never break my heart,
because I will take every piece
you so harshly left
and stab your mind
with poems and prose
and you will no longer
be just a person
who came and went,
you will turn into
destruction and paper thin
apologies that you will never rid of.
I will turn you into paper cuts
barely there, but painful nonetheless,
reminding you every time you
attempt to wash away your regrets.

Do not break a writers heart, they will find beauty in your destruction and never, ever let you forget it.

I told myself when I write
everything I do will somehow be unique
but I've started 20 poems off this way
and ended them 20 different ways.
I would throw my sanity out the window
for just some peace of mind
and a mind you wouldn't mind
reading on top of mountains
and in front of millions.
But my sanity is what is needed most-
so take my hands and tie them to a typewriter
because this is my sanity
and a piece of my mind.

I have a way with words
and I have grown accustomed
to clinging onto metaphors
and reading way too into your lips
because they tell me things
your mouth does not have the guts to confess.
In my world, words are a blessing and a curse
and I've spent so long biting my tongue
that i'm not sure I even have one left.
So I apologize if my words are like swords
and pierce your heart like a fatal blow to the chest
But I am trying my best.

Years have been spent
hiding how I feel
So I promised myself
I wouldn't hide in dark corners
or cover my mouth with regret
I would speak with my truth
in a tone that only genuine ears
could comprehend.
So I let the words pour out my lips
unaltered and honest.
and I'm not sure if that is satisfying,
or my biggest regret.

How do I escape
when the negativity
nooses circumstance around my neck
and ties it to my every insecurity.
It’s like my surroundings feed
off of what I hate the most-
I am constantly barraged
by resentment for the people I should love
and I read too much into things
that I should let go.
But how do I change what
i’ve spent most of my life
chained to?

The walls that surround me
are more like a cage
where negativity and sorrow
collide, crash and then burn
holes in my way of thinking.

Positivity is hard to come by
when every step you take
is like a drive-by shooting
you somehow planned
for the sole intent
of making your life hang
on the edge of a chair
waiting for the death row pardon.

Death wishes don’t come often for most-
but in the dead of the night
when I am alone and weeping
over the spilt milk I have slipped
and broke my backbone on,
I realize they come too often for me.

When the night whispers softly
into your subconscious
reminding you of all the things
you wish you didn’t remember,
curl up with your favorite pillow
grasp your bulletproof vest
of a good book into your
sin stained fingertips
and remember,
the night never wins,
because eventually
it must turn into dawn.

my blood boils over the edge as every word
that spills from your lips is volcanic ash piercing my skin
and how is one supposed to stay calm
when my life has been spent bottling up
way more than I can hold,
this routine is getting old.
I can't take the constant trembling of my upper lip
and quivering of my limbs
I'm not too sure how long I can hold this in.
I take two steps back and inhale deep
but it's still not enough to help me
rid of these demons that won't let me sleep.
Every ******* waking moment
is spent fighting a war I didn't sign up for.
I was involuntarily shipped out
to surroundings unknown and places unseen
in my mind is only chaos and blatant disorder.
So **** the fact I can't think clear enough
to jot down the words exploding from my mind,
but I have a right to explode...
I have kept my cool for far too long.
My mental stability will be revolutionized,
I have the right to do so.

every word out of my mouth, to you
is like I’m breaking a bone beneath your wings
but you are not the angel that you seem.
every step I seem to muster up the courage to take
apparently isn’t in the right direction.
It feels as if everything I do is in front of a jury
but to you, my face is stained with sin
and no matter what, I am guilty.
I’m tired of being a dart board
for your pent up aggression
or a punching bag for your bottled emotions.
I will not apologize for being myself,
you have made me feel inadequate for far too long.
Every word you speak is a lash in my direction
and you wonder why I shy away from your presence.
You speak to me as if I am death ready to drown you
kicking my thoughts into the ground
one backhanded comment at a time.
There’s nothing I can do to make you change,
even if the tides of fate swarmed over you
holding the sands of time above your head
you’d still tell me, something along the lines of
"I wish you were dead."
Peace of mind doesn’t come often
for me it never seems to appear at all.
One day you will fall from the high horse
you have sat yourself upon and you will break.
then, only then, you will see,
chastising my every move, was your biggest mistake.

I wanted to write a poem
but the tips of my fingers
froze on impact and touched nothing
but the memories you left on my skin.
My mind was tainted by the scars
left behind from the prison that is my mind.
I am kind hearted and gentle
but the tragedy that is life
feeds off my mentality
like the waves feed off the wind
And I can't help but feel like
i'm drowning in the chaos
that has invaded my mind
So I turn cold and emotionless.

The soft kisses from your resin stained lips
are the only bliss I have ever known.
Your kind words and gentle nature
the only love i've ever been shown.
Writers remorse is rekindled with tragedy
so what am I supposed to write
when the remorse turns to rebellion
and my heart's fire ignites with a passion
I never knew I possessed.
Nevertheless, I am content
so how are my fingers
going to consent to writing solemnly
when I don't think I have it in me.
I am happy,
and as a writer
that will be the death of me.

I was never taught what to do
in a circumstance where
age was just a number
but I didn't know any better.
I knew not about sexuality
only polly pockets and barbies.
I was only seven.
But somehow that circumstance
was uncircumcised
and he made me realize
dolls are just pretend
but this world,
this world is real
and it will steal your words
leave you with wounds
and take your sanity
in just one dark cold night.
I didn't know it wasn't okay-
I had thought this was normal
and every kid my age was like this.
But I knew something was off
when the generosity stopped
and the guilt started.  
It was then I realized
this isn't something I will grow out of
this has become a part of who I am.
I'm not sure if this scar will ever fade
but not a day goes by where I wish
I had done something to stop it.
I was young and naive
and longing for attention.
Somehow I was subject to the wrong kind
Where there should have been love
there was lust
where there should have been affirmation
there were bruises.
So maybe I just wanted someone to notice
I wasn't okay
It wasn't okay

But I still hold this inside me
latched onto my subconscious
like a virus
sickening the only sense of mentality I have left.
No one knows the secrets I hold
and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
Though from time to time
I am reminded of his face
barraged by his presence
I somehow keep it together
because in my mind
I am living
and he is just a ghost.
Although, I wasn't okay,
although, It wasn't okay.
I will be, okay.