that statement, but I struggle with negativity, and my poems almost always punctuate pain over pleasure.
It's taken time. I'd be the first to know,
But I'm content with my sadness now.
I'm happy with the little worries I get when she looks upset.
I'm happy with the pessimism that spills from my pen too.
At least it creates.
And I'm not bullshitting you.
And no fingers crossed, because I know how you feel about crosses.
This isn't sarcasm or mockery.
I pinky promise.

I love my friends.

I say that they are toxic.
and they are.
But who says that pain and love cant coincide?
I think that they work quite well together.
And I'm not a *******.
But love wouldn't be love if there wasn't pain,
and this wouldn't be a poem by me if there wasn't any negativity.
So thank you for the spot I'm in
and thank you for the friends I have.
I love them all very much.
I love my friends very much.

Sincerely,
                 Your Desperate Friend