Everyone says it's not poetry unless it's got rhyme.
Well I wouldn't buy that for a dime.
My brain's a giant mess,
why would i try to make what I say any less?
Organization and aesthetics, you say?
well ***** that, anyway.

Coffee shops.
Lemon drops.
Those rhyme!
You'll see what i do with those in time.
Or maybe not;
I've already done a lot.

All this irony's made my brain jello,
so it's time to say hello
(to the end of this poem).

There's nothing
i wouldn't do for you.

Yet there's also nothing
you would do for me.

All I wish for is an everlasting storm,
whose thunder will soothe me to sleep
when people fail to do so,
and startle me at weird moments,
putting a grin on my face.
Lightning that will wake me up,
and pull me out of exhaustion's grasp for a brief moment,
a moment of awe,
and add a sparkle to my eyes when I most need it.
A storm with heavy rain,
adept at hiding tears from prying eyes
and muffling escaped cries
with constant drumming on the roof,
distracting others from my pain.
Rain that cools down blushes and keeps me humble
because ****,
my hair looks awful when it's wet.
Wind that can pick me up
and take me somewhere else, anywhere,
or blow my hair in strange ways to make me laugh, a least.
I want a storm to keep me company,
because sometimes people just won't do.

A starry sky,
borrowed from someone else's heart,
from their happiest moments.
A memory of the universe,
given to another with an excited voice,
hyper and exhilarated,
describing it with sparking eyes.
Fluffy clouds
seen laying on soft,
sweet smelling grass, cuddling and smiling
with so many others.
The sun's warmth a reminder of their own,
kind and soft.
A clear night
catching fireflies with them at three a.m.
Of course letting the bugs free,
just feeling the pure delight in the accomplishment
as one always does.
Standing with eyes closed
enjoying the breeze and the company
of pretty souls so nearby.
Yellow sunflowers,
given from their love.
Bright and shining,
a mirror of their feelings,
their happiness and friendship.
A quiet café,
sitting by a foggy window drinking tea.
Enjoying the serenity of a peaceful moment,
something that doesn't happen often
in between all the chaos that is life.
The calming scent of mint and chamomille
drooping their eyelids
and forming soft smiles all around.

I promised you roses.
Yet you took the garden.
Stolen,
Gone forever.
You took everything I had
and had the audacity to shatter it
As my obliviousness stared at the stars,
Entranced,
Like every other night.

I promised you love.
Yet you took my heart.
Pretty,
Sweet,
absolutely destroyed
Without my knowing,
While my obliviousness got lost in the songs we fell asleep to.
You threw my heart on the ground and stepped on it too,
As if to make up for any kindness you had showed me before.

You ruined the stars for me,
You ruined my love,
You ruined me.
All because I promised you love
and you took my heart.
All because I promised you roses
and you took the garden.

So you’re on the Main Street, right?
Turn left onto the little alley way
next to the flower shop,
standing prettily with its painted windows and gorgeous displays.

Tucked away behind other shops,
you’ll see it.
With its inviting smell of coffee,
hot chocolate, and cookies,
and the perfectly neat pastry rack by the counter.

Each cupcake is frosted perfectly,
Each muffin baked with love and care;
and strawberries, of course.
Once you experience all of that, you know you’re at the best coffee shop in town.

The curtains are tied back into perfect little bows
To reveal glittering windows with a view to nowhere, but a beautiful view nonetheless.
There are little shops and restaurants, making it amazing for people-watching,
especially for artists that like drawing people!

If reading is more your style,
you’ll find gorgeous bookshelves sitting along the pretty walls.
They’re fully stocked with hundreds of novels, from new to old;
in alphabetical order too.
Sprinkled with dust that makes them even more endearing somehow.

So once you make it to the coffee shop,
Go inside and enjoy the food and drinks, okay?
Stay as long as you want there, they don’t mind customers that hang out even for hours
lost in a borrowed book or painting the summer sky that they saw 5 hours ago,
now painting from memory because of the moon coming up.

And maybe buy some flowers on your way back! 
The flower shop is pretty, with its sweet smell and colorful blooms.
Have fun,
and welcome to a town of dreams!

