Did I fall for you the first time you said,
‘I love you’?
No, no, it was definitely before that.
Was it that time when you made
That corny joke, and your
Goofy grin made my day?
No, no, it was even before that.
Was it the time when you found me in the
Empty hallway, and brushed your
Fingers through my hair and told me
Everything would be alright?
No, it was still before that.
Was it the time that you told me about
Your struggling family,
And you looked me directly in the eyes and
I saw your firm resolve and your
Willingness to initiate change?
No, it wasn’t even then.
I fell in love with you when I was awake at 4
In the morning and I thought the whole world
Could hear me sobbing and I called you,
And you answered.
Maybe that makes me seem weak, but
I just wanted to tell you
When I f
                  e
                       l
                           l
                               .

Why do I write?
It’s not because I enjoy the
Pen on the paper, the faint
Smell of ink on my hands or
The sound of a page being torn
From a notebook.
It’s not because my fingers feel at
Home on the keyboard,
Because the clacking of the letters comforts me,
Or because the sight of a blank Google Doc
Excites me.
It’s not even because writing makes
Me happy, or that I find particular
Joy in it, inspiring me to release
My thoughts into the world.
No.
It’s because these thoughts are
Lions pacing in their cage,
Growling under their breath,
Wanting to be let out; no,
Needing to be released and free to
Roam wild, and not be restrained by
Any human contraption.
Same with my words; they refuse to
Stay trapped in my head, they must
Come out somehow.
It’s a need.
Why do I write?
You might as well ask,
Why do I breathe?

I'm human.
I'm extremely selfish, saying things I don't really mean,
And not saying the things that I mean.
I'm not observant, and I don't know how
To make people happy, how to fit into society,
And how to show my love to those I care about most.
I'm often grumpy, out of sorts, and sad,
Not finding happiness in things everyone else finds happiness in.
What can I say?
I'm human.
I can say what I want to through writing,
And use my written words to express myself.
I have enormous love and compassion,
And finding ways to show it will be a learning experience
I can have throughout my life.
Even though I can be sad, I also have a
Tremendous ability to be happy, joyful, and
To do things that fulfill that happiness.
What can I say?
I'm a beautiful human.

Every year visits to grandparents occur,
And the grandkids have “grown so much,”
And they need to “put bricks on their heads”.
Every year the family is updated about
The sports and the activities,
The good dates and the not-so-good dates
Of the previous year,
The births and baptisms,
The deaths and funerals.
Every year we endure the
Sometimes awkward, always long conversations
With the friends we see just once a year,
Maybe less, and every year we seem
To get further and further apart,
And the conversations are shorter,
Maybe even just a “Hey”, and you
Wonder why we can’t talk to these people anymore.
Why do people so close to us in heart become
So much more hard to communicate with in person?
Is it technology, fooling us into thinking
That we are connected to each other, when really
We don’t know each other at all?
Is it time, slowly eroding our years of
Memories and similarities, leaving us
Longing for the “good old days” instead
Of embracing the new ones?
Is the problem simply us;
Are we not willing to create new memories,
Go through the stresses of trying to forge
A new relationship when distance
Becomes an issue?
Maybe that is the problem.
Yet no one is willing to fix it,
So every year is the same.
I’ll probably be writing a poem about this
Next year.

Mom, I’m not addicted to my phone.
I simply need that connection I have with
My friends, the ones who I don’t get to talk to
Often, that have all but disappeared from
My life, but I can still see them on the screen.
Mom, I’m not addicted to my phone.
I like to read stories and poems,
Browse the Internet’s fanfiction,
Write my own works, and receive feedback
From friends and critics alike.
Mom, I’m not addicted to my phone.
I just worry about the people I care about,
Wanting to know where they are
And what they are doing;
Not unlike the protective nature you have with me.
Mom, I’m not addicted to my phone.
Sometimes, I just need to check the time.

What is important to you in this life?
Who would you go to the ends of the earth for,
Never say no to,
Always be willing to help them in any struggle?
Are they able to be helped?
Are they willing to accept your advice and
Assistance, or are they stubborn and prideful?
Do they simply not want your help because
Someone else has a better offer?
If they are like this, why do you still persist
In your attempts to understand them,
Encourage them, and lead them to where
You think is best for them?
If this is your case, I believe you have the answer
To the most challenging question of all;
What is love?

