Threw caution to the wind;
****** my breath in;
A leap of faith taken;
A leap into nothing.

Answers awaiting,
tongue 's hesitating,
memories are fading,
a leap of faith taken.

Rare sorts of amazement.
I stand there, gazing,
this fear starts invading
before a leap of faith taken.

Motions to halt;
Emotions at fault.
Face says it all;
A story in making.

Yet I stand tall,
delusion breaking my fall;
"I'm in love with you, doll !"
Says I'm "mistaken".

See folly at play
but who is to say ?
that she might not stay
when I ask with patience.

A life in decay,
mind drifting astray
eyes shifting away,
heart succumbing to decadence.

She is gone.
Realization.
Strikes you like lightning
amidst a storm of uncertainty.
How I wish it wasn't so but what else can it be.

But I'll wait.
Patience.
Like holding on to the fiery strands of your past
and having nostalgia scarred on your skin.
How I wish it wasn't so but what else could it have been.

For how long ?
Angst.
Since the day I sowed the seed of labour and
watched it grow into servitude.
How I wish it wasn't so but what else has life to offer you.

But what if ?
Distrust.
Like a slow poison feeding off your conscience and
creeping into your heart.
How I wish it wasn't so but what else could these times impart.

Maybe someday.*
Hope.*
Rejuvenation ensues around you like wildfire in a dead forest.
How I wish it wasn't so but alas you fall victim to a false promise.

I made a mental note that the way that you were looking at me was different.
I told myself to forget it.
Maybe you were just having an off day?
Everyone has off days, so what?

But then it continued.
Consistency had never been so terrifying.

When we first met, you saw me as a sad girl who rarely spoke.
Then, when I spoke, you saw me as a sadder girl that could sometimes make a good joke.

When I looked at you, I saw a beautiful, but misunderstood soul.
When I looked at you, I imagined a galaxy, your freckles spread throughout your body like the stars.
When I looked at you, I saw mischief.
When I looked at you, I saw my lifeline.

But you never looked at me, in love with my smile--
you never looked at me, in love with anything about me.

You weren't in love.

And maybe I was and maybe I wasn't,
maybe every person who is older than us is right and I'm too young for that.
But what I felt...
It was real.

I know it was real.
I've analyzed my emotions a thousand times--you know me, I have--
and I was nothing but honest and raw with you.
I wasn't putting on a show for you, acting, like I did for everyone else.

No, you were the one doing that.

You told me I was beautiful when I was sweating rivers.
You told me I was brilliant while I failed Algebra 1 three years in a row.
You told me I was better than Emma Stone and that weird British guy with the funny name.
You told me that you felt the same way about me as I felt about you.

You made me feel like every ****** thing about me was magnificent and beautiful,
like I could make no mistakes.
I know now that that is not the case.
I think I was the only one of us who actually believed it anyway.

Intentionally or not, you fooled me into believing that you would be there for me when I felt doomed.
I believed that I finally had someone to trust completely.
I realized, alone in my living room, that you wouldn't be drying my stupid fat tears...

So I cried for hours.
I laid my cold and sorrow-heavy body on the carpet and wept.

I loved you so purely, truly; I promise you that.

But you owe me nothing for not feeling the same.

It's unhealthy, the amount I think of you.
I don't plan to pursue you.
I don't want to meet you--
at least, not for a decent amount of time.

I just want to figure you out,
to witness your creations, as dark as the desire may be.
I want to feel a corpse and understand
exactly what it is you've done to make it one.

It's not just a heartbeat that's missing;
the inhale-exhale rhythm of breath is not the only thing that has ceased.
A living body is much more than blood pumping,
or converting oxygen into carbon dioxide--

but I can't decide what makes it truly alive.
What makes a person truly alive?
Do you even know? Could you tell me?
And if so, am I, too, truly alive?

Days of Anger,
days of bitterness.
I was raised in love
in a decade of togetherness.

A doctor, A teacher,
A curator of my youth.
A general conquering
my everlasting ruth.

Her anger was the thunder,
Her smile was the sunshine.
the world would be a wonder
if it had a *mother like mine.

I was 21 when I realized my poetry wasn't very good. I kept writing because my longing to create something beautiful wouldn't let me quit my attempt. Pretentious to imagine that I could, bad verses continued to flow as the monster that is my own mind allowed itself to think so. I tried to play God with words only to be disappointed in my mortality. And when I awoke from my illusion, I watched the world get confused and it was alright this time. We write not to create a masterpiece, but because our souls are masterpieces themselves.

forgive me if I lost track of you
sometimes you're not sure if a sock goes in the pair
so you let it go where it pleases
and then this happens
and you never really know

somebody slow dance with me
and don't say a word
there aint a thing needs to be heard
cept the sound of us being carefree
for that moment, when you are holding me

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.