Evil starts
"with every little lie" they said.
Yet here your heart lingers
neither truly alive or dead.

If death surrounds me,
I shall not stop it.

They looked both ways and chose a road.
The done deal was made,
They took the turn that couldn’t be reversed.

Looking back, they remember the weight;
They had to deal with it, they dealt with it, their own way.
Looking back, they retrace that memory lane,
Remembering the vivid yet the blackness it had obtained.

Thinking there wasn’t something better to do,

But to try and have some fun and just forget for a few.
Not bothering to remember the problems they’d have to face tomorrow;
Though just revel within the moment feeling carefree without the cargo.

But they looked around..
That’s when they see,
That it was then, did they realize,
The nostalgic, the void, that surrounded them like

Islands at seas.

It was then, did realize they were never really complacent at all.
Nothing but an emotion, that never really lasted long.
It was only till then, did they realize, that they got lost into the unknown,
Now they can’t find their way towards the place they called home.

Through it all, the journey continues on.

These past roads have led me here, but many choices are left to make.
Choose wisely the path you take, and just save yourself from another mistake.
Whether you like it or not, you can only accept the mistakes you made
And either learn or run from them.
Though either way,

Life goes on.

You will have to excuse me
This will definitely not be my best work.  
I was sort of blindsided.
This poetry café is not normal,
And as you could imagine
I had a hard time writing something hype
This was unexpected.
But sometimes the best things come out of unexpected moments.
A faint cheer in a cloud of fear.
Sometimes there are times where you can’t expect a thing.
So I guess this poem is supposed to be about believing we can do it.
I think we all know we can.
But sometimes even the strongest people fall.
Confidence is great, but ignorance is not.
We are not indestructible.
In fact, failure is inevitable.
The bigger picture is often obscure.
But if one is lucky enough to prevail
It seems as if they sail,
While the rest watch wondering,
What happened to us in which we couldn’t go that far?
We all have a jealous part of us.
We all have those feelings in which we are not proud.
Humanity is sometimes just as evil as it is beautiful.
If we look at history,
It seems to be crowded with pain and unfathomable mistakes.
But pain is not what it takes.
Don’t get me wrong
Life is no fantasy.
There is no magic.
No genies to make our dreams come true.
Instead we have to work hard for the things we get
And sometimes more often than not, we lose what we work so hard to build.
And I know, I know
I can hear it
What the hell am I talking about?
I’m not hitting the theme at all.
And I’m not, or am I?
Because yes we are going to fail
It is impossible not to.
But in fact when we fail,
We have just as big a chance to make a comeback.
Yes that failure leaves us cussin and fussin
But in reality that big picture that once looked obscure
Becomes just a bit clearer now that we have failed.
We cannot go on living life thinking we know everything because there is no room to learn.
If you want to believe that you can do something
You have to prove it to yourself before you tell others.
It starts with you.
You are the beginning of your story,
And you will be there to see the end.
You are present through all of your story.
That is important.
So you know how if you get into an argument
And you say, “You don’t know me”
Well who does know you?
No one truly knows you but yourself.
So you are the only one who can take you where you want to go.
So if you want to go far
You have to get yourself there.
And to get yourself there
You have to be willing to put in the work to get there.
So it’s up to you whether or not you can make it.
It’s your choice to believe that you can do it.
Because in the end
You will be the one to fly, or catch yourself when you fall.
I can stand here and tell you cliché
Don’t do drugs and never smoke,
Or I can simply tell you that the choice is yours.
An inspiring pep talk is only a pep talk
This poem is just a poem.
It’s up to you if you listen to me and what I’m saying
It’s also up to you to criticize my every word.
You can do anything.
But anything can be good or bad.
It’s your choice.
No one is stopping you,
And if they do,
Who cares?
Because they don’t know you, right?
It’s up to you.
Choose to succeed or fall
Either way,
*You can do it.

This girl that I am seeing.
This perfect woman.
Makes me feel so alive.
The rush of every encounter
makes me so starstruck.
It's a wonder
how she loves
a person like me.
She holds me like my mother never did.
She kisses me like
I imagine the angels would.
Her love
always has  me begging for more.
And the goodness of her heart
compares her to a goddess.
Valentines day is tomorrow.
She is obviously the one
I really care about her.
Oh please tell me, can't you tell?
The things I could say,
the way I could tell her.
The many ways I want to tell her.
The things I can't tell her.
She is everything.
When I feel like nothing.
She proves that I am something.
Because with every emotion
I feel like I am flying.
She knows me for me.
Loves me for me.
She could choose anyone
but yet she holds my hand.
What did I do
to have her by my side.
Luck, no.
Just love, pure love.
The oceans
reflect in her eyes.
And when she cries,
the ocean rushes out.
Her skin
beautiful and clean.
Her lips hold the keys tho the unknown.
She blushes a lot.
But it's  perfect to me.
She's so insecure,
just why?
She is everything.
I would give my life for her.
Cut open my wrist and give her every last drop.
She is so perfect,
yet she is criticized so often.
She is called fat
she is called ugly
annoying
but I have never seen any of that.
To me,
she is her
and that is so much to say.
I love her.
Sometimes,
the only thing to say
Thank you
for loving
*me

He is scared of everything.
He is abused at home.
He is afraid to cry, afraid to ask for any sort of help.
He is prideful
Some say it is his downfall.
He is afraid of his father.
His expectations cut at him like razors,
He was always bleeding somewhere.
He couldn't sleep at night.
The thoughts of his father's hate kept him up, sleepless nights and dozens of lost fights.
His bones ached from "punishments"
He wants to **** himself.
Pills wouldn't be enough
Cutting wouldn't be enough
Suicide itself wouldn't be enough.
He believed in God his whole life.
Until he decided to ask god to bring him to safety
And nothing happened
His loss in Christianity was like being shot,
just another wound
He was always alone.
At school, his silence echoed through the halls.
He often pondered what life would be like without him.
But then believed those thoughts were too common.
He believed he was nothing.
He believed he had truly been summoned to hell, but been aloud to live.
No one loves a loner
He told himself.
After all,
He'd seen the proof.
He counted the bruises that trailed his arms,
wishing he was aloud to feel something
but his emotions were as numb as the man inflicting the pain.
He was done.
He was sick.
But sometimes the sick don't get better
Happy endings are fairy-tales.
No mother could dare save him from himself...
Or his father.
He WAS SO ANGRY
THE HELL WOULDNT JUST go AWAY
HE CANT TAKE IT
SO THAT DAY
He took a gun
HELD IT SO CLOSE TO HIS FACE,
THE GUN FELT THE SWEAT.
THE GUN COULD SMELL HIS BREATH AS HE COULD SMELL THE GUNPOWDER.
Before long, he would be free
his soul
FLYING AWAY
becoming more than abuse.
He
had no real chance to live.
All these thoughts
come together like a sick narrative.
"Get over it"
"******* queer"
"Trash...he's ******* trash"
"*******, that kid"
PAIN
None of it matters though
because the gun already spoke
at the sound of a 5-block radius.
It spoke so loudly
one word
Bang
and the body released a river of crimson relief.
To flow
on
*to heaven.