The blush of warmth
catches up with winter's withering sprint.
Thousands of petals bloom
into gorgeous flowers
swaying in the pretty breeze.
Even winter's finest snowflakes
can't compete with the vitality of the season.
As trees shake off their snowy coats
and don leaves once more,
the birds announce
that spring has come.
Their pretty song
driving away the lasts
of the cold, howling, wind.
The days grow longer,
the temperature grows warmer,
the plants just grow.
Soon it seems the subtle coolness of spring
is melted away by summer,
with it's burning sun
and disheartening heat.
But all kindness is not lost
with the loss of spring's gentle embrace.
Thunder rolls in with the coming of summer,
announcing a burst of rain
to sooth raging anger
left by raging heat.
And as beach vacations and summer break
come to an end, the productivity of autumn
must begin.
The trees display an astounding array of colors,
before eventually letting go of their leaves.
Dry leaves coat the ground,
giving a satisfying crunch
when they are stepped on.
clouds come and go with little rain,
leaving gloom and chilly nights
in their wake.
The fallen leaves are picked up by the wind,
taken up and away.
The trees, stripped from their glory,
sit solemnly,
waiting for the first snow.
And as the chill in the air starts stinging cheeks,
biting noses, and numbing ears,
it comes.
Children laugh at the white, puffy snow,
while parents sigh at the prospect of shoveling.
The grass and any lucky flowers,
now not so lucky,
shrivel under the blanket
that provides them no warmth,
just a frozen death.
Yet the short nights grow longer once more,
and a sweet breeze distracts winter
and keeps it from staying too long.

You make me smile
when nothing else can.
Yet I start to cry
at the thought
of seeing you.
Perhaps because
you remind me
of what I’ll never have.
What I want
so desperately
but can’t seem to grasp.
It’s held
just out of reach
when you make me laugh,
or hug me close.
What,
you ask,
could I want
so badly?
You.

I’m broken.

Every night
I am ripped apart
by a living nightmare.
My thoughts haunt me
until everything hurts.
Until the anger,
makes me punch walls
And hiss in pain
when my knuckles sting,
cry
til I can no longer feel
and I no longer have tears
to give myself,
scream
to no one in particular
because no one listens anyways.

And every morning
I look at the chaos strewn around,
and slowly
put myself together again
until every piece is aligned.
I’m shaky and unsteady,
but it doesn’t matter.
I don’t feel enough to care.
The pretty facade fools people
and that’s all I need
to “live”.

It's so funny to me,
seeing young love broken,
tossed up and shattering into a million pieces
as it hits the ground.
Because somehow,
that's exactly what I want.
I don't care if one day it's left outside in the rain,
or if it's thrown into a fire with a cold, calculating hand.
I don't care how or why,
because I know it will end one day.

What I doubt is if it will ever begin.

A midnight poet,
she calls herself.
Because the cascading words,
come to her
wrapped up in shiny moonlight,
served on blankets of darkness,
stars dusted lightly on top.
Her inspiration
rides the midnight breeze
swiftly and gently
to her window,
waiting patiently for her
to lift the glass up
and greet them warmly.
So there she sits,
next to the open window
waiting for the perfect moment
to say hello.
To invite her loyal inspiration in
for some midnight tea,
and although she says
she’s not fond of midnight snacks
She pours herself
a steaming mug of metaphors
and serves couplets
with the drink.
After a comfortable chat,
Inspiration takes its leave
out the window
on the breeze in which it came.
And so the girl
is left lonely once more,
but not truly alone.
She has her words,
her rhymes,
her metaphors,
and her couplets
to keep her company
as she forms it all
into beautiful verses
that capture the heart.
As she sits by her window,
the midnight poet
notices how soft the sky looks,
dark and freckled with stars.
The sweet sky comforts her
as she mourns her bitter loneliness into verses,
or envelops her in maddening, exciting emptiness
as she writes
or simply sleeps
by her window.
The midnight poet
sighs gently
catching the wily night’s attention
And draws poetry from its
calming,
yet sly,
grin.
The girl catches falling stars
made of verses
from her pretty window seat.
She finds lines tucked behind faraway planets,
makes metaphors from the moonlight,
comfortable in the darkness’s embrace.
The midnight poet
coaxes poetry from the freckled night sky
And tucks it into her pocket
For safekeeping.
To keep
as an ever loyal
companion.
A reminder
of her home.
A poem of the night.