In the sand,
We met each other,
And names exchanged between friends
Turned into faces with personalities,
Characteristics, and ambitions.
In the sand,
We played together,
Building homes out of sand,
Pouring our heart and soul
Into the project,
And each other.
In the sand,
We walked together,
Side by side, hand in hand.
Bright sunsets become a backdrop to
Meaningful talks, important words,
And shared smiles.
In the sand,
We partied together,
The firepit blazing under the stars,
Music blaring and friends dancing,
Their forms basking in the fire’s glow.
In the sand,
We argued,
And harsh words were hurled,
Not unlike the terrible stinging sensation
Sand creates when trapped in your eye.
In the sand,
We parted ways,
Under the same sunset backdrop,
And I watched your footprints
Fade away.
In the sand,
I lay there lonely,
Babies crying and mothers yelling
All around me, with me trying to
Fathom the reasons why you left me.
In the sand,
Like a loyal leatherback sea turtle,
We came back to our beach, and
With tears in your eyes and
Sand in your hair, you apologized.
In the sand,
You apologized for your selfishness,
The way you jumped to conclusions,
And you confessed that you had never,
Ever forgotten me and our beach.
A year later, in the sand,
You went down on one knee,
And after saying yes, I thanked God above
That I had fallen in love with you
In the sand.

You don’t know my mind,
My thoughts, my reasoning
Behind my actions.
What to you may seem selfish
Or simply eccentric,
Is what I need to do
To function, to continue
Breathing without hyperventilating,
Completely breaking down.
So please be patient.
You don’t know what I’m going through.

Please do not judge my well being
By my physical pain.
My mind endures more daily
Than my body could endure
In thousands of lifetimes.

Please do not let society deceive you.
Father’s Day is not just for
The strong, the brave,
And the handsome fathers.
It’s not just for the grill masters, the family men,
And the ones who have mastered a car’s engine.
Father’s Day is also for the single dads,
Struggling to make ends meet,
Who find themselves crying at 3 am because
They don’t think they’re good enough.
Father’s Day is for the dads who are
Away from their children, fighting tooth and nail
For their country, not knowing whether
They will ever return home.
Father’s Day is for the stay-at-home dads,
Who don’t help support the family financially,
But enjoy all the small moments of
Their childrens’ upbringing.
Father’s Day is not just for
The strong, the brave,
And the handsome fathers.
Father’s Day is for all dads and father figures.
Please do not let society deceive you.

You do not know how
Attached you are to something
Until it is gone.

Every tear I’ve cried,
Every complaint I’ve uttered,
Every cry of pain I’ve screamed,
You’ve been there.
I’ve laid my heart bare to you,
Always open, available, vulnerable.
I’ve given you my all, 24/7,
And yet what do I have in return?
A mauled and maimed heart,
Torn apart from exposure to the world,
To you.
Yet I can’t find a way to shut my heart,
My nature won’t allow it.
I will always give away before I take.
I’m always open.

It’s okay.
It’s okay that you constantly
Ignore me, never text me,
Purposely refuse to answer my phone calls.
It’s okay that I spend my nights in tears,
Trying to fathom your motives,
Never finding solace in sleep.
It’s okay that you never listen to me
When I speak, that you always
Cancel our plans,
That you don’t seem to care about me
Anymore.
It’s okay.
I guess I was never good enough.

I'm more than my perfectly curled hair,
My flawless skin, my beautiful nails and
Model-perfect outfits.
I'm more than my big chest, my skinny waistline,
My perfectly toned legs and my adorable feet.
I'm more than someone's pet, a pawn in someone's
Twisted game of chess,
A prize to be won, or a piece of garbage to be disposed of.
I'm more than my body, does anyone realize that?
That I'm smart and kind and funny and independent,
And that I have more talents than simply putting on makeup?
Is society that messed up to think that
You must either be smart or beautiful, kind or pretty?
I'm asking you, pleading you, to think of me as
More than something to stare at.
Because I know
I'm more.

