Blossomed from the dark shadows,
hit with hail and storms throughout
the summer days,
blossoming into a new season,
a new life chapter,
to find its protector's shoe,
hovering over the young bud
like a storm cloud on a humid day.
Blossomed, now wilting,
it waits for the stomp,
waits for its crunch.

It's probably too early
to write one about you.
But to hell with it.
You're turning my depression
back into optimism.
Putting the smile back
on my once-forever-frowning face.
Placing laughter and positive spirit
back in the dark cloud above my head.

Don't tell me
you put me first
if in reality
you put me last.

In all the weeks of your ignoring,
lack of talking,
I doubt highly
you won't recognize me
on this day of all
and wish me it spectacular.

That drunken buzz
was enough to make
me never want to do
that again.

God tried to warn me,
and the devil tricked me.

If our love is at the end,
then why do I still want you?

If you're looking for love
Know that love don't live here anymore
He left with my heart
They both walked through that door without me

I put you high up in the sky,
and, now, you're not coming down.

I used to believe love conquered all.

I guess I got no Valentine.
Send me roses, I'll just let them die.
I was crazy thinking you were mine,
it was all just a lie.

I meant to start a war.
And by using force,
I'm never gonna let you win.

I came in like a wrecking ball.
I never hit so hard in love.
All I wanted was to break your walls.
All you ever did was wreck me.

Don't you ever say I just walked away,
I will always want you.

We kissed, I fell
under your spell.

You left me crashing in a blazing fall.
All you ever did was wreck me.

You told me that you wanted this,
I told you it was all yours.

I'm hurting myself.

If you're done with it,
then what you say forever for?

I'm hurting myself.

If forevers out the door,
I'll ignore when you call.

Oh, it seemed like everything was going fine.
I found the love that I thought was gonna last.

You told me you were coming back,
right back.
Promised it was real and I believed that.

You acted like you wanted this,
but then you led me on.

Oh, you broke my heart
I told you I was weak for love
But then you went around
And did what you wanted to do
And now I'm crying, crying

I always knew I never wanted this;
I never thought it could happen.

But all the broken promises I won't miss,
I'm finished.
All I know are the facts
that when I look you in the eyes,
all I see are the lies.

I got a lot of nasty things flowing up in my head
But none of them are worth my time
You're not even worth this rhyme
And I don't, I don't give a flying

You left me crashing in a blazing fall.

You can go from being happy for a day or two,
to remembering why you were so sad in the first place,
and completely throw aside all the happiness
and forget its very existence until it knocks at your door again
and you actually get up and answer it.

India, China,
Venice and Rome.
Oh, the places I will go.

Lisbon, Paris,
Vancouver and Peru.
Oh, the places I will travel through.

Istanbul, Dublin,
Kenya and Cairo.
Oh, the places I will go.

Today,
I put a lot of thought into my future,
dreamed of new dreams,
have myself looking forward
to more than just one thing.
And, most of all,
I just don't feel like crying anymore.

Why do you care about me?
I'm nothing like you.

I fit in over There
more than I do over Here.
Though Here is where my heart is,
There is so much more comforting.

They don't force me to do things There,
they want me to be with them when I'm over There.
Here, I'm forced to do things
that make me want to pull my teeth out.
Here, I follow them around like a lost puppy looking for food.

Though Here is much more eye-appealing,
There is the only place I wish to be.
As long as I'm with the people There,
I am happy that I'm Anywhere.

Your face is in the trash at Walgreens,
because I printed out a group picture,
        and you were in it,
so I cut you out.

You don't deserve to be in my college
        photos folder
with all my good memories.
Maybe if you didn't think I was a liar
and if you were a little more caring,
your face wouldn't be in the trash at
        Walgreens.

I always knew I looked like her:
same eyes, smile, ****** expressions,
and even our glasses and smiles.
I always knew that my curls and her
        straight hair separated us.
I always knew that we liked the same things,
disliked the same things.
I always knew our hands wrote the
        same.
I always knew that her fear of
        something
and my love for that thing
made us unique,
but today I learned something new.
We talk the same.
I may swear more,
but I'm not really sure.
I've heard her swear once when she
        was mad,
and every other time,
she was reading a foul line.
But when we're happy,
we have the same tone,
the same speed,
the same words.
When we're sad,
you can hear it in our voices,
see it in our eyes,
notice it in our slouching spines.
And when we're proud of others,
we let them know.
Oh, over and over again,
we let them know.
I'm proud to say I'm like her,
and maybe not seeing her for a year,
I'll be okay.

