I am lost in the pursuit of poetry, every precious line stamped out by the fear of feeling too much.
I am lost in the persecution of myself, constantly battling the struggle within
The lack of a voice where my own should be.
The struggle with silence in my head and the emptiness in my hands where yours should be, or a pen at the least.
I never thought the road to my dreams would be this lonely.
A little wobble here, a stumble there, waiting for a familiar tug to guide me.
The same tug that brought me you… the greatest thing I almost have.
I suppose I will pick myself back up as I’m used too.
I’ll reach inwards instead of out to steady my traitorous feet.
If I trip at least I know my empty hands will catch me.
I’ll save the pen for softer ground and compose symphonies in the silence of my clouded mind.
And I will walk alone until you can be completely free to make the journey with me.

They’ve always told me the truth,
But I have mastered lying to myself
Like memorizing the insides of my
Eyes, I refuse to really see you.

They said you may miss me
But only for my toxicity.
They said I can’t always have what I want.
They said it’s time to move on.

But all I know is that I am sad.
No poetic metaphor to describe
the ache I feel.
I know I miss my best friend
And for some reason the wound won’t heal.

They told me the truth.
They said what I already knew.
That I need to let you go.
That I’m either ridiculously stubborn, a ******
Or probably both.

The truth is, I’ve learned to live without you,
And I know I don’t want to.
But I suppose it’s time I do.

Pretty words are just words, it’s actions that truly hurt.
But then again I was never good at listening.
I want to say I miss you,
But it’s not quite that...
It’s more images if your karma, and plotting my crazy revenge,
But then again I was never very good at pretending.
I want to say I’m surprised...
But it’s not that either.
It’s more accepting that I was just too much for you and that you weren’t enough for me.
But, then again in the scheme of things, we weren’t really much of anything.
You see, pretty words are just pretty words
That you had the bad habit of repeating.
But, then again I was naive enough to believe,
But, since when do words mean much of anything to ME?
I know the truth to my words will dull the dagger.
Eventually, the stab will scab and scar over.
But you will realize that pretty words won’t dull the regret
Of knowing that you will be just another number
On the list of boys who can’t forget.

You said you wouldn’t retrace your steps
but here I am breathless.
You told me I was special,
That you understood,
But sweet nothings mean nothing.
Forget what mamma said.
There is good in everyone,
But only for the right price.
Boy did I pay the price
Of puzzled parts of my soul
Little pieces I gave without knowing,
Like strands of my hair
If you find them give them back,
Give everything back,
Because the space you neglected to ask for
Has filled with fury and disgust
Trust tossed in with all the accounts you blocked.
One moment soul-sharing the next ghosting.
And that’s what’s best?
Grow up. Grow up. Grow up.
Thank you for showing me my worth and insignificance,
But mostly for reminding me who not to love.

When I am weak, I look to Bronte to bring me home.
When I feel empty I look to Plath to make me whole,
Because no man, no degree, no job will fill me with the power and joy words bring.
No physical thing can bring me more to my knees
Than a blank journal providing endless possibilities printed on hand-pressed paper,
or a book written before language was frivolous,
whose pages speak truths I didn’t know existed,
Brimmed with riddles most people can’t decipher
But to me they are the stars that comfort my age old soul
They are the reaching hand that pulls me back
When I am dancing the edge and my tears tip me over
When the bough breaks and the cradle comes crashing down,
When the only person I want to see pulls the wool over my eyes
I will return to the only savior I have seen
The only thing that will never betray, break or bait me.
The only true love I have known.
Poetry

He is the rain on my wings making me feel heavy.
I try to shake him and fly away
But I like the cool cage that surrounds me.
He weighs my heart down.
Slow, like the passing of the moon.
Temperamental as the tides
Busy as afternoon.
I ache for him like an addiction,
A feeling I never thought I needed.
He is the pump in my artificial heart,
He is the brace on my knee,
Always there to steady me.
He is the cast I wish I could take off,
But he and I both know how I break so easily.
How I bend and sway
Constantly tripping over my own feet
Sputtering words I meant to say poetically
Only to find he wasn’t even listening.
But eye rolling isn’t easy to see
half way across the country.
He couldn’t read the signs
Even if I painted them across my naked body.
Now I’m left to shake the drops off,
Missing him like the toy my child’s heart never forgot.

I pour myself into any love that comes along.
Absorbing myself into them like a flower
Stretching up to meet the sun.
Good mornings soak up the dawn
of new beginnings and could be's
I stand in the daylight of so close and approaching almost
Lying in the twilight and finally opening my eyes,
Listening to the cricket’s song, sad and lonely but finding my way to where I belong.
Where do I belong?
Not in bottomless reflections praying for the buzz of your attention
No… no, not playing wars of who can pin whom
but sentences of simply me and you
I'll swallow the words of my youth
Place my hand on that book and speak nothing but the truth
Remember what I loved before I felt desire
Because our fire will always die
You know I can't convince my heart to lie.
Instead of grasping for your thoughts I'll reach for a pen
And remember who is left standing beside me and what this has always been.