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.

The crudeness of their lies is everywhere,
hurts everywhere.
They write best wishes to everyone,
but deliberately put one in the corner.

Their stares bring rain,
and their glares are what welcome her.
There is no warm greeting on the outside of her door.
Open it and find them there.

Her bed tries to bring comfort,
but then another walking stare marches in,
greeting her with a familiar glare,
the one that watches her as she sleeps.

Everywhere she goes, their glares follow.
She tries to walk away, but a stare finds her trail.
She tries to hide, but is always found by a watcher.
She tries to sleep them away, but the glares rip into her dreams.

Their wide eyes are inescapable.
Too many dilated, dark pupils moving as she moves,
dancing to her rhythm, noting all her moves,
spotting all her trips, recording all her falls.

The eyes of them see her discomfort,
and find their own serenity.
These eyes were once welcoming,
now are forever watching, forever following.

You are the Mickey to my Minnie,
the Prince Charming to my Cinderella.

You're there for me always,
so I'm never alone.

You smile to me,
and show me the way to go.

You are the Ben to my Leslie,
the Eric to my Ariel.

I know you'll always be there for me,
to smile to me so I can smile too.

If you're scared to drive with me,
you can tell me.
But if it's because of my ADD,
like I know it is,
instead of the fact that I'm new,
you can kiss rides to the store goodbye.
No, you can't come.
You don't like my driving.

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.

If I had known saying goodbye
would be this difficult,
I would have packed
myself in his suitcase.

I just wish that hug never
ended, that he'd still
be holding me in his arms.

When he held my hands,
then tried to pull away,
I only held his hands tighter,
and followed him,
until he could move no more.

I just wish —
I only wish —
I wish he was holding me,
I just want to be holding him.

I burned myself,
because my Catholic conscience
got the better of me.

I told myself it's what
God wanted.
I've a touched a man

and let him touch me
before exchanging our vows.
I'll wear my veil

to hide my guilt
and my shame.
I'll hide my burns.

Burning myself
wasn't enough,
no water hot enough.

Red splotches covered me,
I wasn't satisfied.
I don't deserve to look

"normal."
My mistakes must be
exploited,

because I tell myself
I'm a *******
and I want to burn this ****.

This isn't a poem, as you can probably tell.  (I'm sorry!)  I just need advice!

I'm trying to decide whether while working this summer, I would want to focus a lot on music and how I might want to portray it - like through covers and mashups and all that jazz.

I've been told I have a nice/lovely/beautiful voice and I love to sing and really never stop.  And I'm almost always listening to music, and I can guarantee you I always have a song stuck in my head (usually Cher's Believe).

I just don't know if I should do it.  Never mind post to the Internet - that time will come when it may.  But I just don't wanna go out and buy a recording microphone, mic stand, a capo for my guitar, and have someone tune and change the strings (because I cannot tune a guitar even if the world depended on it) of my tiny guitar that I'll basically have to spend time learning again.

I really want to, but it's really the money aspect that I'm worrying about.

Should I just do me and go for it and if I really like it, then I can go out and buy all that stuff if I wish?

I am not perfect,
I can be seen as a failure
or even as a disappointment,
but I don’t need you to “fix” me.

I don't know why you love me.
I am the most annoying person on our
        planet.
How can you love someone like me?

I have more baggage than a person should.
I have more energy than should be
        attainable.
I don't know when to stop,
or I stop too early.

I trust too much,
and I trust too little.
There is never an in between with me.

I don't know why you love me,
and in this poem I tried to find my answer,
tried to hear your voice say it in my head,
and I could hear it,
I just don't know why you said it.

I forgot how
you keep me
up at night.
Ignore my fatigue,
and drag me
to the wee
hours
of the morning.

I forgot how
you keep me
from eating.
The thought of food
makes me want to *****
anything inside of me.

I forgot how
you make me
realize how
full of flaws
I really am.

I remembered how
you can help me,
but is it worth this
pointless depression
that drags me through the day,
day by day?

If you think I'm the only one in the wrong,
you got another thing coming for you.

You can take your judgmental attitude
towards everything I do

and let me live my life as I do.