I stopped caring
…about everything, really.
And now look at me,
I'm carefree.

I got over the boy
of two years' desire
in a single day,

but no matter how much I've tried,
getting over you,
a month's desire
and the only month I've had
where a man was good to me,
is not something that will come soon
or with ease.

I don't know if or when
I'll move on from this phase,
which I hope I'll be able to call it,
but I sure hope I do
if you don't hop on this ship
and join me down this river.

Chopping it off is my expression.
I've had this same chop since I was not
        even seven.
Chop it all off and rid the rotten in my
        past.
I'll miss my curly locks, but I've got to
        move on.  Anyway, this won't last.

I know I sound like Miley,
and soon I'll look her,
but one thing's for sure:
I'm doing this for me.

I made the mistake
of reading past scripts
after a rejection
that hit me harder than the rest.

Monsoons didn't come,
but I'm sure they will.

Every morning, I wake
up and long for
his body beside mine
and know it will never be.

You were my first daydream
in months.  I've been a child,
I've daydreamed before,
but it's been awhile.

So much treachery and negativity
came at once in a storm of fury.
Daydreaming just wasn't on the
        schedule.
But then you came along,

and the negative became positive,
treachery ceased to exist,
the storm ended.
You, like a ray of sun,

shone hope into my life
and let me dream outside my nightly
        mares,
and let go of my worries,
to just think of brighter futures
        and brighter nows.

I'm gonna tell you how I feel
and pray you still feel the same too.

My face is covered in salt
because of you.

Why don't I ever talk about things that
        stress me out?
Because you don't understand.
You think you do,
but I know you don't.

If you lived just one day as me,
you'd do the same thing.
In fact, I don't think you'd survive.
Maybe you'd finally understand,

finally understand that I'm not afraid
to drive,
not afraid
to get a job,
not worried
to live for myself.

I never take charge and do something
        when I feel uncomfortable?
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you.
I was busy telling off
every creepy man who comes my way.
I was busy reporting him to the police.
I was busy telling administration
that the person who should be looking
        out for her students
just told me flat-out I'd be nothing.
I was busy standing up to my coach
who played me so much, I'm in chronic
        pain.
I was busy crying as you yelled at me
when I told you something that
happened to me that
made me uncomfortable.

I'm sorry you feel that I don't tell you
anything anymore even though
you're my "biggest supporter"
and I "know it."
It's not like every time I talk to you,
it ends in my tears.
Sorry, "biggest supporter,"
that I don't feel comfortable
talking to you.

I felt very-well supported
when I told you you made me
uncomfortable because you make me
feel like a failure,
and you yelled at me and told me to
        get my act together
as you told me it's my decision,
not yours,
to do anything or not do anything.

Hatched from their cacoons,
they're all different now.
Changed to different colors,
different tones, different attitudes.
Newly-winged butterflies flutter
to wherever their hearts desire.

Then there's that one caterpillar,
left in the dirt, not wanting to flutter
with the rest, but to walk with the bold
down below.

Change will come, but if the heart
        changes, so will the mind.

The caterpillar with a heart as strong as
        gold
tires of being with the butterflies
who do whatever they please
regardless of its righteousness or
        wrongness.

The caterpillar wants to grow,
but to walk instead of fly
as high as the sky.
To be grounded and strong,
not high and fragile.

I want you in my life,
but talking to you cuts me like a knife.

I restrain myself from spilling,
save myself from the person I'm
        killing.

I miss when we talked everyday,
even when it was about that loser
        that played.

You're the first good guy to want me in
        his life,
and I had to go and cut you like a
        knife.

Ever since I lost a friend
to a truth she refused to take,
I fear sight from all eyes
on me, seeing the liar
I am truly not.

I'm sorry
if I make you
uncomfortable.

Every night
I hear birds sing
in my head
I hear you call for me.

I'm going to tell you everything.

From thinking of a cut of the hair
to the monster I bared
for that single month of toxic air.

I'm going to tell you everything.

