I apologize for the stains on the pillow case,
I could not hold it in again.
The black that seeps into the flowers on the edge,
Are just from my eyes,
A little makeup remover should do the job fine.
The clothes missing from the closet are all mine, I swear.
I left your jerseys on the dresser, folded under the picture of us.
Please forgive the mess in the kitchen,
I began to make pancakes, but found myself in a heap on the floor,
While the batter bubbled under the stove.
I was sobbing because I am going to miss everything about this house.
That is no reason to stay here, I know that now.
I will miss Sundays, the smell of brunch from the hall,
And the glow of the tv when you fall asleep.
I found you countless times on the couch,
But never thought to move you to the bed.

The bathroom should be in good order,
The hair straightener will finally be out of your way.
I cleaned up the hair that I shed all over the house,
Because I know how much you hate it.
I began to vacuum the carpets, but I kept crying on them,
The hot tears would dry under the vacuum,
But I couldn't find the energy to keep going.

I know you won't understand why I am leaving,
Which is why this letter is for you,
And why I can't be here when you come home.
Your blue eyes would just drag me back to bed,
Like they have a hundred times.
I couldn't handle the grayness of your love anymore,
The way you couldn't commit to the distant future,
Or even to tomorrow.
We shared a house for ***** sake.
I hope you find the one you need,
I hope she cleans better than me,
I'm sorry that I am hurting you.
But I am happy that this is for me.
Sincerely,
Me

Trying to get published is a ******* joke.
My hands are tired of holding my face together,
eyes open at the bottom.
Hydrated by tiny sighs of disappointment
passing through my fingers.
I'm tired.
They seek the ******* about flowers
and the quietness of a lake,
and all I have to offer is
the hopelessness that ensues
most of these messes,
and the reality that this **** exists.
They want the "solitude of a haiku" in every piece.
Well, I have some groundbreaking news *******,
if humans were so content with everything
we wouldn't have or need any **** writers.
This is poetry too,
and if you think otherwise
your definition must be
shallow, jaded, and/or
[most importantly]
incredibly boring.

Don’t just take a walk in my shoes. Become my feet.

6years later
My mind calls it illusions
I think it's because we lacked Kodak moments

But how do you create a moment
You never had the time
I wasnt used to spending mine with you

Yet you have created a void
I miss you
I convinced myself that we have had moments

Although everything you had left
Faded
The void has taken over

It has created moments
Non existing ones
I miss you

The Void will never fill
We never had those moments
Memory missing
My love for you will never fade

On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip

People see what they want to see, so in all reality- what does that have to do with me? If it was up to me, I'd be me. But instead, I play my part in society, so people don't riot me. Ended up hating myself; more than I hate me. So I change every thing that's real, so the fake will be just like me. Real recognize real; sounds simple to me. Just try explaining that to society. Whatever I lack in swag, they'll buy for me.

Too expensive for my taste; Hit Walmart and I'm Gucci, down to the socks. Rings and watch, filled with fake rocks; looking like I got crazy loot- see me, on the street. Somebody shoot - me; for my, jewelry - that's stupid. But don't blame me; I'm society.

I'm being trendy thing, in spite of me. Everything is really real, everything but me. Cover girl issues, making up for free. Hating myself, because society told me, what to think of me. Had all my freckles removed; woke up the next day. Society decided they were ****; why didn't anyone text me.

Mirror on mirror on the wall, amazing grace, respond to call. Who is the sickest of them all? As I watch the hands fall, face forward, right off the wall. Million pieces, scattered wall-to-wall; Society reflected on every piece, as I collected them all.

Believe what you may, its your call. Or wait until Society drops the ball, and blames us all.