Hey!
I’m tending to my garden today,
Do you want to join me?
It’s filled with wonders and wishes and wisdom and walkways.
Stone paths, little picket fences, and plant boxes stacked on windowsills peacefully observing people who may pass by.

I’ve got flowers of all different types.
Earth lilies, Mars marigolds, Saturn daisies.
Neptune forget-me-nots, Pluto peonies, Mercury chrysanthemums.
Planet flowers!

I’ve got trees
that have fresh stars ever week,
ripe and perfect to pick!
I’ve got moon herbs
to make moon dust infused tea!
I’ve got vines that grow with droplets of sunshine
and bloom bearing the brightest of bulbs.

The path stones are asteroids.
Sometimes they land in my garden!
How cool is that?
It’s been hard work, and I should know.
I did it!
I built this garden myself.

It’s not just any garden.
It’s a space garden.
Could you tell?
One carefully crafted from the far corners of the universe.
Planets, stars, moons, you know.

Anyways, feel free to stop by anytime.  
I could always use the company.
It gets a little lonely
being the only thing alive in a garden.
A space garden.

A space garden that doesn’t really need tending,
but I like the illusion of productivity.
I like its beauty.
I like the wonders of a space garden.
I like the calm atmosphere and pretty planet flowers.
I like my space garden.
Even if it gets lonely sometimes.

Planets and exhaustion.
Flowers and anxiety.
Sunshine and anguish.
Pretty rings and getting annoyed too easily.
Rainstorms and sadness.
Fire and frozen hearts.
Stars and pain.
Strawberries and disappointment.
French fries and '*******'s.
Fantasy and reality.

A line between the two,
a chain that keeps us on the ground
stuck with reality.
A cold, harsh, cliché reality.
Unable to fly among the stars,
among the planets for safety.
A pretty, warm,
chocolate chip cookie-type comforting fantasy
forbidden for people like us.
Because hope isn’t allowed here.
We prefer crushing dreams
before we even think of them.
Understand?

Planets and exhaustion.
Fantasy and reality.

there's always a little bit of magic
in a last dance.
one that closes an era of joy or sorrow
or both or none.
there's hope in the way i hold you
hoping that maybe it really won't be the last.
but good things don't last,
can't last.
so instead i hold you
as tears stream down your face.
there's always anguish
in a last dance
to compensate for the magic,
for the hope
that the days before had caused.
anguish buried under layers
of false smiles and promises
that maybe we'll see each other again.
and with that your pretty face turns
walks away with absolutely no confidence,
head hung down,
destroyed.
yet somehow i realize that,
with everything,
you've taken my heart too.
so i'm left broken
without
you.

clouds.
their calming embrace
soothes hearts burdened by anger
and fills them with sadness instead.
it's calm and cool
and assures you that you're not alone
in your pain and suffering.
clouds will eventually produce rain for you,
perhaps as a gift,
a flower with millions of petals.
the rain washes away the tears,
making them blend in with all of the other droplets of water.
falling,
falling,
fallen.

Life; a game of russian roulette.
Each day a pull on the trigger,
each second an eternity of dread.
One day, it'll ****.
But for now, it just amplifies every feeling ever evoked.
Adrenaline.
A motivation to live, to try, to risk it all.
A gamble with whatever gods exist,
and if none, then a gamble with fate.
A gamble with luck.
Relying so heavily on something you can't control.
The feeling of weightlessness,
the suspense,
the relief of a click
instead of pain.
That adrenaline is motivation.
That adrenaline fuels life.
An angry, desperate bid for life,
but one nonetheless.

As the days drag on, the familiar adrenaline wears off,
revealing the common second stage.
Sometimes the last stage.
Exhaustion.
Before it was relief,
sinking into the suspense,
letting it consume every emotion.
Now, it drowns.
Slowly and methodically draining any will to live
until the lasts of it are gone,
leaving only exhaustion in its place.
Exhaustion doesn't react to each passing day,
each empty cartridge lost,
just stares in a weirdly ready trance.
Until the trigger is pulled.
Until the pain consumes every second,
dragging them into days, weeks, years.
And then
nothing.
And then
everything.
done.
gone.

Mundane days
are different for everyone.
Sometimes they're walking into the same bar
every Friday night.
Ordering the same drink
from the same bartender
and drinking to forget.

