dear young foolish little me,
when you join the first triumvirate,
it will seem like the most infinite, right thing to do.
you will be wrong.

it'll all start off with faint words,
bright smiles and silly things,
in the smallest yet largest of worlds.

but friend, you will find yourself,
on the other side of a fence,
you think you'll never cross.

yet the triumvirate will,
and i do mean will,
lead you down the road most steep and most taken,
until your old self has vanished entirely.

on this road you'll all leap into a lake,
a world much larger and daunting,
but you will quickly warm up to it.

you'll spend too much time worrying
over a silly piece of seaweed,
leaving only a duo to steer a boat for three.

soon they'll grow tired of your talk of seaweed.
the loud one will become silent;
the gentle will boldly curse your name.

the first triumvirate will not last.
and you will not fixate on this seaweed forever.
you will rediscover your old self,
renovated and broken all at once.

in fact, darling, you will eventually find yourself,
in a second triumvirate.
this like the last, in that there are three.
but unlike in that of course, this time it will last.

or so you think.

you will grow close with the young,
who finds the same seaweed just as fascinating.
the outspoken will speak out of hand,
and the triumvirate will be worn.

i am uncertain of the future of this second triumvirate.
oh future me, i am young, foolish, and little.
please,
will this triumvirate last?

please don't tell me,
that i should be my first priority,
when i am but one out of many,
and many are far more burdened than i.

please don't tell me,
that my comfort is of utmost importance,
when there are things far better than "comfortable,"
that lie far outside of my comfort zone.

and please don't tell me,
that no one could love me more than me,
and do not tell me,
that i can fix all my problems by myself,
that i am the solution to all my mistakes,
and that i am my own savior.

if all i have is me,
then i am hopeless,
and i am limited to failure.
don't lie to me.

on the contrary,
i have a Creator,
whose name has been shunned,
because no one wants to give credit where credit is due.

do not lie to me,
you only fool yourselves.
while you selfishly keep the glory,
He provides for you;
giving you all that you thought you had given yourself.

do not lie to me.
i know better.
and, for your own sake,
do not lie to yourself either.

"why are you upset?"
"i don't know i'm tired, i guess."
"then just turn it off."

somehow i got lost,
after a innumerable amount of
wrong turns and best-laid plans gone awry.

somehow i got lost, or...

have i always been here?
i can't tell,
i can't tell,
i can't tell anymore,
when all i can see is this cave,
engulfed in the all-too-familiar darkness.

the only exception is a stray bit of light,
reminding me of where they are.
it illuminates these desolate walls,
reminding me of where i will always be.

i have a box,
and nobody knows.
or maybe the box has me,
but as i've said,
nobody really knows.

it's really just fine;
they can't get in,
inside this box,
this makeshift home,
to which i've become accustomed,
but never comfortable.

it's really just fine;
i can't get out,
but maybe one day,
maybe i'll be okay with that.
after all, no one can get in.

i have a box,
and it's really just fine,
i've decorated the insides
with scribbles and tally marks.
besides, no one really knows,
no one can get inside.

i have a box,
and it's really just fine,
some days i forget it's even there...
well, some minutes,
but that's close enough to days,
so the tally marks aren't as many,
but they're still. there.

i have a box,
and it's really. just. fine.
it's got a little window,
so i can see outside the box,
but when will i get to
think. outside. this box.
no one can see in the window,
so it's really just fine.

no one can see in the window,
no one can get inside,
and no one even knows about it,
so, though I have this box,
it's really. just.  **fine.

I thought I knew love in first grade when a certain little second grader caught my attention and I caught his. I thought I knew love in fifth grade when I had a guy to call mine and play one on one basketball with. I thought I knew love in sixth grade when I developed a crush on my dorky best friend. I thought I knew it when, in eighth grade, I fell for a guy, then despite his rejection, became friends with him. Several times in ninth grade I thought I had it figured out, each time the same person, each time a different story. I thought I knew love when we went to homecoming together, when I spent months just staying his friend for his sake, when I was rejected once again by this friend of mine.