I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I hear your laughter in my mind,
The clear ringing of your happiness,
And I just want to hear it again,
Mingled with my own.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I see your smile under my eyelids,
Your body curled up on the couch
In my favorite red sweatshirt,
Your gorgeous blue eyes gazing at my own.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
I feel your arms around me,
The gentle rhythm of your breathing,
Your soft hair brushing my cheek,
And your heart beating within you, just for me.
I shouldn't write after 10 pm
Because after 10 pm,
Every happy or sad thought
Is traced back to you;
You are constantly on my mind,
But after the world turns off and the darkness comes on,
I can see you so much more clearly,
And my ache is renewed.
Please, someone stop me from writing after 10 pm.
I don't want this pain.

You have to go through the storm
Before you can see the rainbow.
Please stay and experience the rainbow with me.
Don't ever let anyone make you think
That you can't make it through the storm.

Because of you,
I’ve been at my lowest of lows,
My darkest places,
My 2 am’s with flowing tears.
Because of you,
I’ve been at my highest of highs,
My brightest places,
My 2 pm’s dancing in the rain, mocking my tears.
Because of you,
I’ve been on the edge of a cliff,
So high that there would be no going back;
Luring me to a terrible, rocky place.
Because of you,
I’ve flown off the cliff,
Soaring on the wings of an eagle,
Never to come down to that rocky place.
Because of you,
I’ve experienced the most terrible
Emotions I’ve ever experienced,
The most harmful, toxic, poisonous times.
Because of you,
I’ve experienced the best
Emotions I’ve ever experienced,
The most beautiful, wonderful, complex.
I guess what I’m trying to say is
Thank you.
Thank you for showing me the
Highs and lows,
The desperation and the freedom,
The horror and the joy.
I am what I am
Because of you.

Our relationship will always be battered;
Yet it will never, ever be shattered.
We always know each other’s woes;
And help the other vanquish their foes.

Neither of us know where this will take us,
But we both know that this will make us
Ever hold fast in this truth;
The sweetest of loves we love in our youth.

And this love will endure through all life’s demands,
And at the end of the day we will hold each other’s hands,
And wonder anew where this will take us;
This, our relationship.

Are you staying,
Or are you going?
And if you’re going,
How do I make you stay?
Would it make a difference if
I told you how I felt about you,
Told you that I’ve loved you
From the moment I met you?
If I told you how much
I miss you when you’re gone,
How you’re the last thing
On my mind at night,
And the first thing I think of when I wake?
If I told you how when I see you in a dream,
And begin to tell you how much
I care about you, the dream fades,
And I’m left with tear stains on my pillow?
Because if you stay,
I will love you with everything I have,
If you stay,
I will always be there for you,
If you stay,
I will have everything my heart has ever wanted,
But all of this will only happen,
If you stay.

We started in seventh grade,
When our ancient, grumpy teacher
That no one liked decided to give
Our second hour science class
Assigned seats.
By some great happening of fate,
I was placed next to you,
The loud, obnoxious prankster,
And I, the quiet, shy nerd.
The class at first was torture,
Yet soon became my haven.
A+ lab partners we were,
And soon A+ friends.
Though outside the classroom,
We were nothing.
We had our own friends, our own lives;
Until sophomore year, when you
Caught me coming out of the library,
John Milton in my hand.
Words were said, promises were made,
And the next day I had your hand in mine,
And we were something.
Two weeks later, under the light of trillions of stars,
On the top of the car you “borrowed”
From your strict father,
You kissed me, slowly, tenderly, lovingly,
And I felt true happiness for the first time.
On graduation day,
You caught my graduate cap,
The sun rays making beautiful patterns
On your tan face, and wavy hazel hair,
But you spun around and gave it right back to me,
To leave me for a college in California,
Thousands of miles away, away from everything
You’ve ever known.
And loved.
I tried to get over you, I really did,
But my mind circled the same tracks,
Went over the same ruts,
And I always came back to seventh grade,
When that cranky teacher gave us our
Assigned seats.
I blamed him, thinking that those
Assigned seats were the beginning of
My broken heart.
It wasn’t until four years later,
That I saw you in a library,
Hiding in the shelves, peeking through
The bookends you moved yourself,
That I realized that those feelings never left.
You had come back for me,
And those bean bags in the kids’ section
Of the library became our new assigned seats.
One day, about a year later, you didn’t take your seat;
You went down on your knee instead.
The wedding was casual, yet beautiful, as you said
I was in my light blue dress and beaming smile.
Our seventh grade science teacher sat in the front row;
The seat we assigned to him.
A week later, he went to the seat that
God assigned him, and we were back in that church,
And this time I was in a black dress and crying.
Years passed, and suddenly I found myself
In front of a classroom of my own,
Assigning seats to my own seventh graders.
The quiet, shy nerd shot me a desperate look
As I set her books down by the loud, obnoxious prankster.
I saw my own fear reflected in
Her eyes, and I simply smiled calmly at her.
Maybe some day she will be as
Happy as I was that I was given my
Assigned seat.

