Hey, I’m sure we all procrastinate at least some of the time. We all have something we should do, and then the things we want to do. And yet we choose easy over practical. Maybe because we’d rather listen to ourselves over others and that’s not a bad thing. But we forget that we aren’t the only ones living life.

So maybe we should stop wasting time and do something meaningful again. And sure, maybe the reason why you’re procrastinating is because you’re bored and I get that. But hey, it’s up to you what happens next. You could ignore me and this letter wouldn’t matter, and that’s okay. You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. Just don’t forget that you don’t have to stay in one spot forever. Take a walk or strike up a conversation, write a letter.

It might not be for you, but it helped me. So there, I’ve said my piece, now you decide what to do from here. I’ll just wait here. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere just yet. Thanks for finding my letter.

~Letter Writer

I wish people could hear music the same way I do. I almost feel bad that people can't tap into my brain and hear the musical pulled apart into sections.

Melody
Harmony
Each instrument going separately and yet all of the pieces coming together to create this...

Masterpiece.

I've tried to explain it to people.

And no matter how hard I try, nobody will ever truly understand it. And that's okay.

Living through my tragic life, and then talking about it to the point where I can't even defend myself.

It's killing me.
There's no point to standing up for yourself.
And no point in arguing ever if you're right.

Living my life, and then being sad about it.
Telling people who can't help me.

It's like being on a treadmill.

It's exhausting without going anywhere.

I want someone to love me as much as I want to love God.

And yet all I want is a day where I don't feel so alone here.

We are, according to society and this grand world that we live in: Nothing.

Compared to the greatest of Gods and vastness of universes, we are not even able to completely understand how we are not even the dust in the wind.

How we might matter so little to the world.
And at the same time, how little the world can matter to us.

But what about us?

What about us is so special?

Why do we fight for our legacy? Why do we try so hard that it hurts? Why do we care?

Well...

Why the hell not?

It is just so easy to disregard that as an answer?

Maybe the reason, we don't accept "why not?" as an answer it because it's so simple.

It is so easy to just say that something is because well.... it is!

But we overcomplicate that. We try to justify everything in its complexity and we find plot holes, or evidence of a crime, something to praise or blame for the answer to "Why?".

I stopped asking that question simply because there isn't a point to asking a question you already know the answer to.

So again, now that I know why we do things the way we do...
What is so special about us being like that?

I see you, you know.
I see everything.
I pay attention to the small things.
And I write about the details when you don't care to notice them yourself.

I do this in order to earn the title of "Poet" but I don't have the goods to back it up yet.

Yet...

I see you.
And I also see us.
I see the suffering that we go through, and try to make sense of it.
I see a car, and picture the destination.
I see a sign, and imagine the paint still drying.
I see myself, and I am left speechless at what could've happened to me, and what I was lucky enough to get, assuming that I got something good.

And I mean, that's true because I had you for a time.

Promises can be empty.
Friend circles can be full.
Text messages can be messy, but I can translate.
And my words will always make absolutely no sense.

You are everything.
And so am I.
We can not be insignificant, or overlooked if we are this present.

Your smile could probably build another universe where we aren't so small in comparison to everything.

And I will never overlook that.

Because every good thing about us is still true.
Why?
Like I told you, it exists... it is.

So... why not?

I picked out a funeral song back when I was still alive.

Of course I did all the preparations when I was alive. I still sang the song of my life long before I ended up here.

I still want a good song to "play me out".
So I picked "Save Rock And Roll" by Fall Out Boy to usher me into Elton John styled heaven white tuxedos and all.

But death is so simple. It happens and nobody can stop it. I don't need to plan my funeral when I know you can do it for me.

I would joke about writing your eulogy, like we expected you to go first. And we didn't back then. Back when I was still alive.

So now that I'm... here.
Pick the song for me.
I think you know which one would put me to rest.

Shout the eulogy at everyone, tell them how this wasn't supposed to happen, but it does. My family will be as sad as I was thinking about when they would end up here. But now they just watch.

And I guess I that's all I can do now.

I would've stayed up into the midnight hours for a conversation I cannot wish to have.

It is a forbidden thing to ask for conversations I am not allowed to even grasp.