I thought I knew love, what it was. But love is none of those, not for me, anyways. Love was when, after all this, after I decided maybe love wasn't real, my heart showed me a friend of mine. Not attractive to society's standards, but who am I to judge when he has a heart of gold and the kind of personality that makes me want to be myself? Love is when you find someone you don't want to change yourself for. Instead you want to be your truest, most beautiful self, and, without ever realizing, they help you accomplish that.

That. That is love.

I began to love myself,
Foreign though it be.
But suddenly I've realized,
How much it means for me.

As I began to love myself,
I found it rather hard,
To love myself and realize,
How beautiful my flaws are.

As I went on loving myself,
I grew into it fast.
I started to put myself first,
Instead of always last.

I grew self-love and confidence,
And realized one day,
That as I loved myself,
I started loving others the same way.

As I began to love myself,
Foreign though it be,
I saw myself as beautiful,
And fell in love with me.

i think i have it figured out,
only to fail miserably.
but i still make progress,
failing less miserably each time.
a trial and error effort of sorts.
oh, each time,
i think i have it figured out,
that it's my time to succeed.
each time i fall short,
but each time i fall a little longer.
at some point,
i hope,
i will make it across the line,
and finally succeed.

it used to be enough,
with the ones in the past,
to simply daydream.
poetry made me miss them less;
i could look at a picture,
listen to a song,
then suddenly feel at ease.
but this time,
it is both a blessing and a curse,
that i have someone in my life,
whose presence cannot be replaced,
by a song, or a poem, or a daydream.
it is a blessing indeed,
but a curse when we're apart.

He looked at her,
As if she was the world.
Cliché, I know,
But it was the very truth.
He had never smiled wider,
He had never felt more alive,
Than when she let herself loose,
Let herself go.
Line after line, she sang.
Oh how beautiful her voice,
But it was incomparable to the beauty of her heart.
Anyone could see the love in his eyes,
As he watched her throw herself into it all,
As if she had not a single care.
Oh, yes.
She was the world to him.
And his eyes gave it all away.
It would be beautiful to anyone that saw.
But I was watching too.
His eyes gave it all away,
Oh, yes, they did,
And as he smiled, my heart sank.
I knew for a fact,
He would never look at me that way.
For she was the world.
And I was but a face.
And all I know,
Is I cannot face the world right now.

I would gladly shatter this glass.
Release me from this tension,
Take this weight off my heart.
Gladly smash it against a stone,
A wall, a brick, anything.
I must,
I must,
I must.
But my fingers,
My fingers, they're latched
Around this glass.
Oh, why must they taunt me?
I would gladly throw this glass;
Release my anger.
Watch it shatter, watch it break,
Into a million shards,
Of utter relief.
My hand holds it tight,
My arm as stiff as ever,
Clutching onto this glass,
This glass that will break me for sure.
Oh why can I not break this glass?
I must.
I must.
I can't.

First and foremost, the thing I am the most scared to say. I've always been hesitant to say this for fear that I'd be wrong but the fact is every day I get more and more sure of this. The more I live and breathe and smile the more I realize I love you. You have no idea how much courage it took me to write those three words down even though you may never see this. Truth is, when I met you I started developing a crush on you, but that just snowballed and every day I started falling more for you. I don't know what it was. It wasn't simply your outward beauty, though I admit you are a very handsome, very beautiful person. It might have been the way your voice sounds singing behind me in chapel in the mornings. It might be the little laugh you do when you're embarrassed or that gorgeous smile you always have on your face. Oh, my goodness, that smile gets me every time I swear. It might be your sweet, quiet, yet happy personality. Somehow you swept me off my feet when I had convinced myself that I wouldn't let anyone carry me away. But now it's 6 months from when I started having a crush on you and I am sitting here fairly certain that I am in love with you. And all my friends tell me that you like me too and sometimes I see it in your eyes, in that smile you get around me. Sometimes I hear it in your voice when you talk to me. But sometimes I can't find it anywhere. I can't tell anymore. My friends all thought they knew you would say yes when I asked you to snowball but you said you wanted to go with friends this time and that's cool. I get that but that night I cried for a good half hour. That's okay, I'm not upset now, but I just want to know what I am to you. What am I? Everyone's telling me that the two of us will date someday, not to give up but I'm lost. I'm in love with you and I can't really turn back now, but I feel as if im wasting my time. Soon I'll talk to you (maybe) and find out where we stand but for now I guess I'm stuck here daydreaming. If there's anything you take from this, and yes I know you're not reading this, it's that im crazy for you.

