I've been accused of witchcraft
by others, you're not the first
as if there has to be something magical
otherwordly
about what I do to you..
because how could it be
simply
that I make you happy?

Let me ask--
what is worthy of being untitled?

What is the poem or story with so much meaning that it cannot be labeled?

Is my work worthy of being without a title?

Is this poem that meaningful?

Will a title spoil the emotion?

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When we see something untitled, there always seems to be a reoccurring sense of intrigue surrounding it.

I wonder if you'll be intrigued when you read this.

----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------

If I filled this page up with hyphens and forward slashes, would it still be intriguing?

You could say yes, since there could be a secret meaning or code within the longer and shorter lines.

But what if I told you there was no meaning to any of this?

What if everything you're reading in this poem is nonsense?

Would there be any way to know?

You might argue that you could ask me.

But what if there is no answer?

--------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------

Now I wonder why you're still interpreting these words.

I hold nothing against you...

I just don't see the point.

My phone’s brightness is at 0%
(but it still hurts my eyes)
My computer screen is zoomed in to 175%,
(but I still can’t comprehend a single sentence on the screen)
I have turned the volume all the way up,
(but still hear my family’s conversation as if they’re speaking through a mic)
The volume is as low as it can be without being silent,
(but it still hurts my ears)
I have cocooned myself in the softest blanket in the house,
(but it’s still so itchy I can’t sleep)
I’m pinching the webbing between my fingers as hard as I can,
(but I still can’t feel a **** thing)
And it all feels so wrong -
That I’m either turned up to eleven,
Or I don’t feel anything at all.

It wasn’t fair
Here take it all
Fix it
I never should’ve
Let me fix you
I shouldn’t have
I wanna fix you
So you fix me
But what’s here to fix ?
I can’t fix you
You can’t fix me
I wasn’t ready for you
You’re a challenge
You challenge me
I can’t have you
I don’t want you
Yes I do
Maybe I’ll always want you
But who cares
You don’t
Do I care ?
I never came
I didn’t wanna cause you pain
But I did
And you cause me pain
We abused each other
I’m gonna let you go
It hurt so much
But I have to
Because if you love someone
You have to
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for being so obsessive
For being so possessive
But what you did wasn’t right
You didn’t really help the fight
I don’t know what else to say
Ok bye I hope you have a nice day

I've grown so accustomed to this numbness.
It spreads through my body
like wildfire
consuming dry skin and chapped lips.
It overtakes all of me, fills my being
from stomach to heart and
eventually my mind.
It begins to feel like brush on the forest floor,
stale and easy to catch
but quick to burn up.

------------------------------------------------------------­---------

Our ship is sinking
so quickly.
Blink and you miss
all the little moments we could have had
that you failed to see.
Your blindness and My complacency
like cannonballs
punching holes in our vessel
and me in the stomach.
You don't even seem to care Captain.
We're patching up a sinking ship with bandages
but it won't stay afloat.

If you move
One Inch
In any direction
You'll move
Towards the blade.

If you move
One Inch
In any direction
You'll just
Start to cry.

If you move
One Inch
In any direction
Your cuts
Will open up.

If you move
One Inch
In any direction
You'll hurt
Yourself again.

If you move
One Inch
In any direction
You'll make
Another mistake.

You don't want
To do it
And you know
It's not okay.
But you don't
Know what else
To do
Or to whom
You can talk.
So you keep
On cutting.

We just want our own space so that we can be free,
Just kids trying to be as happy as can be,
Trying not to think about our own society,
We just want to be free.

Give us a river,
Give us a meadow,
All just for us,
Im sorry old fellow,
But you've had your chance,
This one is ours,
This is a meadow filled with young flowers,
Getting away from the world you've devoured,
Its alright,
Its our hour

We just want our own space so that we can be free,
Dont take away our tranquility,
Or we might die,
Anxiety,
at an all time high,
Its not a joke,
Its called suicide,
Something we should never do,
But its still contemplated by me and you