young hands picked dandelions
for their mothers and their fathers.
they pick, and pick, and pick
until a bouquet forms in their hands
because their family deserves
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

young hands tie together the dandelions
to form necklaces and rings,
to form crowns to go along with their bright kingdom,
because there are so many of them,
and because royalty must wear
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

young minds look up to their older cousin
with a crown of flowers and a bouquet held high,
but the older cousin is drowning,
and he has been dulled by the world,
so he throws down the bouquet,
and knocks off the crown.

and you'll cry,
because you wanted to give him
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

the cousin will take away part of your light
to break it to you that dandelions are not flowers;
they are weeds.

and forever after,
the world will be a little bit more dull,
and the yellow will seem less bright,
the smile on your face will shrink a bit more,
the twinkle in your eye will start to fade.

but maybe if you opened your mind again,
you could notice that dandelions are still beautiful.
refuse to let the world take the things you love
and ruin them.
remember that in your young mind,
you once believed that dandelions were
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

I keep throwing gasoline on my already burning problems.

I'm addicted to the pain.

Get a load of this monster
who doesn't know how to communicate.
His mind is in a different place,
will everybody please give him a little bit of space?

Get a load of this train wreck,
his hair's a mess and he doesn't know who he is yet,
But little do we know the stars
welcome him with open arms.



--lyrics

i've decided to come back
and write poems again

it used to hurt me before
like it was just a selfish cry for help

but i've come to realize
that poetry is medicine

and i've come to realize
that it's okay to be selfish

it's okay to heal

i love you
like a single mother that loves morning coffee

i love you
like an overweight kid that loves comfort food

i love you
like a dog that loves chocolate even though it's poison

i love you
like a depressed kid that loves the feeling of cold razor blades on warm skin

i love you
like an addict that loves the feeling of ****** flowing through their body

i love you
like an addiction

i love you
if love is the same as addiction

ever since you left my heart has felt empty
but somehow the nothingness weighs me down

it weighs me down to my bed and I can't get up in the morning
it weighs me down in my sleep when it corrupts my dreams

you didn't take anything
you just stained it

my heart isn't gone, it's just stained with your touch
it misses you every second
my music isn't gone, it's just stained with your absence,
it all reminds me of you.

my heart feels empty
yet I am so weighed down

when we text and call,
every single time I think that something has changed.
I feel full and free of stains

but the conversation inevitably ends,
and I realize
that I'm nothing more than a hobby

everyone loves things that they already know about

everything is better when it's from the past
    like the songs that you listened to years ago
everything is better when it's familiar
    like your favorite book on the shelf in your room
everyone seems better when you've known each other long
    like your friend that you've had since middle school

2. because new things can be scary

like going on a date for the first time
    and being heartbroken when they don't show up
like traveling alone for the first time
    and getting lost in the airport and missing your flight
like moving out of your parents house for the first time
    and spending the night alone for the first time

3. but sometimes the best things are the ones that we haven't experienced yet.

like hearing a new song song on the radio
    and realizing that you want to have it play at your wedding
like walking into a house for sale
    and realizing that it's the home you've always dreamed of
like talking to a person in a coffeehouse
    and realizing that they are the one missing from your life


;;everyone loves things they already know about because new things can be scary, but sometimes the best things are the ones that we haven't experienced yet.

Pour on the gasoline
and touch a match to my skin

I love the way it burns.

the old woman loves her husband so,
even though he hoards but pretends not to know.

the old woman cries quietly at night
because he refuses to listen, he'll only fight.

he'll hoard it all, the smallest of things,
all the while ignoring her cries and her screams,

he has a problem, but he'd never admit it
yet the old woman stands by his side in commitment

she misses her children, they'll never come to visit
because the hoarding is too much and has ruined it,

she wants to bond with her grand kids so much
but when she begs him he just puts up a fuss

she still won't leave him, she'd never think to,
because love is blind and it's too late to undo.

she cries every night and won't leave his side
so they ask her what's wrong, they ask why she hides,
but she won't say that her heart has ached for so long,
instead, that their marriage is going forty years strong.

she tries so hard to be perfect for him every day,
yet he refuses to help her by doing the same

and even though she still wants a "normal life,"
she'll never leave him or stop being his wife.

the sun has been hotter than ever
but some things can't be lightened
because the dark can be clever
and the dark can't be frightened

the sun has been beating down,
but no matter how hard it tries
the flowers still won't bloom
even when they're watered by the sun's cries

the sun is brighter than before
but parts of the world are still cold
so people will keep screaming for more
while the sun struggles to not fold

the sun shows its yellow every single day
but sometimes the sky will still turn black
so scream that the sun has failed, make it hear what you say
eventually the light will become an insomniac

the sun will be drained all of the time
but we'll all pretend that we do not see
after all, it has always been there, it must be fine
we'll make the sun a prisoner; never to be free

someone called my poems beautiful

they're anything but beautiful
these words that i write,
they are the swirling thoughts in my head turned to words and given life

i can assure you that there is no beauty in these thoughts;
it is a nightmare.

these poems that i write are not beautiful

they are painful
they sting
i cry when i write every single one
because nothing i write about is beautiful, is is flawed
it is pain

my poems are painful

i hurt for every single person who can relate to these poems
because you can relate to this pain

but just because you can relate poems that are painful
and just because you write poems that aren't beautiful
doesn't mean that you aren't beautiful

you may feel painful thoughts
but the most beautiful souls always do

so this isn't to say that i'm not beautiful
and that you're not beautiful
because we ARE
but sometimes we have to write about what isn't beautiful
to get it out
and let our beauty shine ever brighter than before

if that's even possible

i'm addicted to you

every second that we don't speak
i feel anxiety running through my veins
and i need you

that's a good thing
because being with you feels like heaven

but it's a bad thing
because every time that you are too busy
or every time you go online without opening my message
or every time you close your feelings away
it stings
and tears me
apart.

but i love you.

and i'll always love you.

is love the same as addiction?

I wake up with a blue heart
to survive in a yellow world
where everything is always moving
unlike my still feet.

and when I go into a coffee shop
or a school or the parks
I see people who are glowing.
they glow all kinds of colors.

beautiful colors,
like pink,
or purple,
or yellow,
or orange,
all of the brightest colors,
and I watch in awe
because right now,
my heart is only frozen blue.
the
dullest
blue.

so sometimes I stay in my mind
and end up going colorblind
and fall into my own black-blue world
because the colors become all too much.

under the stars the earth will break
and the reflections in the ocean will shatter

underneath our heaven, sins we will make
and so we'll never climb that moral latter

after some time the night will start to gray
and our summers will fade away

after some time the night will turn to gray
and my heart will begin to break

the night starts to gray
and the summer fades away

the night turns to gray
and my heart begins to break