I always
fall in love
with people
I don't want to
love.

I wonder
if my internet friends
would ever know
if i was dead
or a ghost.
I wonder
if boys
ever thought
of being
men.
Life could
just be
a sham.
Life could
just be
a dream.
I hope.

I want to enjoy you.
I want to sip you slowly.
I can't though,
because all I can think about
is the burn.

I think ahead to where
you grow bored
and find something
new and shiny,
younger and thin.

I don't want time to grow...
I know it's selfish.
I know it's all so crazy.

I love you,
because I hate myself.

i've hidden behind lines
and waves of liquor.
i thought my fear
was cured with beer.
enslaved by substance abuse,
a living coward.
afraid of love and life.
but then one day,
one night,
two overdoses and attempted suicide,
one you and one i ...
something inside of me
ignited.
i turned left,
this day was different
despite all the same.
this 365th day was the day i said
"hey, enough is enough. i'm quitting the drugs. i'm in love and you are the one."

drug addicts are just rich people without money.

stop using my voice
for your thoughts.

emotional tides strict like a meal plan,
except i don't eat, but more like a noose.
i see him, i see you.
[always about you...]
the gasp is wearing;
air is tearing and dissipating.
you are choking me
handless.
manic thoughts
and cigarette chiefing,
ears bleeding
from the infomercials.
4 AM
and i ******* know more about
RVs than i know about you.

I hope you're okay...

your love is like a tidal wave,
it comes crashing down
and leaves me gasping for air.
your brown eyes are anything
but full of **** to me.
i worry late at night, wondering if you are capable of grasping the same intense connection
i have with small beauties.
your eyes like ember
and your hair like ash...
does your heart, too, burn?
can you feel it?
can i make you my soul mate?
would you like to stay forever maybe?
or at least until
i make you want to *****.
and if i start to make you sick
i hope it makes you immune
to other kinds of toxic.
i'm not saying i'm perfect,
but let me just say this...
i'm really good at
not taking up the whole bed.
okay...that's sort of a lie...
but my bones ache a different thought.
yes, my bones tell me to let them show.
my bones tell me it's control.
my bones tell me only 1200 a day.
my bones tell me if i don't eat you'll stay forever.
my bones tell me everything will be ok even if you don't.
my bones my bones my bones.
...but my heart.
what about it?
it tells me i'm smoking too much, but i think it's lying because it only goes up when you enter a room.
my heart tells me to stay alive.
my heart tells me to stick around
for you.

The million dollar question
I’ve always cried out
to the empty atmosphere is:


Will I ever be enough…
Enough for me?

Everything is purposeless,
Meaningless…
But that can be inverted.
I just want to grasp
some kind of way to live
where I don’t feel
like drowning in a foggy daze.

They don’t tell you
about getting better.
How it will still always hurt as badly
as the early days.
Getting better still means
falling and repeating the parts
you hate the most about yourself..:
You just get up faster or take up a new problem.

I will always battle myself.
I can grow, but the pain remains.
I guess you just learn to react in other ways.
Is that better?
The funny part…
I’m not better at all.
I’ve just learned better
ways to lie to myself.

I’m just scared.
I’m so scared that I’m probably
afraid of being happy.
How do you change to gold
when you were born blue?

The only change I feel
is my new profound
self-preservation and a little voice that wants more…
And then I take that version and force her to just watch.
Watch me break.
Watch me want better for myself after.
Watch me repeat.
Nothing is different.
Just me in a room watching while another me in a room is watching
me self sabotage.

I don’t want
to be complacent
in the familiar pain.
I gotta get out of the
middle of this ocean.

Love like a crocheted scarf
that hugs my heart,
time taken dearly to give warmth.

I slept from 3 PM to 8 AM
and my friends want me to go out, today, with them.
No one has a clue.
I'm Blue Da Ba Dee Da Ba - Blue.

"Sure, I'll go."
(Nah, no...)
I'll stay home, listen to Spotify.
Punk rock and play my terrible music.

I hear voices and have visions -- scenarios.
There is an antenna on my head
and I'm a backseat driver forced to hear this dumb stereo...
Play the same station over and over and over.

