my words are not coming from my head or my mouth, my brain or my ears, they don't spawn from my wondrous imagination or from my inspiration. they do not form from beautiful imagery, nor are they created in image of any person. my poems are not forged with tender love and care that others are, they are not tended to, edited, revised.

my words are not from the heart, they are not pumped through my body to my mind, my words are not from the heart or its binds. my poems are not formed of love and emotion they are not made with the same ideas others are.

my words come from the ink that pours down my wrists and thighs that were made in mutilation. a work of "art" through self deprication. my poems come from the hurt, the pain that i so obviously crave and create. my words and poems are my blood. my bond. my ties to worldly connections.

there was an honest man. a good man. a story teller.
he worked in the library, taught children to read, he was a kind man, a great fella.

well "once upon a time" was his motto, his stories always bled into the light.
he went to bed as it got darker, knowing he had done his stories right.

"Nevermorre calls upon you, Storyteller." called the queen of that land.
he had to leave this era, he hoped theyd understand.

as the kind, gentle man left our world, he left a story for the children to be unfurled.
the story of Nevermorre, the friends of the past, the chimer of futures, the words of the last, the darkness of sorrow, the swirling of shame, those who read, did not return quite the same...

so quiet now young ones, im here to tell
the story of Nevermorre, is mine as well.

i cant even lie I was going to **** myself last night
You pulled me from my head and made everything all right.
You made my life make sense, put everything in line,
I laid back down again, everything seemed fine.

today I went through motions, tired and devoid of emotions
my brain was wrongly wired, it was you that i admired.
I wish you could've helped me
I wish you had known.
set my stupid mind free, all my worries flown.

You're only real when you are loved
The magic never goes away
So share your love
In a special way
Make someone real
Today

you used to promise id have to be the one to leave you
whyh do i still love you
why does it hurt so bad
when you gave me back my blankie it still smelled like you
i cried all night
i cut so many times
i bled for you
i did everything you asked.
i did everything
and you left for someone else
just like you did to him
he cries over us you know
i didnt tell anyone
god i wish we had stayed together
i love you
i love you so much still
and yet i was never enough
dont ever say 'i love you' if you dont mean it.

Thursday's child has far to go.
a child borne
of beauty and grace
so much more
a pretty face
her mind usually still
calm
is wild
racing
she fights
not only to survive
to live
to love
for her right
to be a human

Thursday's child has a voice
Thursday's child made a choice
to many a persons dismay
Thursday's child decides
to stay

Thursday's child
not full of woe
unfortunately
still far to go

Poem

When you were a kid, you had a favorite toy.
Be it a doll, a tiny truck, a car, a stuffy.
You did have one.

While you had one,
I was one.

I was played with.
Fed upon.
Made to be used and abused

Isn't it funny?
How some people are like like kids,
and Others are more like their pretty, little, shiny, toys.

"Oh mommy!" He would cry
"She is so pretty"
"So Cute"
"so wet..."

Malicious


I am not a toy
I am a real person
I am real

am I?

I sometimes catch myself wondering
My thoughts an endless cycle
Self deprication
Sleep deprivation
Without mediation
I look at her and I feel nothing
My my body is at an odds
Begging to feel something
I swear to any and all gods
There is something wrong with me.
She looks at me and laughs
Saying how I look like I want to die
I laugh too
It isn't funny because its hilarious
Its funny because its true.
I don't smell of dead flowers
I smell of the rot I was raised in
All I am now
Is ruin.
I cannot muster the strength to look you in the eyes
To be tell you my lies
Bringing about my demise
My body is falling apart
Deteriorated
And you are angry.
You are upset at the world
Your future taken just as mine was
I have absolutely no idea
I am afraid.

everything is changing.
youve changed.

you dont talk to me now.
i cry over you every night.

sometimes i wonder if you think about me
as much as i think about you.

then i remember
you left me because it hurts

i was too much like Her.

and you replaced me.

that hurt the most.

I don't feel like writing poems
I don't feel like making a song
I don't want to write a story
It takes too ******* long

I don't want to feel this empty
But I'm tired of being sad
I don't know if its just envy
But I hate that you're not mad

I dont like the way you laughed it off
The way you said I was fine
I hate that you disgust yourself
I hate that your not mine

I hope that you're not happy now
I hope that you are messed up
I hope she leaves you hon
I'll pour you another cup

You won't notice when you hug your mom goodnight for the last time
When you start going to bed soundlessly
You won't notice the last time your dad picks you up and carries you in his arms
You won't notice when you stop liking coloring and cartoons and focus on make up and drama
You won't notice the last time you and your best friend stop talking about an inside joke
You won't notice the last time you see your dogs big puppy eyes
You'll be too busy focusing on school and friends and love
Though you won't know true love
You'll be too focused on a job you hate instead of one you really want to do
You'll be too focused on money or how you look or what others think of you
Until you have nothing to do
Then you'll wish you had noticed all those last times
Made more of the firsts.