I think it’s funny that
After faking your emotions
For so long, you lose track
Of what’s real and what’s not.
When you’ve been pretending to be happy
For so long, and suddenly
Those feelings become real,
Who are you to know?
Why shouldn’t the feelings
Be just another act that
Your brain hasn’t caught on to yet,
But that your heart remembers
Word for word.
Sometimes when you fake it
Till you make it, and you make it,
You don’t even believe your emotions.
But even though
It’s okay to not be okay,
It’s also okay to be okay.
Remember that.

I have so many ideas swirling through my
Head, I never know which ones to write
Down, which ones to commit to memory,
Which ones to care for like my child.
So many of my thoughts I abort, and
For different reasons.  
Maybe this idea will slowly corrupt my mind,
Maybe it will harm someone else.  
Maybe it will be worthless in time,
Maybe it is already too old.
Yet what should I do with these
Thoughts I’ve aborted?
Just because I’ve discarded them,
Doesn’t mean they’re entirely forgotten.
Does a mother ever forget an aborted child?
Does she forget the feeling of the child in her womb,
The raging hormones, the night of conception?
Of course not.
My ideas are the same,
Still there in the back of my mind,
Wanting to be alive,
Breathing, Functioning.
If you had an idea that would stop
World hunger, create world peace,
Find the cure to cancer, or
Stop humans from harming the earth,
Would you **** it?
Then why would you do the same to
A child who could have those ideas?

Dividing zero
By any number will still
Leave you with zero.

If you have no love
To begin with, nothing can
Force it to appear.

Dividing zero
By any number will still
Leave you with zero.

In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the old raggety rocker,
The one that always tips back too far
And my heart skips a beat as I
Secretly enjoy the thrill.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the mounds of old recipes on
The counter, yellowing with age, being
Ripped from ancient editions of
House and Home magazines.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the constant pleasant aroma of
Cookies, chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin
And snickerdoodle, the presence of cookie
Jars that are quickly ransacked by us.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There is the collection of teapots on
The shelf, the daily weather forecast that
Grandpa writes out every day on the table,
The forest of palms and tiger lilies in the center.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
Time seems to stand still, and everything
Is perfect, familiar, right.
Even when the room itself doesn’t belong to
Her anymore, it will always be to me
Grandma’s kitchen.

I’m sorry I can’t sleep,
That I spend my nights in constant agony,
Closing my eyes and trying to stay calm
But never finding rest within my mind.
I’m sorry I always have a headache,
That I have a constant pain behind
My eyelids, a torture that plagues my temples
And unmercifully spirals around my head.
I’m sorry I have to fake my way through
Every day, smiling and laughing while
The constant fatigue drains at my soul,
Tempting me to snap at everyone.
I’m sorry I frequently wake up in tears,
Fully convinced that the terrors of the night
Are real and tangible, and even though they aren’t,
I know they’ll come back night after night.
I’m sorry I’m too scared to tell anyone
What I’m going through, too worried
That they will think I’m weak, or stupid,
Or that I’m lying to gain attention.
I’m sorry I apologize for everything,
That I am paranoid, worried sick about
All the wrong I’ve done, and all the
Wrong my mind leads me to believe I’ve done.
I’m sorry.

Monday was the day of preparations
That were never made, the day of panicking,
Scrambling for a handhold when
The rocks are falling around your head.

Tuesday was the deep breath,
The calming mantra in your mind
That controls the panic from the previous day,
Steeling yourself for another week.