I have seemed to love and lost but not lived.

Have I not suffered enough?

I am not even close to Shakespearean in voice or writing but I stand anyway.

When asked what time to you favour most, do I dare answer honestly?

I would've answered sometime in the midnight hours all those years ago.

And now, I would give anything for a night's rest for a fort night straight.

And yet, nothing comes of these times going by and by.

I do not dare say I love the night.

But rather say I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun...

A list of answers and facts for questions no one asked, or wanted to know the answers to:

I was told in by my high school social teacher that people who have green as their favourite colour were the smartest kind of people, and I thanked my brain for choosing that colour to love.

Despite loving green, I know deep down that red is not only the most attractive colour to wear, but my track team always won the race when we wore it. Superstition or not, red is deadly hot attractive.

When asked if I am religious, I will say "yes". When asked if I have doubted that religion, I will say "Of course". Notice how one answer sounds more certain than the other.

When asked if I am single, I don't hesitate to say that I live in Singletown, Population: Me.

I was once at a show with my mother. Me, wearing my snapback and sweater as we walk in. We're sharing a table with an older man. He says, "I should tell you that a professor told me that wearing your hat backwards lowers your IQ by 20 and that wearing it sideways lowers it by 30". So I said, "Well, I'm glad I don't wear my hat sideways."

I may be stupid, but my favourite colour is green, so do not cross me.

When asked if I wished I was in a relationship, I will say...

I will say that I used to know the answer to that when falling in love was more of a luxury than a tragedy.

I have shaved my head twice. And cutting my hair has just become the main "solution" to making my showers shorter.

When asked if I have questioned my sexuality, I will say "Who hasn't?" and I will also say "You are lucky you're getting an answer out of me."

When asked if I'm going to take the blue pill or the red pill, you know I'm gonna ask for the green pill instead. Because what is smarter than a green matrix pill?! In your face Neo, Morpheus doesn't need you anymore.

I really love and hate telling my story. It's not because I hate myself, or I'm going to cry, or I just really hate telling people everything. I mean, sure those are all true, but it's mostly because I don't want to hurt people.

Every poem I write slowly becomes a poem about her.

When asked about her, I say...
She took the red pill.

Hoping... it made her more attractive.

There will be days when I want to be alone more than I want your help.

Sometimes I won't even think I need you around. I won't want your help.

I don't do this to hurt you.
I know it does anyway.

Just..

Wait for me.
I'll come around when you aren't waiting on me.
Wait for me.

There will be days when the past and my depression will be taken out on you. And I won't be able to stop it. I'm sorry.

Lately I've been trying to avoid apologies. Mostly because I've heard too many of them over the months.

I've changed.
Accept it. Because it's fact.
I didn't want to change.
But what else was I supposed to do?
Losing one of you was bad enough.
And if you're not careful, you'll lose me.

So heed my advice.

Wait for me.
Don't ask me when I'll be there.

I know in another life I wouldn't tell you this.

But that was before everything changed.

I no longer feel guilty for leaving people to wait.
Only because other people don't feel remorse about what happened to me.

People left me to wait.
Wait for what?
Nothing.

People picked out and left.
Rightfully so.

So I leave people to wait...




See?
Until I feel guilty enough.
Until I feel the guilt that others couldn't feel for me.

I need expected them to.

You need to understand that I am a good person.
Despite what I will eventually say.

Despite what they will say...

I'm not a bad person.

At least, I hope not.

...Wait for me.
Please.

Listen to me old friend.

I'm going to go crazy, or have a panic attack very soon.

It's going to be violent.

And uncomfortable.

And I'm going to cry.

So please.

I am a coward who can only look back once and then break.

I don't expect you to talk to me ever again.

And I don't plan on this poem reaching you by any means.

But I would appreciate it if you thought about calling.

But you know what?

Maybe you won't, honestly, I'm never sure I'm worth your time because you never seem to show it.

You're a busy person, with a life and job.

I'm broke as all hell, unemployed, and the single worst person to break after a text message.

But I will be panicking or going crazy soon.

So yeah...

Just thought I'd let you know.

No one will ever know my perspective on this story.