"I'll just jump out of the car, better on the pavement than this."
Delusional ******...
What came first?
The drugs or the hurt?

I can't stop.
I cant go backwards or forwards.
I can't unsay words.
I can't undo things.

I want a life worth living.
Someone worth loving.
Something to die for.
Let me be your martyr.

I can bend over backwards,
jump through hoops
and survive 5 hour replies.
I can't promise perfection,
but it will be real.

I can't promise I won't spend nights
wondering why you're with a girl like me.
Picking apart every detail
from skin to every word I mutter.
I succumb to you, though.

Because whether I'm deserving of love or not,
my selfishness will never shun it.
I can't live without something.
It's not in my nature; my DNA.
I am destined for needing more,


Always.

Green is the color of the sheets
every time one of us chooses to leave.
Flowers color our bedroom
every time we renew our love.
American boy,
so blue and cute.
Sing me your songs of sadness
and I'll fall to your every beck and call.
American boy,
you are always in a hurry,
on your pursuit of happiness.
Money and fame won't make you whole.
I'll pay the toll,
if it's what's holding you back from yourself.

Welcome to Hello Poetry
and thanks for following me.
I know it can be tough when you start,
but your poems are always great if they are from the heart.
You'll stay up late awake at night
staring at your computer light
with no thoughts coming to your mind,
ticking your fingers on the keyboard while your teeth grind.
This poem is a thanks
for the times you deal with blanks.
The times you know are tough,
I, too, am familiar with how rough
that feels.
And I swear it never heals,
only goes away temporarily
just to smack you more disparagingly.

So, here's to the poets
who are so fixated on blemishes that they don't even know it.

I'm often quite alone
in this room I claim my own.
There's moments I mustn't be,
but my doubt takes me to sea.
As I appear to be on edge,
my fingers dangling off the ledge...
I can't help but think:
I'm an anchor, I sink.

Love doesn't really change just because the person did.*



So, when you ask yourself "Am I crazy?" and "Why do I still love them?"
Remember these words.

I consume enough coffee
to **** a horse
in about a week.

I hunch over
more than L
from Death Note.

I sleep
but it feels like
I don't.

As today,
I can tell you the layout
of Spyro
as if it were the back
of my hand.

I currently live by
homemade trail mix,
leg lifts and walking on a treadmill.

There is a crazy
11 year old boy
yelling in my ear
with nice hair.

My boyfriend's mind
is wrapped within
artificial life
his head might as well
reside inside a
fish tank.

With one week gone,
my face drooping
as the light from
the television
glistens off my iris.

I see static
on a screen,
I feel it
in my hair
and I realize I've been
sitting here for 20 minutes.

I don't know where this is going.

I'm back to square one,
running in circles.
I'm like a laundry mat
with all these cycles.
Just wring me out,
I'm better off
hanging.

I'll use you as a good time.
I'm just like
all the ***** guys.
I'll even put you in my rhyme,
if you remind me of
all my lies.

I've changed,
"you're just not the same."
All my ol' friends tend to say.
That's what happens
when you put
**** in your nose
e v e r y d a y.

Sometimes I have nothing to write
and I wait for months and months
to pass only to find within time--
I'm still lonely.

Lonely can be so cruel
like solitary confinement
right behind your eyelids
and the sleep you can't awake
rests upon your fate,
you better wake the **** up
before it's too late.

Wake up.
Wake up. Wake up.
My therapist said
something is wrong with my head.
He found a word to describe me,
I never knew I wasn't like me.
Just a piece in a text book...
To describe my whole life.
All the series of traumas,
the abuse and dramas,
patterns and thoughts,
just to be boxed up...

I am not special.
I am nothing great.
But I dont care,
I refuse to ******* cave
into my demise.

I am broken to me

not you.

You say the gold
in my seams
are my silver lining
and you are a carpenter
who is blue
sometimes, too.


But I am not a project
worth taking, because
my form
takes shapes
many hours of the day
and you'll break your hands
if you stay.

I am broken to me

not you.