Here's one of my many
flaws:

I'll be mad at you for months and
months,

then I see you
once,

and my anger
disappears.

Your welcoming
smile

brings me back to easier
days

and warmer
times.

I forget
assault,

throw away the
drama,

drop the
changes,

and leave behind the
stress.

Then I leave like nothing made me
mad

to begin with.  No
communication

is like nothing.  A
part

of me is quite
peeved,

while most of me has taken
forgiveness

without the other part's
consent.

I'm not sleeping
because I'm afraid of the nightmares
        I bare
when I'm asleep and no one's there.

I'm not sleeping
because I fear,
in less than a day,
she won't be there
or she'll push me away.

I'm not sleeping
because I think about the things to
        come -
the good and the bad.

The nightmares keep me up.
More attacks on the innocent
to be screened inside.
Mostly in schools,
once underground.
Flaw-full students,
ones with glasses or inconsistent
        tardies.
Or innocent princesses,
animated and have come to life.
Attacks from the power gone evil.
Principals become ******
and evil witches or queens grow
        the size of skyscrapers.

The innocent become meerkats
in the ground when the hyena
appears.
Travel great depths to find the one
to help them save the world.
Wake up before justice is served.

I'm not sleeping
because I can't stop the mare
and save my mind.
Wake up in fear
and then have her push me away.

But I need to sleep
so I don't explode
when I am pushed.

I'm not sleeping
because of fear.

I remember when you said
you'd be there
and would help make my life
"a little easier down the road."

Now you never talk to me
and my care for you has dwindled
into nothingness.

You don't deserve to hear my stories.
Your one-word responses
and interest in my life for just five
        minutes,
they are not getting you anything.

The few years I knew you were great,
but I wonder if they were a lie.
You said you cared, and you were
        there.
But now that I'm older,

you can't spare a care?
Can't spare a helping hand
or helping word?
I thought you were there

like you said you were.
I might see you tomorrow in passing,
but don't expect a great story…
you're gonna hear what everyone else
        hears…

which, I'm sure, is what you want.

I hate feeling this way.
It eats me alive.

Anxiety is fun.
Loads of fun.

Freaking out over the life lost
that has nearly begun.

Heart pounding to the thought
of my teaching career in the future.

Freaking out about the great friends
I've made, and the man
I just started talking to.

Breaths shortening to the thought
of failing my first year.

I want to live, to achieve,
to not lose another, to succeed.

Why do I have to be so anxious…
about everything?

I'm getting past him
by burning his name
and burning a drawn replica.

The fire was set,
the ashes were settled,
now the memory of him is fading.

I've been ready for awhile,
and lately been walking down this
        aisle.
It's getting darker as I wander
and slowly tip-toe my way through.

I see you in a passing pew,
smiling and waving, offering a
        trusting hand.
Your caring eyes blaze through mine
that hold fear for a red-eyed beast
in the pew behind.

Its eyes glow red with villainy,
putting me in agony.
He stands tall like a werewolf on
        hinds,
breathing heavily and convincing
        minds.

Your hand still extended,
I want to take it.
I know no beast is in you,
but the beast is always there.

I want to go down a different path,
and maybe the one with you is best,
but perhaps I'll find another beast,
who'll eat my heart and leave me rot.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

Home to where the tan sand lays,
beaten by the waves that just want
        to stay.
Home to where we sail
till Lawson becomes a snail,

so small and so unnoticed,
like the little town covered in tourists.
Boston to my right,
and Gloucester in sight.

We tell stories around the flames,
put the passing train in shame.
Looking up at the floating embers
as they become stars to remember.

Lighting up the harbor, rock by rock,
keep the candle going with all your
        luck.
The Luminaria will make you gasp,
the little town is hard to grasp.

So little with so much beauty,
my little town is an opportunity.
Art by hand
and art by land.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

I'll see you once more,
call it quits.

Exhausted with a mind racing.
Need to rise in six hours,
mind still racing.

Thinking back on him,
about all of them.
Wondering about her response,
about whether she'll pounce.

He ruined me,
and now they are too.
My ability to trust is withering.
And if she doesn't respond,
I'm done for.

Dreaming of a trusting world,
analyzing every current and past
        detail,
not leaving out a single thing.
I hope to be happier,
but maybe that's impossible
if all these things and all these
        people
continue to wreck me.