Only because judgement is clouded by everyone's bias and opinions.

I never wanted to cause more pain.

But I wish I could erase all that broke these friendships.

I can't think
I can't sleep
I can't work
I don't talk
I don't eat
I listen to the same playlist
Over
And over

No one will ever know what really happened to us. Unless you call on everyone to give up the truth in exchange for consequence.

You know the saddest ******* thing I've heard?

A guy I know was holding his girlfriend while she was sick. Her sister asks if he's helping her.

He says...

"I'm no good at taking care of people."

You know what?

I'm not good at it either.

Nobody knows how sick it all makes me.
Or how sick I am.
So much pain caused by a few mistakes..

And nobody deserved to suffer for months.
Nobody needed to hurt for this long.

I'm drunk on my emotions again.

And as unapologetic as I could be... I'm not.

My life has changed. And I don't know if anyone will ever truly understand that.

So I am sorry.

But I've also spent the last 4 hours writing this disaster of a poem.
And yet...

I still feel empty.
Like everything was taken away from me.
Not taken by anyone or anything.

But just... gone.

Once again, learning to live alone.

Or maybe just learning to live at all.

So...

I guess this informal goodbye is all I can really offer.
Until I come back better.
Or until somebody reaches back with a clean slate, and an open mind.

I'm not as sad as I was about it all.
But it is pain I'd wish away if I could.

Don't go blaming anyone you see fit.
Just take this for what it is.

Time.
Time saved
Time apart
Time spent doing all the wrong things

Because at the end of it all...

This is still my life.

I have done nothing today.

Woke up at 2pm, ate food, took a 30 second bike ride and then ate some more.

And here I am, 2 hours and 4 1/2 bowls of soup later.

I thought I might as well eat well before I panic.

Here we go.

Letting go is another thing in life that just doesn't sit well with me.

But I get it.

And so I must swallow whatever pride I have left.

Only because people have been sent after me.

I didn't ever think I'd see the day when my once close friends decided to bash my reputation. And to be completely fair, not everybody came after me.

But the ones who did, really wanted me to have it.

But despite what I've done. I can find some relief in knowing that some of those people still think I'm decent.

And thank God I haven't done anything to some people. I try to be kind, and that gets me a decent reputation. But only one mistake can drive it right back into the ground.

After all of this. I just want an iced capp to numb the pain and to keep me awake.

And sure, this isn't ideal.

At all.

But it's my life.

Or at least...

It is now.

I've been told that people have forgotten what happened.

I've been told that word got around.

I've been told that hatred still exists here.

And you tell me not to be guilty.

But I look at them...

And feel nothing but the pain I cause them.

I know I'm no good.

I cannot believe that you say I'm a good person.

When seeing them does nothing but remind me of how I ruined it all.

I've said this so many times to so many different people.

I have been told this phrase by maybe 4 of those people.

2 of which for sure don't miss me anymore.

1 I'm not sure of, and the other does miss me.

But it was out of desperation, and bad decisions, so that one doesn't really count...

I miss you.
I miss you.


I miss you...

I'm so... so...

sorry.

I have saved a grand total of 3 lives... maybe.

2 lives probably.

1 life definitely.

I have saved the same life multiple times. Once from suffocation, once in a runaway situation.

I have saved myself numerous times. Twice from suicide... almost. And countless times over from personal trauma and pain.

I think I like pain too much. Yeah, I think I like pain a lot.
I think I like pain because it makes me feel human.

Because if I'm suffering, then the body is working, and if the body is working, nothing is wrong on the outside.

And by outside, I simply mean, the side that people ignore the easiest.

So when I get no reaction from anyone, it's okay. I know what it's like to get ******* over every day by everyone.

It's cool. No big deal.

I like weapons way too much, I like really cool blades and badass guns that for some reason are attached to electric guitars.

I'm a martial arts teacher. Which means that I am responsible for teaching young lives to survive until they are old lives.

I've never had to bare scars on my forearms. But I would like to bare tattoos... but only if you'll sign it with:

"Remember when I was here? Because I don't".

Hahaha... You're funny like that.

You seem to like knives too, you've made my back a knife block out of my back. You like to cook, don't you? Slice me up like one of your best works of art and I will scream how genius you are.

