I don't know you
I never will
But a Facebook post told me you got drunk and hit your bike at the freeway
You suffered head injuries and died on the spot.
My Facebook timeline is filled with posts from your friends and family.
They miss you ,they love you and wonder how did you leave so soon.
You were twenty, attending uni and in love with a beautiful girl.
You loved driving your bike on the smooth roads when the rain poured.
You loved drinking till your mind was numb and speech slurred.
I never knew you
But i remember you playing football on our school grounds and talking to the pretty girls.
I remember you posting pictures of you and your girlfriend in the school uniform and everyone commenting on your 'love'
I remember talking to you once about our common last name. I remember you accidentally bumping me in the school hallways.
I remember you standing infront of the principal's office because you played a harmless prank on a teacher.
I remember you standing on stage with trophies and medals you won for our school.
I remember the funny posts you used to share on facebook.
You don't know me. You never will.
I was just another girl in your Facebook friend list. I was just another junior who didn't talk much.

Maybe if I strain my ears,I can hear your mother screaming over the death of her only son. Maybe I can hear your girlfriend crying over her love.
But I hear nothing because in silence,we yearn.

Hasn't anyone ever told you that you can write?
Has no one ever said write me a new write?
Sad princess of emotion.
I was in your boat too.
I was an iceberg.
I was cold.
I was grey.
And I overcame.
You will too.
I promise you.
All that you have to do is look deep inside you.
I promise it didn't leave.
Don't beg..don't plead.
I know all there is to know about hot and cold.
It's inside my soul.
Follow me I will guide you.

-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016

even with misspeelings and quotational **** ups and missed
opportunities like our hearts are on fire
and burning with the spirit of Byron
or Browning, we write and I want to bow to all you ,
who like me have something to say,
whether you are reincarnated Bard,
or a hard working slob, like me,
at the end of the day,
if someone sees and relates that is all it means.
I would enjoy being Whitman,
but then, that would mean I was dead.
I am not Chilean, so I could not be Neruda.
I am not female but Sylvia relates to me.
And so, we write, on and on.
It may be a gift or a sickness.
We just have to.
I take a lack of talent
and make it useful.
It is to me.

I'm so tired
of thinking of you
don't get me wrong
I love you
but being so far
constant thoughts of you
make my head hurt
I'm in need
of a distraction
someone new
to occupy  my mind
In search
searching