Sometimes they're jogging in a park every morning
playing the same song
at the same time.
Passing the same people out every day
like clockwork
following their own routines
at the same time.

Mundane days.
Sometimes they're sitting by a window
that's getting pummeled by rain.
With the same type of hot cocoa
that's slightly too hot to drink every time,
breathing in the warm and comforting scent instead.
Looking out the window
lost in the same stormy thoughts.

Mundane days
spent going to school,
talking to the same people.
Hanging out with the same crowd.
Dealing with waves
of perfectly normal teenager-y exhaustion.

They're spent shopping for Christmas dresses
like girls do every year.
The same stores, same disapointment
when the dresses aren't perfect.
The smiles when they find the one.
Priceless yet so mundane.
To be repeated next year.

Sometimes they're people watching
in a crowded train station,
the same one every morning to get to work.
Smiling at the cute couples,
admiring outfits, and sighing at the same commuters
who happen to have the same schedule
and get on the same trains ever morning.

Mundane days spent reading, writing, watching Netflix.
Days spent talking, napping,
eating leftovers from last night's dinner.
Mundane days going about a crystal clear routine
carefully carved by weeks of despair beforehand.
Mundane days born of times when routine was needed
just to feel something.
Just to feel anything.

They look all normal.
All perfectly pristine.
Innocent and mundane.
Until the glass is shattered.

There are moments in life
where we're made of wonder.
Stardust and sunshine
and moonbeams and gold.
Love and passion
and dreams and truths to be told.
Happiness and sweet messages.
Moments where the world itself
is made of diamonds and smiles.
Moments where words are music
and everyday sights turn to beautiful views.
Moments where people seem to glow
with pride and blush at little compliments.
Life is full of those moments
that convince us slowly that we are stardust
and sunshine and good and wonder.
Moments that show us mirages
of beauty and happiness.
And then our dreams,
our sweet sweet dreams of peace,
are crushed by a cold harsh reality.
When we fall and start to bleed,
how then,
how are we pure stardust?
Or when we get angry
and hurt the ones we love,
how can we possibly be
all sunshine and passion?
Or when we lie, when we cheat, when we steal,
how are those truths to be told?
When we stab our own bodies with metaphorical knives
of tears, of insults, of hate,
how can we be pure happiness?
Stardust can't bleed,
Sunshine and passion can't hurt others,
Truths can't lie,
Happiness can't be stained
with the sad truth of self hate.
And so goes our dream-like fantasy
of our own unique perfections.
Because they've been coldly proved wrong
by the sad truths of reality.
And with that we sink back into the relieving,
albeit depressing,
embrace of the actualities in the world.

I call your name,
there's no response.
I ask you why.
You don't reply.
Is it me?
Or is it you?
Your nothing
means everything
to me.

Your eyes,
they catch mine
for less than a second
and seal my fate.
They capture my heart,
yet I see no recognition
at all
in yours.
Do I exist to you?
or am I another face
that blends in with the crowd
of desperate lovers.
I feel empty
without your love.

I know what
could have been
if you saw who I was
before I met you.
Now all you see
is a broken heart
looking at the world,
greeting it with a stone cold glare
and a maniacal laugh.
I'm gone.

A broken heart's replaced me.
A broken heart's replaced
my laugh like honey,
my smile of sunshine,
my voice of gold.
A broken heart's destroyed
my shining eyes,
my love of life.
It's destroyed me
and taken my place.

The world is filled with little moments of magic,
that sparkle and glimmer
even in this dark dark world.
Magic comes in all sorts of forms,
from big to small,
from black to white,
from light to dark,
from chocolate to oranges,
from comparisons that make no sense,
to poems about someone you love.
The magic is everywhere.
There's magic in those dazzling winter days,
where snow coats every tree and rooftop,
and it feels like the snowflakes are just for you.
There's magic in hugs and love and bright smiles.
It's in sweet messages and cat memes.
There's magic in cuddling and pretty girls.
There's magic in space, where the galaxies and planets
find a way to make you stare in wonder.
Magic finds it's way into pretty flowers
that just burst with color.
There's magic in the impressive shininess of stars,
and in friends that tease you when you're blushing.
So look deeper into happiness,
because you'll find little moments of magic as you do,
like a heart flutter or a giant smile
that you'll never forget.