No.

There is no more room for me on a plate for you to serve up!

I...

I would constantly wash dishes after cooking in class. And I would always make sure I picked up some of your plates if I could because doing good things in secret was the closest I ever got to you.

And you went and replaced me with a seemingly nicer, shorter, pretty blonde who was everything that I was... but more

But it killed me that she wasn't me. Or maybe that I wasn't her.

Because she matters to you and that just cuts me up. One day I'll brandish a pocketknife with your name on it.

And every time I want to **** myself over what happened, I have to remember that no matter how many knives are in my back...

I have to keep this one in my pocket.

Wears "Beware of Dog" sign

I was built with an iron will and a weak soul.

I was made by the best, and built to take a hit.

You can tell I was made to be hit and not hit on.

Haha.

But despite the way I'm supposed to work...

I might as well malfunction now.

I just saw a bunch of pictures of people who I used to be friends with.

And I forgot how beautiful they all looked when they smiled.

It's been 9 months and counting.

And they still smile without me.

I would still apologize.
But I would ask why it was so easy for her to leave me.

I would ask...

Can't you just...

Stay?

Please...

Don't leave me.
Again.

I think it takes a special kind of broken to look in the mirror and stare into your reflection.

And when you look into your own eyes...

You know you're not there.

Shut up and listen to me.

I am, and always will be broken.
I've changed, everyone changes, that's life.
I am a cynical, overtired, crying mess and that is the most beautiful thing I can say about myself right now.

Classic, I know.

I can't love myself yet.
But I do not need to right now.

Let me feel this pain for what it is and let it drag me through the cement until I freeze in my despair.

I will come back when they drill me out of my shock.

But as for my presence, I left that at home.
And I left home with someone else, and someone else took home on a backpacking journey with "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey blasting through their senior year headphones.

I left home, and home left me, what is the difference? Can't you see I'm struggling to know where my home is.

I need to pick back up, and when I do home will come back to me.

Because shouldn't home be here?

Shouldn't I be here?

Home should be with me, I should be with me, I should BE, I should see the presence of God and be present in awe of that.

I should be home.

Home is with them, and they are not with me.

Home should be mine to have, and theirs to rent.

Home should be here.
Home is me.

Home is here.

HOME is HERE.

Home is here **** it.

HOME IS HERE!



Hip hop and punk rock played its way out of my playlist when they paid their last rent and left for a new house.

Home is empty.

The house is mine now.

Home is mine.
Home is me.

Home is here.

I see writing and suddenly my brothers’ poetry comes to mind, and I realize his writing is not poetry, it is tragedy. Something we both share but we will never talk about it, it is not something we want to talk about.

I see pictures I the polaroid I never took becomes to clear to me. This photo is the still shot I wish I could hold onto.

Every time I see my friends change their style, they become a new person while still retaining their old personality. I will take the time to remind them of how beautiful they are.

I wish there was more I could say...

If the name fits, then fine.

But if it doesn't, then what more can you really do?

As for me?

I named my sadness after I realized I've have it for so long I might as well name it.

So I named it "Hello."

No wonder I'm so bad at starting conversations.

I realized my happiness comes and goes so often that I might as well just say...

Goodbye.

And the name sticks.
At least until someone comes up to me with a "Hello" of their own.

And I will only say "Goodbye" when I know they're happy without my "Hello".

Tuck Everlasting


A musical that didn't exactly live up to its namesake.

Ironic isn't it?

As far as I know...

Pain is just that..

Everlasting.

Hey...

Yeah, okay I get it this is weird.
I'm talking to you from the past and you don't even exist yet.
So...

Needless to say, you will not be reading this for a long time.

Maybe this won't even make it to you.

But these words will hold anyway. They always do.

My dear son...

You will try to fight authority every day. And when you are young, that authority will be me. Whether it be toddler tantrums or hurtful words firing from your jaw, it will be directed at me until you are old enough to realize that when you stop fighting with me, I will teach you how to fight the correct way.

Yes my son, I do intend to teach you to fight.

I learned how to fight when I was 10, and I haven't stopped because you will learn how much I fought to bring you into the world.

