To my love,

You are an idea not a person, but I love you all the same.

Yours truly.

Never felt quite like this,
like i’m just existing
existing sweeps me away like a tide
my mind moves slowly down it like a delicate wooden raft
only to accelerate until it crashes
and I have to reset each time
each time losing a plank
until i’m quite literally on my last straw
well… semi-literally
and it *****
because I don’t even know why
why im putting myself through the journey

A crossroads.

a path encased in forest
green patchwork of branches, keep secret—-
the memories of shoes on the mossy trail

a path paved pretentiously
wood rebelliously pushing back against the green
overthrowing the chaos of jagged weeds
all the same suppressing the beauty of the wild flowers

a cleared path
barren of trouble
barren of life

a secluded path
enveloped in mystery
enveloped in regret

a guaranteed destination

an invitation to...

that crescendo
and then quickly
die out

obscured by the leaves
hidden by the shade
lie there, rest.
you've done enough.

crack    pop    sizzle
a million nerves go
crack    pop   sizzle
with vibrant rays of potential
to paint an exuberant future

emotions check in and out
each leaving their mark

rooms left pristine by joy
will be left muddled by anger

But one room has never been stayed in
left untouched, the room for love is abandoned

I encourage passersby to stay
but alas it is left dusty

maybe the decor is too drab
or the building lacks a certain warmth

either way
the mind hotel is left with a permanent vacancy

Your words take me away
the warm breath of secrets
the scent of trust
you sound like love

I used to see you,
On the green velvet chair.
You sat beside your ashes,
Legs crossed.

I was scared of you,
No matter how strong my love was,
It was drown out,
By the terror.

I’m sick of trying to make my thoughts beautiful

I’m too tired to think in verses

Poetry is like a whole other language

Sometimes I feel like I’m pretending to be bilingual

I’m not an artist

Like the rest of you

the shadow
of a 'perfect life'

i feel like the carpet
matted
unkept
frankly ugly

The bad man came at night,
his figure drawn out,
looming over.
He eclipsed the moon,
pushing onto you a scratchy shadow,
the darkness put its hands over your body.
You cry out to someone, but the darkness has its hand over your mouth.
And as the darkness encases you in its skin crawling madness,
a light in you dies.

Mind-- inveigling me into anachronistic thoughts.

Self betrayal, stings the most, and cuts the deepest.

Cry out her name
speak to her soul
scream for forgiveness
only the strongest cries
can surpass this barrier
between us and the soil
of the graveyard

The world isn't your oyster
not everything is possible
not every dream is at the tip of your fingers
you won't always go down the right path
the world has limits
humans have limits
you have limits

filled with futile passion.

tears meant to be rationed
pooling at my knees,
spilling so fast
its hard to see.

a sea of futile passion,
beautiful but,
worth nothing
when its time to cash-in.

I've been dreaming of dying,
Sometimes I feel like I'm already gone.

Why must you dissect every blemish upon me?
I am not who I appear to be.
Hereditary nonsense blinds your shallow opinions.

I will not allow myself to be shamed for something I did not create.
My body is deceitful, and vile.
It fools you with the same trickery,
showing you something that means nothing.

They struggle to piece together opinions with so little information.
Two categories.
Ugly.
Beautiful.
Labels easy to bestow, and nearly impossible to remove.

Your poor vision makes you cruel.

The building was consumed with the eerie presence of death,
Not only the seniors who had all but their mouths in the grave,
but also the souls of the children who once walked these halls.
The children, who unlike the current residences, had long lives ahead of them.
Now they lie in graves, unmarked, unrecognized, uncared for.
While the descendants of those who had killed them, are cared for on the very same land.

Plump and purple like a plum.

2 cups of tell me when you find it.

If words could describe - only
how the heart
the heart is lonely

when the rain cries
no one notices

been bad for so long
sad for so long

no one notices.

You walk on broken legs
You taught me to fight with broken arms
Because you told me
"The world doesn't care if your hurting"
We have to make it care.

Life remains stagnant.

Here I lay in summer's wake.
But truly,
I died that day
out at the bay.

Sometimes I say things
to say something
Words without meaning

But my words to you
will always
ring true.

The quiet has a strong smell
No usual pleasantries remain between us
We're just left to marinate in the air of regret