You're one out of seven billion.
That means there's about 6,999,999,999 other people
perfectly capable of taking your place.

You're seven billion out of one in my head.
And for some reason I am completely
incapable of getting a grip on anything else.

It’s funny I even address you as Q. I never knew you as Q. I knew you as Quentin H. At least, that’s the name I associated with you in Elementary school. We went to the same Elementary School for seven years. We talked every now and then; however, we weren't exactly best friends. You passed away on my sixteenth birthday. From now on when I hear your name the first thing that will come to my mind is ‘oh that’s the boy I grew up with that drowned on my birthday.’ And deep down I know that’s wrong to think but I cannot help from thinking that.
Whenever I heard your name before today I thought of something different. It was just a normal day in early elementary. I believe it was second or first grade. For all I know it could have been third. It doesn't matter. We were young. That’s all that matters.
You asked me if I could open your soda bottle. Me believing I had a chance to prove how strong I was took the challenge eagerly not noticing that you had shook it under the table before handing it over. I opened it and in a matter of seconds I was completely covered in sticky soda. My outfit ruined, and my lunch ruined. You laughed and I cried.
Me being the responsible child I tattled on you and you got a slap on the wrist while I had to eat a cheese sandwich. Keep in mind I despise cheese. It was by far the worst lunch of my life.
Until Today.
I had just found out you had passed and I didn't eat lunch. I couldn't eat lunch. How could someone I watched grow alongside me be gone in a matter of minutes?
I would eat a million cheese sandwiches just to have you back.
I cannot go on social media. I try and all I see are pictures of your memorial or a picture of you with the word RIP underneath it. I believe you deserve more than just an RIP.
You were a fantastic human being even though I didn't know you as well in your last years. You apologized for the soda incident and I can say I forgive you.
You didn't deserve this fate. No one deserves this fate. But there must be some reason you were called upon in order for the promising future in your grasp to be taken away. God needed you. Heaven needed you.
Heaven gained one hell of an angel on July 14th 2014 at five in the morning.

Knowing why you left
won't make you come back
you're gone for good
and I've come as close to terms with it
as humanely possible
but I need to know why
that way when the next one comes around
I can hold on for good.

Poems are known to be depressing
And that is the truth
Everyone knows it
Everyone has written one.

I will admit I have written several
It just makes you feel like you are doing something more productive
than wallowing in self pity
But what about the happy ones?

The ones that instead of making you shed a tear
Make you smile from ear to ear.
The ones that rhyme
and talk about a love that's lasted the length of time.

The ones that make you warm
And in your stomach butterfly's swarm
And everything seems colorful
and life is plentiful.

The ones that talk the greatness of life
O'how grand it is and always has been.
How possibilities are endless and
Dreams can come true.

But there are naysayers
But there are people who prefer darkness
But there are people who despise light
But they don't need to twist your thoughts.

Their thoughts can drag you down with them
They can twist our minds.
But.

Get rid of the negative thoughts.
Try bringing them up with you
Show them lightness and how if you dream hard enough
The sun can shine!

Do not feel bad for me.
Do not feel sad for me.
Do not feel mad for me.
I am completely capable of feeling for myself.

I long to reach out to you
But something is holding me back
It's the thought that maybe you don't want me to
And that's enough for me to stay put.

The Author's space consisted of lavender walls.
Hardwood Floors.
A stack of books for the night stand.
Coffee stained mugs on the dining table.

It had paintings of all sorts.
Not yet bloomed plants scattered here and there.
An orange Afghan lay across the leather couch.
Muddied boots by the door.

Now the author's house.
A whole other story.
Blank white walls.
White carpeted floors.
Clean tables.
Glass nightstands.

But as the Author wrote in his notebook.
The white velvet couch changed to worn leather.
His Styrofoam cup turned to stained ceramic.
His glass nightstand now old paperbacks.

His  imagination now working wonders.

Stephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Stephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.