And I don't mean the physical labour. But the guilt.
I've always wanted a son more than a daughter because I didn't want your possible sister to be too much like me.

But maybe you too will be so much like your mother.

My dear boy, take care of your sisters and brothers and maybe the dog if you bug me enough to buy one. Your smile should be enough to bring me joy, not because I might see myself or your father in your eyes, but I can see that you do indeed look with want, desire, and the utmost joy.

My son...

You are one of the only things in this world that I will be able to call solely mine, you are my blood, and you are my legacy, but you are my son so please, tell me anything.

Or tell me everything. Or tell me nothing, but show me everything.

Your dreams, your passions. I hope you get a job young, and learn to hate it. I also hope you get a job that you love but have to leave eventually.

My boy, not all things last forever. Learn this now before it is written on your skin like a tolerable tattoo that seems faded, but you always know what it says.

My son...

Treat your lover well.
I will come to protect you from everything, but love is a curse in its own league so be careful.

Be safe.

Do not resort to physical aggression against them EVER I have taught you better than to do such things.

You have only learnt to fight so that you never have to use it for such things.

Be smart, be kind, be gentle to your lover.

If they ever hurt you, or threaten to do such things, tell me and I will go **** them.

They say the best contraception back in the old days was fathers with shotguns.

But your mother is a lethal weapon unlike any other. Your father knows this well, it's one of the many reasons we found each other.

My son, love is a complicated thing. And if you find yourself alone at an older age, find someplace to store your love.

Whether it be your job, or a child. Be happy my son.

Of the many things I have to say to you...

I wish you happiness.

My son...


*My son

Big house, big family, big heart.

Something like that, I remember.

But clearly, I am the uncivilized person at the table as I hold out the salad bowl, asking for the main course.

All eyes turn to me as if I am foreign.

Now it is just a simple mistake. I won't make it a big deal.

But when you're as much of a perfectionist as I am...

You seem to hate these little things that get in your way.

Things that you just didn't do right the first time.

Being so hypercritical of myself just magnifies the things I do wrong.

So something as stupid as a salad bowl got under my skin.

I don't think I envy your family.

I don't even think I envy your lifestyle.

I won't call it rich, or comfortable.

I'll simply say that it's not mine.

And that is reason enough to not feel at home in it.

The night was long, and the conversations were longer.

My ultimate honestly always hanging around like a sad puppy.

And yet, I can't help but think of how you could be ashamed of me.
Or embarrassed by me. My ways, my habits, my lifestyle.

My awkwardness, my jokes, the things I do in default.

I wish I were a better spectacle to show off sometimes.

Although most days, I talk more about you than I do about myself.

Often talking to myself.

How sad is that?

To feel all of this in an instant at a supper table.

But there's no time to be sad.

Be a part of the conversation, don't faze out, act like it's all okay...

And pass the salt.

She's here.

And I love her.

But she's not my friend.

I've accepted that over and over.

I get it.

I got it.

I never had it.

To feel worthless in someone else's eyes is probably a feeling that cannot be shaken.

It is to be close to her..

And have nothing.

I'm not going to beat down on any religion.
That's a battle I don't need to be a part of.
Let alone, get on the wrong side of.

But here's the thing.

Something is very wrong with me.

What? I don't know.

It's not something under diagnosis or investigation, but it can **** as far as I can tell.

Long story short, I don't want to hear the good news.

We make it so easy to complain about nothing, and yet we stick to the things we hate.

Don't want homework?
Don't go to school.

Some people will take that advice, and most people will rebel against it and stick to school, because something will benefit surely...

Don't want to put up with the parents?
Leave home.

Don't want to feel pain?
Don't start feeling love.

Don't want someone to forget about you?
Become the worst possible version of yourself.

People can't seem to forget everything bad about the world.

Don't want to deal with the guilt of being a terrible person?
Then don't acknowledge anyone.

Don't want the pressure of being surrounded by people who hate you?
Then don't go anywhere.

You see none of these suggestions seem appealing at first.
But when you face this everyday, every answer comes out bland, and boring, cynical.

Like emotion you say them with.

Don't try.
Don't care.
Don't live.