Wednesday was the day of realizations,
That all the things you planned to do
Are going swiftly going down the drain,
Evaporating into the recesses of your mind.

Thursday was the day of hanging on,
Struggling against a severe landslide
Of cares and worries, desperate to make it
To the top of the cliff.

Friday was the day of relief and triumph,
The relaxing of your brain muscles that
Signals the mountain peak, the end of the struggle,
The final step towards complete contentment.

The week was finally over, the war finally won,
And you realize that you must muster
Enough strength to do this again and again,
That the week is not for the weak.

The title is the declaration,
The beginning of the confrontation.
Strong and brave words,
Yet disguising a hidden meaning.
The opening stanza is the explanation,
Describing in fact and logic
How and why we feel,
Yet disguising the feelings themselves.
The middle of the poem is the emotion,
Grasping towards the heart of the soul,
Exploring what makes us human,
Yet not providing a satisfying ending.
The final stanza is the end of the argument,
The dramatic finish where you turn on your
Heel and walk away, leaving your foe
With nothing but a look of astonishment.
Yet sometimes, The Poet may not
Complete the task in real life.  
Our victories must be written out,
Preserved in ink or on a hard drive,
Because The Poet doesn’t have enough courage
Without his words by his side.
Yet that is the way of The Poet.

I love you but I
Cannot do all of the things
You want me to do.

So many people talk about the
Light at the end of the tunnel.
But they don’t talk about
What comes after that.
They don’t talk about how
The light blinds you when you get too close,
How it completely swallows you, and
How you’re left confused and bewildered afterwards.
No one tells you that change can hurt you,
Internally- the worst way-
Turning your whole world upside down.
No one talks about how the
Light at the end of the tunnel can also be
The light of an oncoming train.

Happiness is
Sunlight shining in on an unmade bed,
The smell of pancakes wafting through
The house, the sound of the morning
Program being emitted from the vintage radio.
Happiness is
Sneaking out at night,
Feeling the warmth of a midnight breeze
And the alluring freedom it brings on its wing.
Happiness is
Cuddling up with your favorite pet,
Thunder crashing and lightning flashing outside,
Hearing the torrents of rain against the window,
Eccentric yet familiar at the same time.
Happiness is
Ending the day with a home-cooked meal,
When the comforting fragrance hits you
Before you open the door,
And you can still smell it as you fall
Into a deep sleep.
Happiness is
Sharing earbuds with the
Love of your life, connected not only through
Words, notes, and rhythms, but
Knowing you have a deeper connection
Of body, heart, and soul.
Yet happiness is also
The triumph of surviving another night
In the hospital,
The relief after hearing long awaited
Good news,
The contentment of the sun finally rising
On another day.
When the night seems long,
Finding happiness in the little things
Encourages the sun to rise.
Because it will.
It will.

Every fiber of my body
Trembles with every breath,
Threatening to slip into sleep
With every blink.
The fatigue fills my body like
Air fills a balloon
And I think I’m about to pop.
Every little thing sends bolts
Of pain through my body,
Yet my brain doesn’t fully
Comprehend it, my mind a
Foggy haze that simply wants
To stop.
It wants everything to stop.
The thinking, the pain, the exhaustion.
Another night,
Another day,
Another night,
Another day,
A never-ending cycle of
Never being fully awake or fully asleep.
Insomnia.

Concern, not worry,
There was fear, but not panic,
Feeling, but not love.

“I love you,” you say,
But I hear,
“I’m just lusting after you.”
“I need you,” you say,
But I hear,
“I'm just keeping you around
Until someone else better comes.”
“You're beautiful,” you say,
But I hear,
“You're fake, you're nothing
Underneath all that makeup.”
“You're talented,” you say.
But I hear,
“I'm just trying to humor you
And make you feel better about yourself.”
No matter what you say,
Or how you say it,
I refuse to believe that I mean
Something to somebody.
I've been hurt too many times,
Been told I'm ugly,
Stupid,
Crazy,
Depressed.
All life has told me is that I'm
Worthless,
And I will never deserve anyone.
I'm sorry.
I'm just never enough.

