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Summer Sep 2016
When I looked at you
in that blue light shining on your eyelids
Almost making you look transparent
I swear I heard a voice telling me
what God wanted me to be.
That you somehow had gotten it through my thick skull.
Because I can't see or touch God,
but looking at you,
reminded me I wasn't alone.
And I kneeled near my bed every night
Praying something would exist
Not to save me or fix me
Because I don't need any of that
I just wanted something to make me feel less alone
When I laid my body down onto the earth
I swear the soil took it over
and led me to
Where everything ends and begins
My hand trembles less
And I'm not afraid to speak in front of you
I remember how I felt something when I looked into the Oregon Sky and how the mountains seemed to never end, and they filled up the sky and it made me feel full.
but when I look into indianas Sky, it's empty and so am i.
My creative writing teacher told me, I was very observant, and seemed to care about others a whole lot. She always writes  on the  top of my poems,  "very creative" I don't feel like I'm anything. Especially creative. Because if poems hadn't been trendy in middle school, I wouldn't be a poet now. And that scares me. I don't know which parts of me are real. I started photography because it was the cool thing to do, I become interested in art because I guess I wanted to feel what others felt when they looked at the individual paint strokes, and I went on dates at the art museum and stared at the paintings more than my actual date, which isn't poetic at all. Now I go alone and sit in the whisper room for hours because everyone I take it there thinks it's too creepy, I write down what I hear and sometimes put it in poems. I think I hear what I'm actually thinking. Because my brain usually shuts that out and I hear what I want to hear. They say write what you feel, what you've experienced, what you love. I feel sick and sad when I remember the past, and I don't know what I love. And then they tell me to write happier but I don't feel that way.
I wish the ground could swallow me up. I want to be able to touch the world but I feel like I can't breathe. How will I ever change the world, if I can't change myself? Because I look in the mirror at 12 am and I wish I could crawl out of my skin.  I wish I could write love poems and draw smiley faces all around my paper. But the happy parts in my poems are usually made up. I add them in, to make it seem like I'm a lovable important person. I think everyone sees right through me. Flowers grow under my body and push through the soil. If they can grow, so can I. I am far from happy and I write it all down because I will not lie to myself. I'm alone.
Summer Aug 2016
The yellow light illuminated our pale faces, it’s cold but not too cold, and we’re on the roof of a parking garage and everything feels like a movie. We don’t look at each other. We’re too busy staring into the empty space that occupies the air around us. I want to go up to you and hold your hand. I want to make the space feel less empty. You are shivering, as your black hair blends into the sky. The drugs made your face look really different. It's not how I remembered it. It is silent to both of us. We are too lost in the beauty of it all. The sounds of the cars, the people, everything is drowned out when we are with each other. We don’t think about the college rejection letters, the job applications, the things that make our lives real. I hope you forget about her like you forgot about yourself. I hope it brings you the peace you need. I want it to be like this forever. I walk over to you and lay my head on your shoulder, as we watch the cars drive off into the Fishers sky.  Everything seems to be drifting farther and farther away from us. I am scared.
We love eachother but we don’t.
It’s as simple and as complicated as that.
And i think that scares me the most
Summer Aug 2016
i’m learning how to be happy again,
i appreciate the concern,
i swear i’m okay.
really.
my friends ask me for advice on their relationships,
it’s senior year.
everyone is drifting away from each other.
it hasn’t even been a month.
we start filling out our college apps
and the stress crashes into our bodies
like a tidal wave
you're just as ****** up
As the rest of us,
And strangers tell me to stay far away from you
"Stay safe" written on my Facebook messages
and the makeup stings my eyes
it's 12:00 a.m.
we're playing brand new
As the noblesville air hits our skin
while people shout inaudible words out of their cars
in my dreams we're still together.
we don't hate eachother.
or talk about the past,
we're best friends
and we're walking on the beach
next to this old antique shop.
In my dreams the past doesn't exist,
and you're the person I thought you were.
i start to miss you.
But I know my dreams are filthy liars.
you're not the angel I thought you were.
you are the complete opposite.
I could never love you again.
I could never be your best friend.
my dreams are filthy liars.
I lay in my bed hoping to fade into it.
I don't want to see you ever again.
keep my name out of your mouth.
Stop shaming me for ***
When that's all you wanted
even when I told you
No.
My sister warned me of girls that would use me,
but oh god,
I never knew
that it would be the poet
with the pale boney skin
and beautiful green eyes I swore I got lost in every second I looked at them.
You were supposed to be one of the good ones
But your pretty face will never make up for you deceitfulness.
you can write as many poems about me being toxic as you want
but it won't make you a better person.
telling people no one will love them,
*** shaming your exes
and using the things they fear most,
will never make you the person you want to be.
I told you about my father.
How he almost overdosed.
How he needs a breathing machine
How he tried to **** himself,
How I would never ever
do the things he did,
but my feelings weren't as important
As a ****** one minute poem.
I trusted you,
But the minute I told you the truth about
how you had been toxic to me,
all of that suddenly didn't matter to you.
Even though you swore you only wanted the truth.
But when you said my feelings were valid
And it was okay if we didn't speak anymore,
You lied.
But what's new?
Self help books and Internet searches will never fix it.
and if I have a child,
I will warn them so many times.
But I'm still the crazy one.
Who could never be loved.
You told me you had a dream I jumped into an ocean.
I'm sure it doesn't scare you anymore.
Summer Jun 2016
My metaphors for you
were oceans homes and Suns
more like corner Suns
drawn in crayon on a piece of scrap paper
with a smiley face drawn over them with a cheap pen
almost out of ink
with the sky only reaching to the middle of the paper
violet instead of blue
and the flowers bigger than the people-
this was you
and color went outside of the lines
and I hung it up on my fridge
with alphabet magnets spelling out
"first love"
but I can draw better.
it's ripped off the fridge,
the magnets spell out
"disappointment"
the flowers are smaller than the people
suns don't sit in the corners of skies
the sky reaches higher  
it's a usually a bluish color, never fully purple.
colors never spread outside of lines
this is reality.
you are old,
drawings don't get hung up on the fridge anymore
nor good grades
Just doctors appointments on your calendar
bills that need to be paid
and your grocery list
your new drawing gets thrown away.
Nine to five job
Cooking dinner
not loving who you sleep next to,
this will be all familiar soon.
because you are old.
but deep down you know
it doesn't have to be this way,
because now you have new metaphors
he shows the nature parks in your state
and when you look at him on top of you you think
this is better than a corner sun,
all the realness surrounding you makes you feel good
you don't have to draw it out anymore,
no smiley faces on paper
because you feel the muscles on your face form into a smile, and the ink does not run
you can be whatever you want
a beautiful watercolor painting
Your colors mixing together,
a beautiful far from perfect  masterpiece,
that doesn't need to be displayed on a fridge to be seen
oh boy oh boy
  Apr 2016 Summer
NV
I
TOLD
YOU.

AND I AM
TELLING
YOU
AGAIN.

I AM GOING TO HOLD YOUR HEAD UP,
WHILE I HOLD YOUR HAND.
Summer Apr 2016
you’re sad again i think it’s because of them
you have these dark brown eyes i want to get lost in.
they are as deep as the soil in my grandmother's garden.
your gaze nourishes and brings bright beautiful things to the earth,
yet you are crying over somebody who does not care for gardens.
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