If I miss you when I’m awake you have great potential to have my heart.

But if I dream of you, please know that you’ve stolen it. That I’ve already jumped the cliff…

Be ready at the bottom with open arms as I fall.

-YB

if i had a gun
i would press it against my temple
and feel the pulse radiate through my shaky hands
my thoughts of guilt and doubt running through my mind
and i would consider placing it on the table
consider saving myself for one more day
but instead
i would pull the trigger
-c.a

How does the sun get its radiance emerging from centuries upon centuries of reactions
Similar to the ones in my belly when you walk up to me on our favorite weekends

If true love could exist then why was I born to unhappy parents and unhappy hands tore me out of the womb

And I cannot begin to solve the enigma of how love tends to fade but who am I to say that we were not in love and who am I to decide your fate (my love, you wanted to and you did so very often on our unfavorite weekdays)

And who am I to say I cannot wait until the weekends?
Who am I to wish away five-sevenths of my year to drown myself in 'self-fulfilling' activities that get me through five long days of things I am no longer passionate about?

And to that, I say I am human!
And I am a product of nature and like the pigs and the penguins I like having *** and I like to eat and I shall do as I please!

So please do not try to convince me that I cannot decide for myself; it is this illusion that gets me through three-hundred and sixty five days every year

here's what's going to happen.
we will sleep together
a few nights a week
for a few months.
we will talk on the phone
and our conversations will be
brief -- just to hear
each other's voice
at least once
every 36 hours.
we will get incredibly drunk
and we will believe
we miss each other
but we really won't
and we will believe
we are in love
and perhaps we are --
but after those months,
I will get used to
the crack in your voice
when you talk about
your family
and you will get used
to the way I cry
over films with
or without
happy endings.
your smile won't mean
as much
and there will be few
surprises
and love will have become
a habit -- and we won't
notice it anymore
even though it is
still there, sitting
at the coffee table
or between us in the bed.
we will amount
to nothing --
but I don't mind.

I am not crazy,
But the voices of the past, present and future
Crowd my brain with their opinions.
It's like a party up there,
And I am quite okay with that.

Burning buildings,
Whispered tones.
They want to keep me in the dark.
Or tell me some neon white lies.

And yet there is this screaming in my head.
It says, You know something they do not.
Naturally, my response, sarcastically, sounds something like,
"And what would that be, my love?"

You've been to Hell and back,
We both know that well enough.
But you gained something on every voyage.
With every adventure,
You came back with renewed life.

I scoff, quite noticeably.
What's that got to do with me?
I tuck things away,
I do not carry them with me.
Not all the time, anyway.

It yells, bellows, continuously.
You are learning who you are.
You are a survivor, a hero, something beautiful.
They have not hindered you yet, and will not.
Shout it at the top of your lungs.

So I do.
And the screaming in my head is replaced by a new voice:
Mine.

So, my dear
I have some things I'd like to tell you.
I hope you choke on every word of this poem.

Where to begin?
When I was dying on the inside,
You took advantage of me
Decoded my feelings,
Bullied me all the way to second base
And beyond

How can you be so naïve
That you can convince yourself
That this was my fault?
I guess you've got everyone else fooled, too.

Nobody knows the truth.
Mom thinks I'm jumpy because I'm energetic.
Dad thinks I don't sleep well at night
Because I sleep too late in the morning.
They don't know it is because I feel *****
Because of you.

But who would believe me?
I already lied for you,
Saying you took advantage of me,
But telling them I still said yes willingly
The first time you asked.

If I told and you knew,
You would deny it avidly, saying
"It's not like I ***** you or anything."
And
"It's not like I forced you."

You're right.
I've done my homework.
It's called indecent assault
And coercion.

But I still can't bring myself to call it that,
Or to tell anyone.

So honey, you're pretty **** lucky
That it took me four months to understand
That what you did to me is wrong.