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 Nov 2014 Who cares anyway
Daissy
Maybe it was the way he walked
or the way he looked at me.
Those eyes and those lips
I just couldn't stop staring.
Maybe it was the way he talked
or the way he smiled at me from across the room.
That beard and those warm blushing cheeks.
I just couldn't stop falling for him.
But little did I know that this feeling wouldn't last.
It was like a hurricane coming in and leaving so fast.
Having a feeling like this and for all of a sudden be gone in an instant. Without knowing that one day that person would be gone. It's a pain that lasts forever.
i do not recommend having an anxiety attack when you’re driving

i do not recommend laying in your bed in the darkness in the clothes you wore out today 

i do not recommend sulking

i do not recommend being alone

i do not recommend letting people get to you

i do not recommend listening to sad music 

i do not recommend thinking listening to sad music will make you feel better

i do not recommend ever letting anyone break your spirit

i do not recommend showing weakness 

i do not recommend speaking to someone you care about when you’re upset because you will say something you deeply regret

i do not recommend taking out all your stress on your coworkers or the customers you come across at your job because they truly do not care

i do not recommend telling anyone or anything your problems other than your pets or your notebook 

i do not recommend writing sad poetry 
i do not recommend listening to the person you’re infatuated with’s favorite song on repeat because it will only make you hurt more 

i do not recommend drinking your tea right when you steep it because it will burn your tongue

i do not recommend overthinking 

i do not recommend writing sad poetry 
i do not recommend writing sad poetry 
i do not recommend writing sad poetry
She fell in love with November,
for the way the sun shined down on
decaying leafs
and chilling temperatures danced upon the tips of her fingers,
providing her with a perfect balance between life and death.

She presented herself to the world in this manner,
always happy and bright, but never content,
as days carried on cracks in her skin led to trails of pieces on the ground.
Her eyes often flickered between a beautiful orange and a sickly brown.
Her heart, as much as it wanted to be warm was deafly cold.

She was a mystery.

And as December rolled in and the world froze over in darkness,
so did she.
The only light in her life was the moon.
how badly I wish she could've loved a month like June.
Don't "talk *****" to me.

I don't want that,
Not nonchalant naughty nouns,
Or violent verbs,
Or anxious adjectives.

I want to be drippingly adorned and intrigued,
By adjectives that ache and torment,
By verbs that are vibrantly vital and tantalize.

I want to be left longfully lusting after lambent language.
I want phrases
that are fantastically formulated
to keep my attention.
Fix Me?
Can
You
Just maybe
But
I'm insane
I think...
Sometimes

Brain
Fill my
Thoughts
Backward

I'm really trying
Just bare with me
Please
So easily
Breaks
My heart

Trust issues
I have
I know...
Confusing
Been so
Has always
You
About
**Everything
I sound like Yoda, Huh?
Try reading it bottom to top (left to right), the way it was originally written. :)
When a poet doesn't know the answer
To the simplest questions
It's because their mind is so filled
With abnormal poetic revisions

When a poet doesn't know
The way to say how they feel
It's because they need to write it out
So they know the feelings are real

When a poet doesn't know
How to say I love you
It's because they haven't found a rhyme
That brings out the best in you

When a poet doesn't know what to say
Or simply how to make you feel better
They just type up some lines and rhymes
Like... "We'll get through this together"

When a poets doesn't know the answer
Or how to say what they feel
Or that they're in love with you
Or how to make you feel better still

And they don't have the words to write it all down....
That poet's world is sure to crumble to the ground
As a known poet among friends, they find it odd that I don't always have the right words to express myself in normal conversations sometimes. Maybe this will shed some light on that.
Do any of y'all really know me?
Can you see who I am from my poetry?
If your answer is yes, you're wrong
Even I don't know where I belong
When people ask who I am
I say I'm 26, a mother, a poet,
I basically just read my bio
But you've all read that too
Does that mean you really know?
A friend told me lately
To stop being so humble about my poetry
I don't like to come off sounding cocky
He says I'm **** good at what I do
But not every poem is about you
Not every word is always true
Sometimes, they're just words written in ink
To give you an idea, to really make you think....  
But my poetry doesn't define me
Doesn't show you who I am inside
Sure, you've read about my heartaches
And all the nights I've cried
But nothing I write,
Can show you the inner workings of my mind
So, please don't think you really know me
Based solely on all my posted poetry
Because, to be honest, I'm not even sure who I am
And I know me, better than all of you
But please continue to read and comment
Because I'd love to know the truth
About what you all really think of me
Honestly, y'all have really helped me through
I keep digging and digging and digging,
     trying to dig myself out of this hole
But it seems everything is collapsing around me
      burying me with my soul.
      This small shovel
  just doesn't seem to be enough,
     No one thought to tell me
         how life could be this rough
Now,
    I'm just getting deeper and deeper
        and deeper
    with my unwanted thoughts
This shall be my grave,
        but don't put any roses on top,
      I prefer **forget-me-nots
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