It's too easy to give up!

But I do it anyway.

I can't handle hearing good news.

Or rather, hearing good things about myself.

Do not tell me I am better than this, I know I'm not.
Don't tell me I'm special, or that I'm redeemable, or worthy of anything above this.

Because I know...

I know deep down in this body there is a monster who's been uncaged before.

It's dying to get out...

And I'm dying to live.

Music is not a weapon I wield with such grace these days.

It's mostly a necessary thing I try to master in the comfort of my own room.

A new year, a new start. Or at least it seems that way. I don't really care to know where I'm going to start over in this new year.

My hands feel frail and coarse, like they've never gone swimming, or like they've always gone swimming.

I barely type with the swiftness I used to. My arms grow tired, and I grow just as tired. I am not myself these days, but these days are getting longer and longer.

I fear my death most nights.

Thanatophobia is a type of illness unlike insomnia, but similar no doubt.

Every day I wish you were here to hold my hand, but when I ask what will I do without you here, you tell me "I'm honestly going to be fine."

What part of that is fine anyway?

But you're right.

I shouldn't cling to you as much as I do.

I said before in a previous poem that I didn't want to scare you away while trying to be a friend.

I just hurt so often and pray so little.

Falling apart while you move away and yet, there is no safe haven for people like me.

But people like you seem to think the I'm okay.

And I wonder every day...

Why you think so.

Reasons to go:

-My low self image
-The people I've hurt
-I'm tired of fighting
-I'm tired of trying
-I'm tired
-I will never be what I was

Reasons to go on:

-Music
-Trying
-Waking up
-Redemption of any kind
-Being seen as someone...anyone

After a great catastrophe hits home, like a fire or a tornado, you search through the wreckage to find pieces that can still be saved.

If anything is salvageable, you might as well take it. This was your home after all.

Finding old pictures, supplies, things of sentimental value, anything that reminds you of home before it was destroyed.

So what if your home is built upon people?

When catastrophe strikes, people might run away, give up, and sometimes they die. Not always, but sometimes they will.

I was part of the wreckage of my home made of people.
But I was also the disaster that tore it down.

Leaving people in pain, with traumatic break downs, panic attacks, and a lesson in language only known as ******.

Nobody died.

People were saved. I know of three in particular who found each other and survived.

But it left two others broken apart, one confused, and one completely homeless.

And as for me...

I survived like the rest. But unlike most of them, I didn't recover.
They didn't bother to search through the damaged home to find me.
There was no monetary value to my life, no point, no sentimental value to them.

And I just lay there to this day.

And to the person I hurt most...

You know who you are...

You left me in that home, the one you invited me into and cared for me as if I was family and now...

I'm here.

Buried under the catastrophe.

And I'm sorry I tore the house down.

I'm sorry I wasn't worth going back to the house to find and salvage.

I'm sorry I wasn't worth saving.

The kid was killed by adulthood.

That's what they said.

But the reality is...

The kid is always killed by adulthood.

And I've been crying everyday for the past 4 days...

It's been a few days too long.

I have work to do, and nowhere to go.

The least I can do is take a shower.
Because I might as well look good.

Even if there's nothing good about me.

I wish I was in love.

I wish that a lot.

I wish most days that someone would love me.

But it all seems like so much to ask of a person.

To love a broken person like myself.

I won't bother giving reasons to love this empty shell of a body.

Most days I just want someone to hold.

Or perhaps... someone to hold me.

I think it is easier to love after pain has been brought upon you.

Because people will tell you that love can bring pain.

So if you have already experienced such pain...

It cannot be much harder to not only love, but to love someone with pain.


I wish so much that I would be swept away with the blissful thought of another in my head.

But such things do not come to the broken hearted.

Whether or not it's also over...


Is not up to me.

I can't tell you how much I miss you.

And I feel awful because you'll never miss me.

You broke my heart, and maybe it's my fault for not noticing sooner.

Or it's my fault that I let you do it.

I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, but I did.

And you didn't say anything but that you were able to excuse my character.

I guess I deserve that.

I'm not myself.

I don't like change.

I make no progress.

Self?


Self image?


Self worth?

What even are those things?