Dear Winter,
I’m sorry I have to steal your glory,
Steal your brilliance,
And steal your snow, year after year.
I think your glory, brilliance, and snow
Are awe-inspiring, but not everyone thinks so.
I hope you will not be mad at me for my
Colorful, blossoming flowers,
Infantile green buds,
And timidly shining sun.
I am certainly not mad at you for your
Frigid, billowing winds,
Unmerciful blizzards and hailstorms,
And brilliant snow displays in the early morning.
I want to remind you that every season has another season
That steals its throne,
And I just happen to be that season for you.
Please accept this, my sincere apology.
Your fellow season, Spring

I’m sprawled on the couch,
The neon pink stuffed giraffe you gave me
Getting crushed in my strong, anxious grip.
14 hours with no text from you, but
I shouldn’t be worried, there’s a
Perfectly logical explanation for this.
Your phone died and you lost your charger, or
Your mother took your phone as a
Punishment for something, something as simple as
Not making your bed or not doing your homework,
Yet not knowing that she’s punishing me too.
Because I want this to be normal, a simple case of
A disobedient teenager.
But you’re not normal,
And I love you despite that.
No.
I love you because of that.
The last time you didn’t answer me,
You were having a panic attack, your worst one yet,
And you accumulated more prescriptions for your
Anxiety and depression,
More medications, more unreliable solutions to make
The real terrors disappear temporarily.
Then there was the time that your parents divorced,
And you wouldn’t speak to anyone for a week,
And you lost twenty pounds and gained five years,
And everyone who loved you, including me, was worried sick.
The worst was while we were talking on the phone,
And suddenly you cut out and wouldn’t answer
Anything I sent you, and later I learned that you
Tried to take your own life.
Suddenly, I leap up from the couch,
I can’t take it anymore, and march towards the door,
Needing to know.
Yet before I get there, it swings open on its own,
And suddenly you’re standing there,
Wearing my old, baggy sweatshirt,
Your hair in a frazzled mess,
But your cheeks glowing rosy with life.
Throwing my arms around you,
Squeezing you until you grunt in amusement,
I cry, “What happened?  Where were you?”
Pulling me back, putting your hands on my shoulders,
Gazing directly at me with tears in your beautiful hazel eyes,
You whisper, “I tried to leave this world again.  But then
I remembered my last text to you.  I promised
I would never leave you.  And I intend to keep my promise.
Forever.”

You’re my moon,
The light that shines during my darkest times.
Your kisses are the stars,
Enveloping me,
Comforting me,
When I’m out in the night
And I’m wondering why.
You orbit me, never leaving,
And I will never fully understand
What makes you stay.
Some invisible force,
Yet it must be strong,
Keeping you here when I feel I don’t belong,
When I’m sad and broken,
Just staring up at the sky,
Feeling your stars.
You’re my moon.

9:30 pm
You texted me you loved me,
That you’d never leave me,
And I answered back
With the same.

10:30 pm
I sent a you a cute picture,
Of two cats cuddling,
And I said it was us.
No answer.

11:30 pm
I sent you an inside joke,
Hoping you would look at your phone
And laugh and smile your amazing smile.
No answer.

12:30 am
I found myself in the shower,
Fighting an anxiety attack,
Maybe I’m stupid to worry, but there was
No answer.

1:30 am
I told you I was going to bed,
That I was going to try to sleep.
Even to my good night text, there was
No answer.

4:30 am
I’m still awake, I can’t sleep,
Wondering where you are, if something’s wrong.
I know I shouldn’t worry, but there was
No answer.

9:30 am
No good morning text from you,
So I send you one instead,
Hoping you will respond and there won’t be
No answer.

11:30 am
Still no answer, my frazzled mind thinking
You’re in the hospital somewhere,
And that I heard your last words a long time ago, because
There was no text.

