I am far from the finish line.
I am hurting and sore.
My body wants to quit.
It keeps yelling at me to stop.
It keeps screaming for me to stop,
but I do not listen.
My heart will always tell me to push.
That is what I do, push to my limit.
When my limit is reached, I go further.
I just want to quit, even when it is tempting me.
Quit's temptation is starting to overpower me,
just like all of the other times.
The times I failed myself.
The times I stopped when I was so close.
The times when I was scared.
Will this be just another time?




NO! NOT THIS TIME!
This time I will fight.
This time I will succeed.
This time I will not hold back,
for I am strong.
Friends are rooting for me.
My heart is telling me this is the time.
The time I make my choice.
Turn away, or walk through Hell?
Hell has nothing on me.
I will finish this and find glory.
I cannot and will not be stopped.
Nothing can bring me down for I am a beast.
Success is on my mind.

"Pain is temporary, glory lasts forever"

Can't I be clean?
Is it okay to try and scrub away
the failure from my tongue and
the disappointment from my heart?

Would it be possible to look
in the mirror and be okay with it?
I want to be happy with the reflection
but all I want is to cover it in fog
with the hopes that there will be
someone different when I wipe it clean.

I want to be someone you deserve.
I don't want the hate, the jealousy, the fear
that this is all I'll ever be.
I want to say sorry for being
*****. Tainted. Hideous. Sad.

You came to me flawless
Skin smooth and unbruised
And my arms were painted
Scars from the past exposed

And I tried to assure you
That you would come away clean
That love doesn’t hurt
That love isn’t mean

But you walked away decorated
One arm black, one arm blue
Tattoos from clinging too tightly
To someone who wanted to run

The sharp words we threw around
Dug deep into your skin
Leaving permanent lines
Etched into your porcelain arms

Yet, I’ve spotted you lately
With skin smooth and unbruised
You hide your scars from the world
With an innocent smile

Love.  

Love is
awful/wonderful/
terrifying/beautiful/
frustrating/amazing/
foreign.

It's amazing how something that you've never had
can leave such an empty feeling inside you.
I was made with an empty space in the middle of my heart.
Meant to be filled with someone's "I'll love you forever."
There must have been a mishap in the factory, though,
because there seems to be no complimentary piece.

I have a mantra I go through, a set of excuses I remind myself of
whenever a chance is lost, an opportunity runs sour. '
I call them "The Three Things I Know To Be True About Love."
             Not interested? Someday he will be
             Isn't into relationships? Someday he will be
             Isn't attracted to you? Someday he will be

Well, I can't say I know the third part to be true.

I know what you're thinking.
Sad, whiny fat kid complaining about something he caused himself.
Look, I know what I look like. I know what it allows me in life.
To be fair, it is my own fault. I've let myself stretch,
outgrowing my skin and confidence till they're threatening to burst.

I know it would be hard to look at me and say "I love you."
I never have been able to do it.
I think if I heard it just once, though, I'd be satisfied.
Just to give me the sensation having the words
pass through me, enveloping my insides
with warmth, hope, promise.

I'm not asking you to mean it. I couldn't ask you for that.
Even though I'd know of their false implications.
I have always been a fan of playing pretend.

I know that I'm young,
and that I haven't been far outside of the
cornfield fence that has enclosed me for 19 years.
But patience has never been a virtue I've held.

I'm just someone who is desperately tired of "somedays."
All I'm asking for is a "today."

I always seem to write something
In hopes that I’ll be the first person to say it.
I never am.
Someone has always said it
And said it much better than I did.

I started writing as a senior in high school.
What a terrible time to start
Because my ego got in the way
Of all the words I wanted to say.

I should have picked up another habit
Because smoking or gambling
Would have been far less
Self destructive
Than writing has been.

The first poem I ever wrote
Was about a heartbreak
I thought I had.
I wrote in hopes
That they would see it.
I don’t know if they ever did.
But that’s when I learned how not
To write a poem.

I’ve moved on since then.
Now I write about things.
Because it turns out they don’t change
People do and that’s okay.
But writing about who a person is now
Will not stop them from becoming more than your words.

