it feels like,
life
is of 3 three things.
You get hurt,
and they walk away fine.
they get hurt,
and you walk away guilty.
or occasionally,
not common.
and rarely to ever happen,
you both,
walk away forcefully
knowing that you both have torn each other's heart
apart.
knowing that you truly want to be together,
but it's not worth It.
and now you both, are hurting.

you
not the flower but
the bee kissing
rosebuds, making
living things
bloom

you
no sunrise on
mountains but
the sun
herself, every
flame burning fierce
sploding gainst
the sky

you
not an ocean but
a stream softly
babbling
and rescuing
us,
the lonely
the lost

you
not forever
but tragically
temporary
and every
moment
you are here
i will be
what i am -
the pollen,
the planets,
the wanderer,
the poet -
dedicated to
loving
you

My teacher once asked “ What’s your definition of anxiety?”
Everyone around me raised their hand and I
I... lowered my head.
I wanted to raise my hand but anxiety told me not to
It told me not to because the popular girl in the front of the class
Surrounded by all her friends
Might laugh at a loser like me
I’m not a loser but anxiety makes me feel like i lose
In any situation that I’m in
So that makes me.. a loser.
Anxiety is me struggling to fit in all the places
I know i’ll never fit in at.
It’s me putting on my skin tight jeans with my converse
Because that’s what all the other girls are wearing.
Anxiety is me crying at 3 in the morning because the kid
I like won’t talk to me, even though I’ve never spoke to him.
I’ve never spoke to him because every time I walk up to him
My anxiety throws a rope around me and pulls me back
Saying you are not good enough for him
And I start to wonder if I am even good enough for myself.
Anxiety makes me wonder if i’ll ever be capable of loving someone
Because I can’t love myself the way I need to be loved.
And that makes me scared to love.
I deleted this poem 5 times because my anxiety told me
No one would read it.
“Anxiety is like a toddler.
It never stops talking and it
Always tell you, you’re wrong.
And it wakes you up at 3 a.m”
That is my definition of anxiety.

Will you love me when I'm 80
When I walk and talk real slow?
Will you love my wrinkles
If I let them show?
Will you hold me every night
And kiss me in the morning light?
And when I see my last sunrise
Will you hold me when I die?