I’m strapped to a table,
An old, wooden table, where
I can feel the peeling wood digging
Into my back, causing me tangible pain.
The ropes wrap around my whole body,
Constricting my chest and cutting into my arms,
Making it almost impossible to move or even breathe.
I hear a long low buzz, almost imperceptible.
After a short pause, it starts again, louder.
I can’t find its source, as the space I’m in is
Pitch black, an enveloping, smothering darkness
That almost suffocates me in its desire to conceal.
The buzz comes again, louder still, and I feel a
Pounding in my head, as the sound waves travel through
My brain, disturbing it, sending wave after wave of pain.
A sort of sadness seeps through me with each wave, and
Soon I begin to see shapes and shadows, forming a
Realistic picture in my mind’s eye.
Every bad, sad, disgusting, angry, intolerable memory
That I possess is being relieved, with each buzz,
Another memory, another sadness, another heartbreak.
Before long, the buzz hacks into my future thoughts,
Showing me the worst possible outcomes to future situations.
Death.  Destruction.  Chaos.  Evil.  Heartbreak.  Discord.
I squirm on the table, trying in vain to escape,
The ropes wrapping tighter around me, as if they know,
As if they know I’m struggling, that with every memory wave
I’m losing more and more of myself, more and more
Of my good memories as the buzz increases in magnitude.
My mind is imploding, the torment is so great, I feel like
I won’t survive another wave.  That’s when the soft
Laugh comes at me from the shadows.
A cool breeze blows across my right ear, and a
Whisper of a chuckle reaches me, immobilizing me,
Making me stay still in pure and utter terror.
A cold, calculating shiver runs down my spine, and I realize
There is no escape from the confines of my mind.

My first love
Came to me at a young age.
I was lost, and inexperienced
In the ways of the world.

My first love
Came to me when I was
Lacking the things I needed,
And all of a sudden I was provided for.

My first love
Came to me powerfully.
I felt complete and whole;
With him I was content.

My first love
Gave me a warm feeling
In the pit of my stomach,
Similar to butterflies.

My first love
That will always preside all others,
That nobody will ever replace, is
FOOD.

Was the foundation not good enough,
The make-up not strong enough,
To hide what I’d been going through?
Were the bruises too large,
The cuts too deep,
To ever possibly conceal?
Was my mask of happiness too thin,
My cheerful voice too fake,
To convince them of my stability?
I knew it was all for naught,
Yet I hoped I could stay strong.
I knew nothing would protect me,
From this world where I don’t belong.
Their accusing looks, their quiet gasps,
Were enough to tell me what their hearts contained.
I’m broken, imperfect, and selfish;
And they knew.

My fingers flit over the keys,
Possessed by a mind of their own.
The smooth plastic of the letters,
The small bumps on F and J,
The overused comma key,
All are alive.
The laptop understands me, it’s an
Extension of my fingers.
Without trying, my thoughts flow,
Gracefully, effortlessly, tirelessly, they flow.
The harsh light of the screen produces an
Almost alien-like glow, shrouding my face
In unnatural radiance, leaving it flushed.
Yet the darkness of the room is all around me,
The stillness of my surroundings haunts me.
I am the only thing alive,
The only thing still awake at this ghastly hour.
I know if I shut down, turn off the glow,
I will be left alone in this gloominess.
The computer makes me feel wanted,
Secure, safe, protected.
I must get my words out, I must tell the world
What I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, what I am.
Before the world turns to darkness...

Weak and sensitive and delicate and fragile.  
I’m weak, the skimpy walls I’ve built around my mind
Are easily destroyed, never enough.
I’m sensitive, any little jolt or knock sending waves of
Hurt straight to my soul.
I’m delicate, a priceless China doll that can hardly be
Moved from the shelf for fear of irreparable cracks.
I’m fragile, needing someone to carress my heart, not allowing Anything to seep inside and break me.
But I’m supposed to be strong.
I’m supposed to have indestructible walls,
Tough skin,
An invincible, courageous presence,
Everything I need within myself.
But I don’t.
I just don’t.
Yet I lie daily to preserve this invincible image,
This confidence,
This strength.
And society believes it,
They welcome my transparent strength,
Seeing it as opaque,
Because they don’t want to deal with what is
Underneath.

Your stomach coils and knots,
Your hands wringing in your lap.
Will they have missed you as much as you missed them?
Will they remember the fun times you had together?
Your palms start to visibly sweat,
Your entire body heat rising.
Will they actually be back?
Will they have changed?
Your heart pounds,
Your breathing quickens
As the hands of the clock tick,
And you wonder whether they will be
Gone forever.