I’m gonna do it.
I’m gonna hit ‘send.’
Hit ‘send.’
Just hit ‘send.’
Send.
Sent.

If you think I’m a liar,
you can kiss this goodbye.

You say I’m your favorite,
and that we’re great friends,

but when something has scarred me,
a great friend supports
without question.

Have you ever supported me?
No.

So get out.
Get out of my life.

Am I doing myself a favor by
        doing this?
Will talking to you again make
        this more bearable?
This depression I've been
        bearing
with me over my weak shoulder,
it's been eating me alive.

I'm failing and I'm scared.
Some people tell me it's my fault,
but they don't know my story.
People who know it
know why
I am the way I am.
My depression was not something
       I chose,
it was something he gave me.

And after a month of not talking to
        you,
is it worth the aggravation?
Maybe this is liberating?
Is this what the light looks like?
I'll let you know when I find out.

I learned to never idolize again.
Never have another hero.
Idols and heroes,
they're only here to disappoint.

In a world of people who cheat
        and lie,
how should they be any different?
They lead me on
and leave me in the ditch.

I'm done with heroes,
done with idols.
Have to find new motivators,
those that are not living,
that cannot die.
Gotta work on my mind
and never idolize.

I guess we should grow apart,
but I want to still have friendship
when my kids are young and run
around the earth
like electrons around a nucleus.
I want them to grow up knowing
        you,
knowing it's okay to befriend
people like you.

So afraid we lost touch
and too afraid to try again.

Violations,
no responses,
his fake kisses,
my hypnosis,
their absences,
my displacement,
the false judgment,
haunting flashbacks,
no acceptance.
They all own me
in this depression.

But I might just leave,
it's too uncomfortable now.
I told you too much,
and you fell to the ground,
scared for me,
scared for you.

Though grateful for concern,
I thought you would have said
        something by now.
I apologized for my outburst, for
        bringing you in when you
        should not have known.
Now my gratefulness for concern is
        withering,
and my comfort around you is
        weakening,
because you have said nothing since
        you showed me concern.
I just wish you'd free me of myself.
I beat myself up over this - and all
        you need to do
is say a word or two.

I haven't felt this way
since the witch took my smile away.
I've gone back to the negativity,
stepped back into the doubt, fallen
        back to empty.
Even though I've removed myself
        from toxic air,
the fumes absorbed through my hair,
and into my mind as it traveled.

Nostalgia creeps around every
        corner.
The smell of the fresh, cold spring air
puts me in a familiar field within.
The sweet songs of songbirds
pull me back to my days as an
        observer, a watcher of nature.

But the field is nowhere in sight,
the birds are here, but the grass is
        not.
I cannot tell where I stand anymore,
I stand straight in air that I've known,
thinking it's one I left behind.

Emptiness has never been dropped
upon my head this early in
Earth's rebirth.
Nostalgia is a killer,
and I am its victim.

It's our last night in the same room,
and you ignore my presence,
smell up the room with your
rotten baby powder stench,
and burn my eyes with your light
because you knew I was sleeping…
and you thought I was the bad roommate.

It has scratches and marks,
folds and wrinkles,
some lines from my oil pastels.
Some gloss and color have peeled away,
the corners folded in or out -
they decide.

It's not old...
fresh on the paper,
into the world almost one year ago.
The colors it shows have aged almost three years,
but its holder not.

Its tears and its scratches,
its marks and its lines,
the folds and the creases,
are from a year of hands holding,
from a year of moving from desk to book,
book to desk.

My wall is empty white now,
only bearing the bright colors
the beat-up photograph beholds.
The smiles, the two smiles, on a day of celebration,
remind me of days better,
of happiness that was,
happiness that can be.

The beat-up photograph
is one that is bittersweet.
Sadness for the one smile not with me,
for the other that used to be.
Glee for the memories made,
for the laughs laughed
and the smiles grinned.
Melancholy for longing to go back,
leave the dark behind.

Its tears and rips,
folds and scrapes,
marks and chips,
they avoid the teeth -
the teeth smiling,
the teeth reminding.
A forehead scratched,
but eyes avoided...
presenting true happiness attained.
I see the truth through eyes on paper
in a beat-up photograph.