why are sad poems
easier to write than
happy ones

*(a.m.c.)

you, my dear, are absolutely insane
dreadfully bold and clicking your heels,
waltzing through struggle and skating on water.
your madness is alluring,
your strength terrifying.
you taste like wine and smell like thunder
i think you most certainly grew wings
last summer
         because
                you're
                      soaring.

*(a.m.c.)

my mom told me once
that i built up a wall around my heart
but what she doesn't know is
the great wall of china was built inside my rib cage
and there's a house with weeds growing on brick
inside of me.

*(a.m.c.)

i am my own worst critic
writing rave reviews that no one will read
about my imperfections
and my failures.
i am salt and gamma rays and cancer cells,
downgrading and shredding myself
like paper.
using my nails as sandpaper,
i scrape until i'm clean
until the filth i feel around my heart
has eroded.
yesterday i gave myself two out of five stars,
the day before that only one.
when will i grasp that i am five thousand golden stars
i am ocean and cloud and mist,
mountains to explore and skies to fly.
i am a created individual
a masterpiece in a beautiful museum.
i belong on the king's chair
and on the farthest side of the moon.

*(a.m.c.)

when boys with rotten souls
tell you that they love you over a text message
five different times
you're going to feel used
and you're going to realize
you were only a drug to them,
something else to give them a toxic high.
become toxic to them,
do everything you can to distance yourself;
scratch, claw, bite, and chew yourself
out of their lasso around your neck
and do not look back
at their watery grave they dug for themselves
in the ocean among your lungs.
the saltwater behind your eyes
doesn't need to fall for broken love
and it doesn't need to fall for broken bones,
only let your tears escape
when you see a sunrise
because it's so beautiful that words
can't even express the emotions you feel
and the nostalgia of the time you watched the sun rise
with your best friend and a bottle of *****
in your hand.

*(a.m.c.)

You move closer to me like we're two tectonic plates
But I am Antarctica; frozen and endlessly distancing myself from you
And the sun.
You are Africa; cracked and sweltering
We are so far apart and you think you can understand me;
You can't read me like the atlas on your bookshelf;
There are no roadmaps to understand my brain.

*(a.m.c.)

sometimes pain is easier than vulnerability;
than weakness.
it's easier to pour alcohol into your open wounds
than to allow someone to stitch you up,
anesthetized.

*(a.m.c.)