That doesn’t make sense to everyone.
I’ve written poems
About people who lived life
A day behind everyone else.
Because they believed it gave them time.
But life catches up
And believe that it is the most unforgiving
******* any human will meet.

I’m now a sophomore in college.
I’ve recently decided to start a career in writing.
People always give me that look
When I tell them.
Writing doesn’t assure you of anything.
“Why write?
You could teach and live life $30,000 a year.”

This is truth.
It’s consistent, no worries.
But it’s easy.
Everything I write
Comes from a part of myself
That I have to struggle to find.
This struggle kills me
But I regenerate when the poem is finished.
And I’ve found that I’d rather **** myself a thousand times over
Than live to die once because it made life easy and hurt less.

I might never say something first.
Someone will always come before me
And I will always come before someone.
This poem is done.
And I am alive.

I was raised by a
loving, graceful,
god loving, homeade
cooking wonderful
"I'll always be there for you"
type of family.

Some gorilla strength,
motivating, always looking
after me and the
"Don't question me"
types of brothers.

Some church going
motivational speaking
smart and artistic
"Ask me anything"
type of pastors.

Some Jazz and Rock music
to calm me down and freestyle
dancing, the funny dude
"Who
doesn't give a crap
about what people think"
type of guy.

Some energetic
bouncing off of walls
and athletic
not caring that I'm big
saying nice things
being called a charmer
The "I can't hate. But
I can love"
type of friend


In a discriminating
racial saying world
who won't listen to you
or see what's underneath,
I stand and shout
"I'm better than you"
because.....


I was raised like a gentleman

I’m scared.
Cold, alone......... scared.
My body aches from fighting.
I won, but at what cost?
Revenge shouldn’t be the answer.
They took her life, my true love.
I’m crying, crying like I’ve never cried before.
A life for a life, but at what cost?
I became the person, I set out to destroy.
I’m a monster, a creation the devil himself devised.
I’m scared.
I’m alone, cold, and nothing to cling on to.
I have nothing........ nothing.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I’m picking up my choice of death.
Goodbye monster.
You’ve done the most evil thing imaginable.
It’s time for you to go.
I’m taking you with me, back to where you came from.
Forgive me Father, for what I’m about to do.
I’ll see you in a few seconds.
Five....... My heart is beating fast.
Four........ Sweat is covering my face.
Three........ My heart is beating faster.
Two........ Hello love, good to see you again.



One........ Goodbye.

“BANG!!!!!”

i'm not the only battered one here
we've got our separate histories,
but with similar intensity
i, overwhelmed and off-guard, admitted
to you my past intentions, the dread
i felt each morning, because
i wished i hadn't woken, the pain
i felt in each moment, the fear
from feeling trapped, and my
desire to end it all-
i told you, i showed you mine,
and you showed me yours

i was transfixed by the
salmon splotches and white lines
graffitied over your skin, enough that
i wanted to carve myself up again
for the beauty in pain, and the stimulation
because this is more than habit- this
is an addiction

i still bear the marks of your teeth in
my skin, the sweetest agony
to affect me in the past three weeks
i cradle your matchstick bones in
my selfish arms
promise to hold you if i snap again

it's vicious, my guilt
about my mental state, my self-hatred,
about my tears which you
still kissed me through, ignoring my
death-mask and the briny sorrow staining
your only cardigan, my salt-slick cheeks
red from too much despair- i gasped,
thanks for dealing with my ****, babe
i promise you won't have to deal
with me like this for long
i'm getting better

and you repeated,
the words spilling in the spaces
between each lip-press,
don't get better for me
don't get better for me
get better for you

Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
your grass masturbates my feet
and the clouds cushion my bedhead –

I am alive
as the plants breathe, I
can watch myself as they watch me.

I am mundane, plain, a concrete building
brutalist and manmade
but their real existence, live vines climb
and make me seem attractive…

Even as I want to be dead,
they kiss me as a husband would his
sleeping wife –

even loving when unaware, forgetting
acknowledgement
being beautiful all alone.

Miss mother nature, goddess of earth
I am alive
no longer manmade in your home.