Realization.
That I don’t belong,
here in the town
          with these people.

I used to dread the thought of leaving,
I used to not be able to let go.
But now,
I don’t care.
I’ll leave
          anyday
               anytime.

They won't care,
none of them will.
Maybe a “bye, I'll miss you”
       or a “come visit soon”
                here and there.

But soon I'll fade from their minds,
and they'll forget about me.
Like I was never even here.
But I don't care.

Realization.
Of how much
I hate this town
          and these people.

Realization.
That they don't care about me
                        never did
                        never will.

If I leave,
or if I stay.
So maybe I'll go,
        to Boston,
                or New York
                        or Tennessee
                                or even California.
                                                                        
    
                                                                  j.z.

If you’re happy,
then you're the lucky ones.

If you don’t think of death day after day,
then you're the lucky ones.

If you have someone that loves you back,
then you're the lucky ones.

If you can feel your heartbeat inside your chest,
then you're the lucky ones.

Because the rest of us,
we’re dead inside.

We’re the sad ones
and the lonely ones.

We're the ones
that cry ourselves to sleep at night.

We're the ones
that dread life day after day.

We're the ones that watch you,
jealous that you're not us.


                                    j.z.

i hate how i always
seem to forgot to
cherish every moment
when it occurs

i hate how i always
seem to forgot to
cherish every person
while i am loving them

so a year later,
when i look back
at those memories;
well, that's all these
places and people
become.

they become
**memories.

she yearns for freedom;
and craves to be liberated.
she wants to be released
like a bird, she says.
but i look at her
and whisper,
*even the birds are
chained to the sky.

it's unfortunate that i forgot
to put a fragile sign on my heart
because when i started to give it away
the receiver certainly did not
*handle with care

i am not in love,
nor am i out of love, just
stuck in the middle.

Check under the bed,
in the closet, on the floor,
in the garbage, through the window
and even out the door.

*I need to find myself.