some days, the tears threaten to fall.
other days, they command it.
helpless.
that's how I feel.
not even able to stand up against
mere drops of salt water.
how, then, am I to survive,
let alone stand up against the world
without help?
lonely's a friend.
ironic right?
the feeling of loneliness, my only companion
as I wander through the desolate field
that happens to be called life.
alone.
a word accompanied by laughter
and a fake smile
plastered on to defend the reality
that I don't even want to admit to myself.
how can I be alone?
I have family, friends, love.
yet I am so so alone.
I go through life without anyone by my side,
yet they still ask the dreaded question.
how can you be lonely when you have
everything you could ever want?
and I can't answer.
don't know how to.
so I leave it to a forced laugh and a smile
to say that I was kidding.
I didn't mean it.
how could I?
I have everything, apparently.
so the tears threaten to fall.
and I can't deny them,
just like I can't deny the ones
who say I can't feel alone.
I can't cry, supposedly.
it seems, however,
the tears didn't get the memo.
they want to race down my face
with no thoughts given to the people
who say I shouldn't cry.
Because I have everything, supposedly.
So the tears that once threatened to fall
command their exit.
and here I stand.
alone with my tears.
alone with my thoughts.
alone.

It pains me to think,
that in the grand scheme of things
I am nothing.
I mean nothing, I’ll be forgotten
more easily than I’d be noticed.
If anything,
I am a disappointment.
There was so much potential in me
when I was young.
Too bad I never had a passion for anything,
growing up.
Too bad I never had natural talent in the first place.
We blame natural circumstances like it’s nothing,
because it’s easier than looking
inside ourselves for the real reasons.
Too bad I never tried hard.
Too bad I never stuck with anything long enough
to actually gain skill and expertise.
Too bad I realized all this
way too late.
Now the realization comes like a disappointment,
a shattering heart made of
Hopes and dreams.
The vain but natural desire to be recognized
for some talent we have, for something,
anything.
We search and search
for something we can do.
Some accomplishment we can brag about,
letting our vanity get the best of us,
just like we are taught not to do.
Too bad our desires come crashing down with reality,
taking our hearts with it.
It hurts to know that we really don’t matter to the world.
The Earth will keep turning,
the sun keep shining,
the stars still twinkling,
long after we’re gone.
Truly, it hurts to realize that we are
a disappointment to ourselves,
most of all.

No dreams come true on false promises.
We must commit to our dreams,
before even figuring out what’s possible.
Because impossible really isn’t what it sounds like.

Impossible dreams seem like a mirage at first.
Walking towards them ever quicker,
feeling that resentment as we see it flicker
And dissolve before our eyes.

But all dreams are not seen,
Not heard, not thought.
they are simply felt
Deep in our hearts.

Dreams are turned possible
when we promise ourselves,
when we convince ourselves that no matter what,
we can do it.

We must not wait for dreams
to become a reality on their own.
We must grasp whatever end of rope we are given
and pull ourselves up towards them.

We must build our dreams
From remnants of what we have learned,
from our struggles, from our successes.
Build a castle, a castle of dreams.

We must sit on our thrones in our castle of dreams,
and grin ruefully looking back
on the struggles, then look ahead
towards the impossible dream that lies beyond.

Towards what dream we must accomplish next,
towards another wall to scale, reach the top, and build even higher.
To do the impossible, because impossible
really isn’t what it sounds like.

A tired hug early in the morning,
drowsy and uncoordinated,
but starts the day nicely.
Like a cup of tea,
mellow and lovely.

A wet hug,
filled with tears, tears, and more tears.
A comforting embrace
that no one wants to let go of
or experience again.

A happy hug,
one that happens out of joy
for something or another.
Like a lemon drop,
sweet and filled with innocent happiness.

A desperate hug,
the kind when the world is falling apart
and the only thing you have is each other.
Arms wrapped tightly,
a hug in circumstances no one wants.

A hug that isn't desperate, but still needed.
Those that you never want to leave,
that say the words you can't.
The ones you hold on to,
that you bury your head into.

A goodbye hug.
The worst kind.
Filled with regrets, words never said.
As agonizing as they are,
there is no worse thing than
not being able to give one.