And if that involves me doing art
that you don't understand,
then let me.

If it involves me wearing Pokémon shirts
while I play Pokémon,
even though you think it's dorky,
then let me.

If it involves me hanging out with my friends,
even though you don't like them,
then let me.

And if it even involves me hanging out with my boyfriend,
even though you hate him for no legitimate reason,
then ******* let me.

Because I'm not on this planet to be only your friend,
and it's time to grow up and realize that.

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.

I wear all my valuables
because I trust no one around me.

I wear them when I shower and sleep
because I know when she and they see

an opportunity,
they will grab, and they will steal,

until everything in which I have put care
is gone, until it all is demolished in their hands.

You act like you’re the only one,
the only one who has urged to self-harm
to make the pain go away.

Tell me about it.
Tell me about how you’re alone
and pain might be your sole escape.

You’re going to tell me anyway,
because you’re alone and I know nothing.
I’ve never harmed myself.

I don’t use my hands against myself.
I don’t hold myself back from fighting back.
I don’t let myself hurt myself.

You’re alone,
no one gets you.
Right.

You don’t see reality.
You don’t see that it’s you who gets no one,
it’s you who makes others feel alone.

It’s you who’s made my hands turn on me,
and fight the physical and mental battle
against myself.

You act like you’re the only one,
the only one who has gone to self-harm
to make the pain go away.

Imagine being in love
for twenty years.
Twenty years of loyalty,
promise, and forgiveness.

Imagine being in love
for forty years.
Forty years of honesty,
sharing, and openness.

Imagine being in love
for sixty years.
Sixty years of love
and all its adventures.

Imagine being in love
for all its endeavors.

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.

Every time I feel a passing coming,
it heads full-throttle into action,
taking my happiness with a life.

But for my entire life, her passing has felt near,
yet she’s still here.
I fear that once I feel that she’ll be here for a long while more,

she’ll leave.
The Lord will take her from me,
and leave a family with broken hearts.

She fears passing,
saying at ninety she’ll make it to one-hundred.
I get my fear of going from her.

Together, we’ll live forever.
Only have each other,
and a difference of seventy-one years

has not held back our bonds before.
Lord, we pray,
Don’t take us.  Give us forever.

Lord, don’t take her hand from mine.
God, give us more time.
Don’t let Him let the time pass.

She tells us enough we don’t have love for her,
and now I see her once a month -
maybe.

Lord, don’t take her hand from mine.
God, give us more time.
Don’t let the time pass.

You think you're kicking me out,
but I'm leaving.

You smell like **** and baby powder,
I'm the one who's leaving.

On my own will,
bye, *****!

He still has a grasp on me.
I want to run, but he won't let me.
I want to kiss another, but he won't let me.
This is selfish in a way - I'm afraid.
Don't think about what the good guy feels.
Worry about how he wronged you
and so did he,
oh, and he did too.
Kiss him on the cheek,
it's harmless.
If only it were that easy,
for me,
a selfish, stupid child.

I don't know how
we're going to spend
an entire weekend together
when the past two nights,
you've made me feel like ****.

You should be able to tell me
No
or
I don't want to
without hesitation
like I do for me and you.

I don't know how
we're going to spend a weekend
together
when you keep making
me feel like ****.

My mind is racing.
I'm remembering things I once blocked,
remembering things that once brought smiles
and now bring tears because I miss them so.

I remember when you treated me like a princess.
I never thought I would enjoy that.
You called me sweetheart,
and when you hugged me,
you held and swung me
so my legs swayed to and fro
like those of a doll.

I should have known I was just a doll,
just a toy.
I wish I had known I was nothing else,
maybe I'd be sleeping tonight.

But then I remember her smile,
my hero's warm, welcoming smile.
I cry because I can't remember her voice -
it's been too long.
I remember her face simply because I see the prints
on my wall, the pixels on my phone,
of the days we were minutes away.
Two hours is too far.
And once every two months is not enough.
You can't go that long without a friend,
without a role model,
without a hero,
at least when you're me.