I walk toward the door
Lights getting brighter by the second

'i was hoping youd stay'

I
Hesitate.

only for a moment.

and then i am gone.

when i think about that day, i wish i had stayed
closer
to
you.

i wish i had hugged you tighter...

i wish i had said more than 'goodbye'


i wish



we





hadnt



grown














distant.

-Liam

all alone
im in my bed
lights so low
and my family gone

i washed my hair
scrubbed skin for hours to remove his touch
yet he
clings
on.

but im barely hanging on
and i dont think anyone else is
sometimes i think about you

and
         i
             am
                      wet.

we used to walk downtown
close to Christmas
you would be stoic and quiet
I would get excited over anything we saw

you wrote poems about me
you told me the most wonderful stories
I always listened
when you called me your little Sunlet

I loved you
I still do

to love a poet is not the same as to be loved by a poet.
to be loved
is so much more fulfilling
I loved you

moon

-L

When you think about a poem,
What do you hear?
The buzzing of rhymes, passing your ear?
Or do you think of words?
Lines on a page?
The timeless messages, growing wisdom with age?

Do you think of a certain one?
A song,or a rhyme?
A passage you read, about the beginning of time?

What makes a poem? Is it the words or the lines?
The message, or rhymes?
The writer? The Reader?
The sender? The receiver?

What makes a poem?
The Poet, of course.
It isn't the words, or the rhyme,
It's the voice.

That's what makes a poem,
That will stand the test of time.
If The Poet believes it,
Is that such a crime?

I don't often tell the truth
About what's inside me head
Though I lacked the skill in youth
I wished I'd end up dead.

All the voices deep inside
Echo throughout my brain
If the truth were not to hide
You may call me insane.

I used to be a smiley girl, happy all the time
Then you came into my world, and sold it for a dime.

Now I lie about my feelings, my thoughts, and all my pain
Because I was taught that I should never
Say what's going on inside my brain.

My mind rushes to the beat of the fastest drum
Unfortunately I'm afraid of what I have become.

Why do you cry?
Isn't this what you wanted?
To be all by yourself again?
No?
Then why did you push everyone away?

Why didn't you ask them to stay?

Stupid rabbit.

He doesn't want you to cling anymore.

Let him love other people.

Let him go.

"if you want to make it in the world
take your shot
aim high
hit the target
don't miss your shot holly"

I have missed my shot granddad.
if only you'd known who I really was.
you probably would've hated me,

You're speaking again.
I'm listening.
You're crying again.
I'm listening.
You're lying again.
I'm listening.
I'm still hoping.
I'm still trying.
Poor little Sunshine.
Not a clue what to do.
why.
words words words.

They're yelling again.
I'm listening.
They're hurting again.
I'm listening.
They're learning again.
I'm listening.
I'm praying.
Hoping.
Waiting.
words, words, words.

I'm hurting again.
who's listening?
I'm trying again.
who's listening?
I'm dying again.
who's listening?
who's watching, hoping, praying, waiting, trying, for me?

Words. Words. Words.

who is listening...

Thou shalt not lie

Yet we continue to hurt others with our words

Thou shalt not ******

Yet we continue to hurt others with our hands

Thou shalt not cheat

Yet we continue to hurt others with our actions

read the writing on the wall

the day will come

our kingdom will fall

fire and ashes rain from the sky

purest sould to heaven they fly

heaven and earth

they will collide

man and god

side by side

come one come all
to see the apathy
to witness tragedy
the fame and fortune
the game ends in june
the name died too soon

all those
olden titles
tales of the late
soft spoke mysteries
entitled histories
forgoten stories
because of you

burnt to the ground
yet your empire grew
you left behind a trail
how we never knew
your secrets spilt
your identites spew

gilded ashes
paved the way
you taught us to follw
not to stray
every command
every lie
we let it pass
let you get by

an unwritten song
never to be sung
your entire world
the peirced lung
your forgetting friends
youre forgotten

youre rotten.

When I was 14 years old, I went to a thrift shop with my best friend.
It wouldve been late September, early October.
We were talking about our futures, when he mentioned that he didnt know my favorite color.

I told him to guess.

He pondered for a bit and then picked up a pair of pretty yellow converse and shouts out "Yellow!"
He looked so happy, I just nodded and said yes.

I would wear those converse every single day for the next 6 months, they would see as I fell head over heels in love with him.

I stopped wearing them in 2025 after my first attempt of the year.



Yellow is my favorite color.

i saw bits of it in everything after that.
saw it everywhere.

eventually that friend and i would grow apart.
meet new people
stop talking entirely

i will be told that i was an awful person

yet... yellow remains my favorite color.

those shoes still sit in my closet.
a testament to my unspoken love.
i will wear them periodically for the next 5 years until they burn in a fire i caused.

until then

yellow will always be my favorite color.