Normal.
Peaceful.
Calm.
The air sweet and crystal clear.
Sunlight streaming through windows.
Music playing in the background,
happy and energetic.
and then
a
snap.
Suddenly,
I can't breathe.
The air is thick and shallow breaths
turn to deep ragged ones.
The light is too bright,
my head hurts from it.
My thoughts race.
Why?
I should've...
I'm worthless.
No one likes me.
Why bother.
It doesn't matter.
My head hurts.
No one cares.
Why should they?
I need to work.
My heart hurts.
Why?
Tears spring to my eyes.
I blink them back easily
from months of practice.
The music keeps playing
in the background,
now sounding like
it's underwater.
Submerged in my feelings,
it seems.

A warm wind,
the kind you'd blame
for melting an ice cream,
yet laugh as it tickles your face.
That's the nature of summer.

A cool breeze,
the kind you'd sigh at when it passes by,
yet shiver when it distracts you
from the season's warmth.
That's the nature of summer.

A cold, whipping wind,
the kind that feels great when you're
leaning out the car window,
yet messes up your hair and brings tears to your eyes.
That's the nature of summer.

A violent gust,
the kind that signals a storm while you're
sitting peacefully at home,
yet tosses you around like you weigh nothing, if ever
you try to outrun it.
That's the nature of summer.

A sudden outburst of rain,
the kind that just pours from the sky
catching you off guard,
yet you laugh as it soaks through your clothes.
That's the nature of summer.

A light drizzle,
the kind feels amazing during a hot day,
yet makes your hair damp
and makes it impossible to stand the heat afterwards.
That's the nature of summer.

A dazzlingly brilliant sun,
the kind that turns up after the rain
more powerful and warmer than before.
Yet burns your eyes as you look ever closer.
That's the nature of summer.

A returning warm wind,
the kind that makes your cheeks blush
and puts a smile on your face,
yet pulls at the ends of your hair,
tangling it.
But that's the nature of summer.

What if one day,
we met a version of ourselves
crossing the street.
However that version is
how someone else sees us,
and not how we see ourselves.
Not unlike a mirror image,
yet different in so many ways.
We wouldn't be able
to recognize ourselves,
because we see ourselves
in a different light.
We see ourselves in the cold,
white light,
standing in front
of the bathroom mirror,
analyzing.
criticizing.
They see us in the warm sunshine
when our eyes are crinkled
from laughing,
when our hair is blowing
in the breeze.
We see ourselves in numbers.
Grades,
weights,
calories,
They see us in feelings.
Happiness,
passion,
love.
Maybe if we saw
our almost-mirror self
cross the street,
we would see ourselves
differently as well.
We would see
a kinder,
more beautiful,
thinner us.
But in reality,
we'd be the same.
Because mirrors lie to us,
but perspectives do not.

Standing alone
in this eternal downpour.
Rain washes over my face,
as hopelessness takes over
my heart.
The drops hit my face
in a pattern
I won't ever remember.
Because now
the feelings
are overflowing.
I'm worthless.
I'll never be good enough.
No one cares.
These thoughts crowd my mind
as it rains even harder.
I look up
to let the sky's tears
mix with mine.
The drops are icy,
but not as cruel as my thoughts.
Never that.
At least my tears
are hidden by the rain.
No one will know,
nor will they have to.
The tears roll down my face faster
as the wind knocks me down.
My heart asking why,
my thoughts asking
what did I do
to deserve this pain.
On my knees,
I beg for help.
To anyone at all.
Anyone?
Please...
Please..
Please.
There is no reply.
I hear my heart breaking
with a final clap of thunder.

I stand alone
in this eternal downpour.

A book.
Simple enough,
As a concept.
But it’s
so
much
more.
It’s a world of imagination.
That pulls you in.
That traps you
so you can’t
leave.
A drug
you're now
addicted to.
Sustenance you
really need.
A place to
curl up
and feel safe.
It means
Staying up late.
Ignoring
absolutely
everything
else.
It means throwing
your best interests
to the wind.
Because who needs sleep
when you have a world to discover,
A place to call home?

Melancholy.
A pretty word
with such a sad heart.
Makes you wonder
what made it so.

Melancholy.
The way it's said
so passively,
inattentively,
ignorantly,
makes me want to
scream.

Melancholy.
The word is reverent
and should be treated so.
A beautiful expression
to be used with care,
if you please.