Is that so wrong?

snowflakes are all unique.
we all know that, don't we?
and we find it charming.

humans are all unique.
we all know that, don't we?
but i guess that's not the same thing...

trying to explain you, how you make me feel.
it's like trying to describe the entire universe in detail.
you have legitimate galaxies in those eyes.
i spent weeks trying to figure out what color they are.
i'm still not sure.
all i know is how they sparkle with the brilliance of the sun,
when you smile, when you do the things you love to do.
you smile far too often for an adolescent male,
not that i'm complaining.
what a wonderful mystery;
you sing clear and loud when others bite their tongue,
and even find joy in it.
it's kind of hard not to fall for you.
love at first sight was never real,
but it only took four months.
i swear i will try again and again,
to describe how you make me feel.
not because i can (because i know i cannot)
but because i must.
you, you're a breath of fresh air, did you know that?
but i can't hold my breath forever.
i must let you out, every word, every detail.
every letter.
what is it with you and music?
every song makes me think of you,
and yet when i'm with you, all i hear is music.
am i going mad?
if i am, i blame it on you.
your sweatshirts which make you instantly more attractive,
your little obsessions,
the things that make you smile
(oh goodness how can i not love something that makes you smile)
well, ***** it.
i could go on and on,
but no one wants to hear this piece of garbage i call poetry.
please don't ever read this.

World is up,
  I am down.
I am in,
Dirt surrounds.
I am
       falling,
             falling
                  down.
I am in,
The dirt surrounds.
Is it too late now,
Am I too far away?
Am I falling in love,
     Or
         into
              my
                  grave?

The ivy climbs high,
It reaches out-
Limitless.

Unashamedly,
Thriving off the life of its host,
Who is just as blind.

Lovers compare its growth,
To their emotions-
Limitless.

Irony.
What thrives so well,
Eventually kills its host,
Who is just as blind.

One who once meant nothing,
Could make or break me.

My vocabulary is miniscule,
As compared to how I feel.

Dearest Blue,
I know you may need time to recover, to think about what I said.
I understand your predicament, I think.
It came as a shock to your system, I'm sure.
And I don't blame you.
Have you responded? I don't know.
My phone has died, and I have since lost track of it.
But what I've said, I'll say again:

I like you. And I'm sorry.

Sincerely, Deni.

My heart is broken,
And gushing out,
But don't you worry.
For I wear a dark crimson shirt,
So I don't offend anyone,
With the blood stains.

When I fall,
I fall hard.

I trip often,
And fall easily.

Every crack in the sidewalk,
Is another cliff.

What can I say?
I'm clumsy as hell.

When I fall,
I fall hard.

I trip often,
And fall easily.

Yellow petals open wide,
Listen to my plea.
Here I stand, a dandelion.
They say I'm just a ****.

Maybe that's what I am.

They were green.
Not like any I'd ever seen.
With a few specks of gold from a mighty king's crown,
But rather down to earth with a slight shade of brown.
Sparkling as if they were their own galaxy,
Never such brilliance have I ever seen.
In summary, I would remark,
They were green,
And they were beautiful.

I think I've found a keeper.

His smile is bright and beautiful as any flower.
His laugh could make anyone laugh along with him,
Even more so with his sense of humor.
His eyes are as intricate and gorgeous as any cluster of stars.
His morals are as firm as any brick building,
And he is as chivalrous as any gentleman.

I could go on and on,
About all the beautiful things I know about him.
But something's still missing.

I don't know what he thinks of me.

Why should I?
I'm not going to take the time,
To make my poems rhyme.
When you won't give me the time of day.

Why do I think this way?
Constantly facing the worst,
So I automatically expect it.

Why do I react this way?
I automatically expect it,
But I still feel miserable every time.

Why do I do this to myself?
I feel miserable every time,
Yet I take the chance time after time.

I constantly face the worst,
So I automatically expect it.
But something inside me always says,
"This time will be different."

Frustration.

I must write,
But I cannot explain.

I must write,
But words are useless.

I must write,
But all attempts are futile.

A poet's true frustration:
I must write,
But I can't.