Tears on cheeks
And tears in cheeks.
Tears on the carpet
Some water,
Some blades.

That’s not accurate.
I don’t hate love.

I hate love poems.
And I hate myself
Because I keep on
Writing love poems.

I don’t want to.
I don’t try to.
But I still do.

But that doesn’t matter.
Not for this poem.
Is it a poem?
Stream of consciousness.

I hate love poems.
Predictable.
Cliche.
Worshipping.

Maybe that’s it.
The worship part.
That might be it.
I’m atheist you see.

But so often they,
Love poems,
Rely on description.
And they flop.

“Your eyes are the moon.
Full and bright.”
Give it a rest.
Don’t cop a bad description.
Especially when it’s overused.

Get some originality.
Don’t try to make us *****.
That’s not a good look
Even if you’re in love.

But I guess you aren’t me.
So you don’t have to listen.
But if you are,
Listening that is,
Please no.

If you’re gonna do it
Do it right.
Cause I bet you wouldn’t dare
To half *** your love effort.

You always say
“You sound tired.”
And I promise you
I’m not.

Then there’s times
I am.

"You gotta be cruel to be kind"

"I'd rather feel pain
Than nothing at all"

"Ballon man's telling me
To turn down please
And the psychic agrees
I begin to see that I'm home"

How do these songs get it so right
While we all flounder about
Trying to find the right words?

The only way to heal
Is through pain.
And pain is the only thing
That truly tells us that we are
Somehow
Still alive.

And pain tells us
That we are nearing death.

As backstage crew
I must argue
I’ve thoroughly examined you
And though this play’s not merely dead
It’s really most sincerely dead.

We’re off to **** this show up
This magically horrible play
Which is a major pain in the ***
For everybody involved.

Somewhere over the rainbow
This show’s good
But we’re stuck on this side of the rainbow so this show still *****.

Ha ha ha
** ** **
Maybe it’s not ****** up
That how we save this hellscape play
In the merry old land of oz

Somehow somehow
We didn’t all die
But we certainly came close
On every night

They talk rarely.
Only when they know.
THEY WILL BE HEARD.
In the quietest moments.
In the happiest moments.
In the most tense,
And the most relaxing.
But always,
THEY WILL BE HEARD.
They won't let me shut them out.
Won't let me drown them out.
They won't SHUT UP.
They keep screaming.
Keep whispering.
And I can't stop them.
THEY WILL BE HEARD.
Because they are me.
They are the voices in my head.
They are my curse.
And the curse will not end.

I'm afraid of silence.
Actually, genuinely afraid.
Because for me,
It isn't silent.

Tick tock
Tick tock
Don't let
The clock stop.

Ding ****
Ding ****
Time's up
You don't have long.

**** ****
**** ****
The church bells toll
They play YOUR song.

Breath sigh
Breath sigh
Someday soon
We all will die.

How better to describe
The vessel that is me?
I'm good at making pain
But what good's that to me?

An instability
Resides within my mind.
A fear of me by me
And fear of what I'll find.

But I can try to be
A kind and caring soul.
But I don't have a choice.
At some point I'll explode.

The me I know myself
Cannot stop what will come.
For I'm a ticking time bomb.
With no set time to blow.

A Disney princess fell from grace.
Or maybe it’s the truer tale.
Aurora Rose the sleeping queen
But this one never wants to sleep.
She’ll sneak outside and run about
And have the cops all chase her.
But that’s her choice which I respect
And maybe that will count a bit.

She made a promise not to cut.
So far she’s doing well for hours.
I think she’s scared of what’ll be.
Instead of cuts I’m pretty sure
She’s getting high some more. Much more.
If I could say I want her clean
I bet I would. But I’m scared now.

I’m trying not to lose a friend
Cause I don’t have enough to spare.
She loves the high, I don’t know if
She’s ever low and I don’t care.
The only meat she seems to like
Is long and hot, not in her mouth.

I hope she doesn’t lose control.
But that’s ironic. I’m the one
Who’d lose control but somehow she
Has found a way to love that part
Of me. I promised her a poem.
And now she has an ode to her.

Why are people so scared of you?
And why do they avoid you?
We don't know
Not what happens
Once you knock.
Why do you?
You probably know what you do.
You ruin so many lives.
Do you not care?
Or do you enjoy it?
Either way.
I'm not scared of you.

What the ****.
Seriously.
All this time
And you come up with us?
Papery
Weak
Vulnerable.
All we have is our brains.
And those don't even work.
At least not all the time.
So tell me.
What are you?
Are you the greatest gift?
Or the most terrible curse?

I keep trying.
And keep failing.
Something always
Keeps coming up.
That’s just my luck.
Maybe one day
I might succeed.
But not today.

Sure
I watch YouTube
I check Snapchat
I check HePo.

But what keeps me up the most
Late at night when I should be asleep
Is you.

Words
Are not worth.
We can teach a monkey
How to speak English.
But if it doesn’t understand
Then what is the worth?

This site
Celebrates popularity,
Celebrates good timing,
Celebrates words.
It is a reflection of our society.
But what if a person
With popularity,
With good timing,
With words
Has no meaning?
Why do we still celebrate them?

We come online,
And if you’re reading this
To Hello Poetry,
To escape the world.
But all we get
Is an amplification
With a filter.
20 people will read your poems.
Maybe two will like them.
But sometimes,
Because it is sometimes,
People will find something
And give your words to others.
And others.
And suddenly
You have a hundred,
Two hundred,
Three,
Four -

And then it stops.
You fade.
Back into obscurity.
Because people
Want popularity,
Want good timing,
Want words.

They could care less about meaning.

A while back
I posted a dream.
A car accident.
Today
I almost surprised myself.
I didn’t get in one.

The whole **** world
Decided to be against me.
Just me.
Just for a couple hours.
You know what?
That *****.
Especially when you struggle
When the world isn’t against you.

But I’m not dead.
Yet.
I don’t know
If that’s good or bad.

But I know I’m worse.