With you,
I was often on the
Verge of tears.
Your thoughtless words,
Your stubbornness,
Your never ending rants.
With you,
I was often on the
Verge of anger.
My thoughtless words,
My stubbornness,
My never ending rants.
With you,
I was often on the
Verge of fear.
The fear of you leaving me,
The fear of you finding another,
The fear of you hurting me.
Yet through all the
Tears, and the
Anger, and the
Fears;
I was also on the verge of something else.
I was on the verge of happiness.

2018.
Loads of knowledge, literally at our fingertips,
Yet no one knows what to do with it.
We don’t want the billions of videos,
Facts, and pictures that are available to us.
As a human race,
We are craving something more.
We crave sunny days,
Gentle fingers through our hair,
Adorable newborn puppies running for the first time.
We crave a cozy family movie night,
Tucking obedient children into bed,
Sending them off to school the next morning with no worries.
We crave the fulfillment that our favorite meal brings,
The joy of spending a day with friends,
The comfort of a good night’s sleep.
Because the simple and everyday things
Are the ones we can never have.

I have experienced a lot of things in this world,
Maybe even more than I want to.
I’ve felt the sorrow of losing a friend,
The inevitable grief when you realize
You’ll never hear them talk again.
I’ve felt the sun on my back,
The wind in my face,
And the soft, tender pressure of your hand in mine.
I’ve felt the clock tick slowly,
Night after night,
The pressure of sleep that hasn’t come
Attacking my head like a battering ram.
I’ve felt a lover’s kiss,
The warm hug of a friend,
And a mother’s comfort through tears.
But why?
Why have I experienced all this,
Why was this made known to me?
For what purpose am I here,
Experiencing these things?
I guess I’ll know when the experience is over.

I keep on messing up,
I can’t seem to do anything right.
I don’t even have to fess up,
The truth does not hide.
I’m trying so hard,
Why do the wrong words roll off my tongue?
They are just sitting in my mouth,
Waiting,
Lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike
And emerge, at the worst moment,
The moment when no matter what else is
In my mouth, they cannot be erased.
Sometimes my mind thinks these things,
And I feel guilty, increasingly guilty,
Every day the same.
I can’t keep my feelings bottled up inside,
Feelings that I shouldn’t be feeling in the first place.
My effort, my intensity, my enthusiasm is there,
But I can’t complete the task.  
My mindless words hurt,
Hurt those I care about most.
In my head, I know I shouldn’t say it,
But in my head it doesn’t sound as bad.
I know this is all in my head, I know
Everything will be okay, that my words,
Though not totally erased, will be forgotten, forgiven.
But I’ll say them again,
I know I will.
They’re just lying in wait, and that’s the truth.
That’s the truth.

I (don’t) miss you.
I miss your cute good morning texts,
Holding your hand in the hallway,
Sneaking kisses between classes.
But I don’t miss you.
I (don’t) need you.
I need your comfort after a nightmare,
Your strong arms when I’m upset,
Your loving words whispered in my ear.
But I don’t need you.
I (don’t) want you.
I want your cheeky smile,
Your gorgeous body,
Your easy laugh.
But I don’t want you.
I want your love and affections,
I want someone to deeply care about me,
But I don’t love you.
I (don’t) love you.

My mind keeps spinning,
My heart is breaking,
My thoughts are circling,
And I can’t seem to find any relief.
I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way,
That all the things that are happening to me
Are not that bad, and I shouldn’t worry.
Yet I do, and I can’t stop, and
I know that’s unhealthy,
But I have an overreacting tendency
That’s so natural.
My mind naturally runs in circles,
Like a computer program that is set
To only one function that cannot be
Overrun.
This overreaction is slowly killing me,
From the inside out.
I’m cold, I’m hot,
I’m hungry, I can’t stand to look at food,
I’m okay, and then I’m not.
I’m not okay.

She doesn't know why she feels this way.
Why she rides a roller coaster
Every time she looks at him.
Why she feels butterflies
Whenever he smiles.
She doesn't know why
She stays up at night,
Thinking about his smile, his laugh.
She doesn't know why
All her dreams include him.
She does know that
He doesn't feel the same way.
He doesn't talk to her,
Completely ignores her,
Doesn't even know she exists.
Can this be called love?
Can the feelings be real?
She knows she will have to move on,
She has to get over these feelings;
If they were even real in the first place.