we may not be the most obvious expressionists,
for we keep our special pen and papers,
folders,
diaries hidden from the world,
and once we enter our secret world,
that's when we fully open up to our paper,
and the  pen becomes a reflection of our hearts,
the thoughts impregnating our minds,
falls like waterfalls onto our paper,
our pen becomes a existing object in our lives,
we create him as our best friend,
lover,
as he writes down all our desires,
secrets,
feelings we hide in our hearts, to afraid to tell anyone what goes on in our head.

i didn't know you quite well
i just knew you hated
yourself
and loved disney films
and musicials

(i hate musicials and disney)

we sat at the same lunch table
2013
i remember your cotton sleeve
wiping across the corner of my left eye
because there was a storm brewing in them
and it flooded

you talked of
that boys don't know
better
and told me to stay
strong

how can someone who is not strong themselves
encourage me to do something
that they can't even triumph

you fell ill around december
or was it november?
i can't remember.
you almost followed the footsteps
of your lost nephews (two and five)
why couldn't you absorb your nutrition?
was your destiny to see the mortician?

(no.)

but you left the hilly suburbs of ohio
to go where the sand storms
and the palm trees sway
and the salty bays lay.

alex, alexandria
(defender of man)
i still remember those sleepless green eyes
filled with defeat and woe
and yards of wavy tangled brown hair
that flowed.

I sat

in the dark.

Into the corner,

cowered.

Shaken, trembled.

Tears danced and slid,

into the creases of my face.

The tears had that salty aroma and tang,

that reminded me when you squeezed lemon slices

in my eyes and poured salt over the pus.

I didn’t mind then and I still don’t.

My eyes weren’t as red then.

I wasn't alone then.

It has been 309 days since last Christmas. 309.  On Christmas eve, you sent me a message and wished I would be in your bed when you woke. I replied, and I wished that you'd be under my tree. On the 25th day of December, you wished me a Merry Christmas and and asked me if I had forgotten how tall you were (I had not seen you in over a year), there was no way you would fit under my tree, and signed it with an 'x'. I laughed and told you that you could try anyway. 7 days after christmas, the 1st of January, you wished I was with you and kissed no one at midnight and I thought, oh my god maybe this time things will work out. Maybe this time you'll be mine. And in between trips to your favourite spots, the sand underneath our feet, constant messages, photos, mornings in your arms, funnily enough, you were. Mine. Though it was never in the ways I wished you were, you still were. And then you weren't. Messages were ignored, I didn't understand what you wanted, you didn't understand what I wanted and suddenly 6 months passed without seeing your face. There are 55 days until Christmas, 54 until Christmas eve and this year, you'll wake up with her in your bed or maybe you'll make do and crouch under her tree and you'll kiss her when the clock strikes 12 on the 1st of January and I will wish that you were here and **** the time for changing who you were to me and who I was to you.

She cries late
                  every night
     Turns off all the
                           lights
         Sits in bed
bawls
             her eyes out
      in the dark
Cutting out pieces
      of her heart
No one can see
                          the scars
           of her sewing
back up her chest
       Soon she will be
             an empty shell
        Hopefully
                    putting her soul to rest
If her heart
                    is no longer there
It can't get broken,
              right?
If no one can see
                          the tears
Then she never cried,
                     right?

Not so much of a poem as just a quick thank you.
To all of you who have read and shown such love and support.

This past week I have had my passion reignited for writing and poetry.
No rhyme or verse, nor any thing else that I can conceive of. can show the smallest portion of gratitude I have for everyone here!

Hopefully, I can in some way repay a bit of the kindness that I've gotten from you.

Much love and caring,

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