Melancholy.
It's not sickly sweet
like some of the others,
yet not too sour either.
A little bit salty,
like tears.
But really,
who hasn't tasted their own?

Melancholy.
The word flows like a river
of tears down a cheek.
One filled with regret,
sorrow, loneliness.

Melancholy.
The more I say it
the more I like it.
The way it drifts,
and takes my thoughts with it.
Not to a happy place,
but a place of quiet,
sad thoughts.

Melancholy.
Even the word itself
draws me to it.
I think it is,
in part,
because I relate.
Sometimes,
it seems,
we are all
melancholy.
And I am but one
in a million
who feels it too.

There is a void
in my heart,
waiting for you
to fill it.
It takes
more
and
more
of me
each day,
so please,
find me
soon.
I will lose
myself
otherwise.

Happiness comes in different forms:
Thunder storms
and hot cocoa.
Reading
by a foggy window.
Frozen lemonade
on a hot day.
Getting lost
in good music.
Laughing so hard
you cry.
Hugs from a person
you've missed.
Brand new, cute
haircuts.
Getting a letter
from a friend.
Looking at a drawing
you're proud of.
People's reactions
to gifts you give them.
Surprises and
surprising people.
Cuddles
while watching a movie.
Playing with dogs
and puppies.
Looking around,
and realizing how much
good there is in this world,
despite how dark it looks.
Because you have to
get used to the darkness
before you can see
all the forms
happiness takes.

Nightmares hurt.
The emotional pain,
and the physical pain.
I can't count
how many times
I've woken up
to be
haunted by
my own
mind
and what
I think of.
I can't even
imagine
the times
I've woken up
with a
headache,
a heartache,
or both.
I can't begin
to reason
why my mind
has such a
vivid
perception
of what
a gunshot
feels like.
Or what
drowning
would be like.
But I've
dreamed them
so many
times,
It feels
like I've
lived them.
And please don't think
for a second
that's every
night.
There are the
good dreams
too.
The happy ones
where
everything
is alright.
But those hurt
way more.
Because
when I wake up,
I can
feel them being
torn away
by Morning.

Two lovers on opposite sides of the world.
Lover one sleeps while the other is awake,
Lover two dreams while the other works


Although they are different,
Although they are far far apart,
All they know is their love for each other.


Two lovers on opposite sides of the world.
Lover one has found out where lover two is,
Lover two has always known where the other is.


Although they have not met,
Although they have yet to talk,
All they know is their love is forever.

Two lovers on opposite sides of the world.
Lover one walks towards lover two,
Lover two follows his heart towards the other.

Although they are tired,
Although they seem to have walked forever,
All they know is their need to be together.


Two lovers on opposite sides of the world.
Lover one finds themselves alone where the other was,
Lover two is still missing a half where lover one once stood.


Although they walked towards each other,
Although they followed their hearts,
All they know is they walked different paths,
And never met along the way.


Two lovers, again on opposite sides of the world.
Lover one sobs silently into the shoulder of their invisible other,
Lover two cries silently at the absence of a lover.


Although they are missing a half,
Although they are hurting,
All they know is their love for each other.

Hope:
“a desire for a certain thing to happen”, according to the dictionary.
And yet Hope grants no wishes.
He pushes the doubt to the back of your mind.
Until you’re fully convinced nothing bad will ever happen.

Hope hurts, I’ve learned.
He betrays the most innocent.
He beats you up and shoves you to the ground.
Why?
Because why not.

Hope is like that ex that turns up just to spite you.
Hope is that guy you were in a serious relationship with, then suddenly cheated on you with your sister.
He brings your spirits up just to smash them back into the cold, hard, ground.

His enemy is Disappointment.
He’ll try so hard to keep you away from her.
He’ll say “I’m protecting you from her”.

When you meet Disappointment, however, it’s somewhat of a relief.
She welcomes you with open arms.
She’ll hug you tight, until you’ve melted into her embrace.

But now you’re stuck with her.
She’s a little rude, definitely honest, and sad.
Really sad.
And yet she’s better than being with Hope, even though she coaxes the tears from your eyes so they flow like a river.

But Hope seems so much worse. Because Hope makes everything better before he destroys it.
Disappointment, at least, you know what you’re getting into.

You brace yourself for her.
You know she’s coming.
Hope is the unexpected one.
The surprise you never wanted.
The surprise you never needed.