Stupid boy.
With your bright eyes and your soft hair.
Stupid boy.
With your laugh that always brings out mine.
Stupid boy.
With your ability to never keep me mad at you, despite it all.
Stupid boy.
With the way you always make me feel.
Stupid girl.

my poems are the result
of not being able to focus on my homework
and the product
of pretending there's not a million things to do
the words are what
i can make of the jumbled thoughts that fill my brain
my lines and stanzas are a collection
of the little pieces of my life
that i can't seem to get into place
and I think that it's kind of funny
that I can get all of these words together
but not myself.

She said she wouldn't date him
because she knew how I still felt
and she thought
"What kind of a friend would that make me?
I wouldn't want to do that to you."
Yet here I sat, thinking
What kind of a friend does that make me?
Holding her back from being with a guy
who she cares about a lot
just because I want him
when he wants her and not me.
Envy is one of the seven deadly sins
and baby, I'm gonna die green.

I have a journal filled with quotes and poems
ones that strike me with emotion
and take my breath away in the moment that I see them.
A thought that excites me is that maybe one day
someone will have a journal like me
and my poems will grace their pages
and be written in someone else's script.
I'd like to leave my mark on the world somehow
so maybe this will be my chance.

what an odd kind of satisfaction I get
from having a little secret between
you & I.
sure, it doesn't change anything,
but by not changing anything
*it changes everything.