Some people are
Ready to let you go
Before you are
Just accept it

There has to be more to life
than trying to afford a life.
In constant despair
from status control,
my money shouldn't define
whether I do time
or eat tonight...
or see some grass
on the other side of the world.
I want to be happy,
so why do I find it so unattainable?
Next thing I know,
I'm telling people I'm depressed.
I say the word so much,
I begin to identify, as a crutch.
Excuses come flooding,
then I start running
and getting high on drugs.
Antidepressants
from a doctor who knows no other way.
I can't be mad, though.
I'm the same,
except all I know is pain.

Who are you?
Who are you?
Who am I?
I couldn't tell you.

I am a shapeshifter.
I have many hues.
My emotions depend
on the feedback of you.

If you love me,
I will shine.
If you play coy,
so will I.

Hurt me,
go ahead and try.
I will turn dark
and blend into the night.

You'll never know
what character I am.
You'll never know
because I don't even know
who I am.

You have
as many chances
as you allow yourself.
Take one of them to be better.

I'm afflicted
by all of my addictions
and my addictions
caused all of my inflictions.
There's never a touch
or a love
or a hug
to save me from
the inevitable.
The dark swirling
vortex
of my cortex
and the emptiness
in my chest
eats me from the inside out.
The chronic boredom
is a pest,
a tumor inside of my chest...
The **** oozes out
into my breaths
and suffocates me
until I say yes.

I love
breaking the surface of other's lives.
Sharing experiences,
sharing moments that will leave with the smoldering wood ash
in the early grey morning.

I like
knowing I've came and gone
leaving subtle imprints
that led people to their current spot.
Unaware and given no gratitude creates
a bittersweet symphony
in my heart.

I wish heartbreak
came with a manual.
But honestly,
would it even help?
I imagine it would
be contradicting and maybe
go something like this:
"You may experience
the feeling that you are walking away
from the rarest love you'll ever experience...
But don't you worry,
because even if you stay a little longer,
eventually you'll convince yourself
you don't love them anymore, just enough to finally
end it.
Give it a week.
Oh, there it is... You feel that?
THAT feeling is the numbness wearing off
and only remembering the happy parts."
Or some ******* like that.
Probably nothing that specific though...
Only enough to have the majority relate.
I imagine the narrator would sound
overly enthusiastic...Which is hilariously inappropriate ...
But, really, is it that hilarious?

I thought getting older and
having experience in dating
would result in all of this
**** becoming less confusing...
But it really just feels worse
every time for me.
At the end,
I couldn't even differentiate
the pain and anger from the source.
Did he create this suffering?
Was it my reaction that set the course?
Was this all in my head and I was just overeacting?
Or was I justified to feel this ******?
Even if I was justified, would it have even made a difference?
It really got lost in translation,
and I feel like I got lost in identifying that.
Was this a hypnotic trance from narcissism manipulating the narration or was it using my reaction as an excuse to self-sabotage?
I just want to know what really happened.
I think that's the scariest part.
Am I so broken, I convince myself it was them?
Well, ****.
What are you still reading for?
I don't have the ******* answer.

Just a matter of time,
my depression will win.

I don't want to die.
I'm afraid of the unknown.
Just like I'm afraid of you leaving.
When will it happen? It is unknown.
I want to escape, like the coward I am.
I could drug myself into oblivion, or scream myself a mile ahead the act...
Why is rejection so scary?
It's not even a reality, yet.
I dream of being anything other than human, just so I can avoid the act of suicide.

A passenger...
on your
emotional rollercoaster.
I'm strapped in...
without a choice.
I have so many thoughts
and no voice.
Bruises on my knees,
blood on my feet,
a cigarette in my mouth,
your loving is a tease.
You come from me
begging "please."
You fade in and out
of all my days;
Almost mistook you
for a phase.
It's always the ones
you don't expect.
Everything I want.
Everything I want.
I want to arrest you,
you are my criminal.
My kryptonite,
you stole me
in the night...
I surrendered;
No fight.
I need your eyes on me.
I can't behave,
I can't think straight.
You're all I crave.

Help.

I'm ignoring myself.

To save myself.

From myself.