But I cry because of how he changed things,
and I cry because of how far she is from me.
But I smile because in a week, most will change.
I will see her smile again and forget his,
at least for a short while.
But I still cry because I focus on the negatives,
rarely on the positives,
especially in the dark.
And maybe if he didn't change his ways,
and her smile was next me always,
but not in print,
maybe I'd be sleeping tonight.

Because she's the only one who will get through to me,
one of the only ones who will listen to me.
Everyone says they understand me,
but everyone includes him,
and that's why I won't be sleeping tonight.

The neighbors' constant bumping
isn't a bother,
even if it is 9 in the morning,
and I should still be sleeping.

But happiness I have not felt
in a while
trumps all.

Need to feel it now
before I find it slipping away.

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'm a brat and I know it,
no need to tell me twice.

I overreact and I'm aware of it,
no need to shout it in my face.

You told me over and over again,
even after you called it off after me,
you care for me deeply.

But tell me how that's so
if you tell me we'll talk tomorrow,
then have seven days pass

with only two messages
sent to you from me.
You read both.  I saw that.

Again,
Thanks for the text,
all of the ones you never sent.

Again,
Seriously, I did want to talk to you,
but now I don't know what I want.

You read these messages, I saw.
Twenty minutes later,
Read 7:27 PM

I send another,
four hours later,
Read 2:25 AM

Remember when you told me you cared?
And you had to convince me you were honest?
Good luck trying to do that again.

I won't let it happen.

I've always been told I overreact,
so now I underreact.
I could have been mugged,
and I'll tell myself that others
have had worse times
being mugged.

I tell myself my problems are small,
because I know there are worse ones out there.
I don't have it that bad.

I could have been stabbed in the ribs,
and think, People have had worse,
I'm no big deal.

I've been assaulted and abused,
but I know people who've had worse,
so I don't make a big deal about them…

…at least not out loud.

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.

I can't help but
stare at the picture
where you kiss my cheek
in the middle of your show
and think that maybe
for once
I've got something going for me.
I'm not a failure.

You wonder why I hate you
when you send me pictures
of the man who messed up me.

You wonder why I'm upset
when you laugh in my face
and mock my brain.

You wonder why I don't talk to you
when you would play on my deficit
to have a companion to fail with.

You wonder why I reacted the way I did
when all you did was mock me,
make fun of me, and use me.

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.

When all you want is love,
and you're denied that love,
nothing else seems important
or even worth it.

I could tell her everything by reading her my poems' titles,
or, instead, I could read to her a few poems.

Then I could tell her how my mind races
but never places.

Then I could tell her what he did to me,
though she'd still be grossed out

because she's so innocent at heart.
I want to tell her,

but I'm afraid, because
I don't want to break her.

Though I know it's more for me than her,
I just don't want to scare her.

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.

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

Why can't I be normal?

On or off,
something's off.
Too upset
or too crazy.
There's never an
in-between.

Either way,
people question
why I am
the way I am.

Sometimes I wonder,
What's the point
of going on?

I'll be dishonest with you,
and tell you
I feel accepted all the time.

The only one who gets me
lives two hours away,
and I'll be honest,
and tell you this,
he should be expecting
a call from me today.

Maybe you'll see these poems.
And if you do,
you'll probably get mad.
And if you do,
that is not my problem.
Because if you do,
it is not me who said you was you.

I am from the seas
where the harsh winds blow,
where I learned all I know,

where my mother
taught me to accept people
as they are,

where my father
taught me to be me
and to fight for me
when no one else would,

where my teacher
showed me that the me I am
is an okay me to be,

where my friends
very different from me
taught me what it means
to accept all for who they are,

where the birds
sing me good morning
and calm me when I'm not,

'cause the winds hit us hard,
and the power often leaves,
leaving us with each other,
an open community where everyone
and anyone
is welcome.

I am from the seas
where the harsh winds blow,
where I learned all I know.

All I needed was for you to stay,
for you to hold me while I cried.

Because all I do is feel alone,
but when you hold me, I feel so much
        more.

But it was an inconvenience to you,
so you left me here to cry.

You say you're sorry, and I know you are,
but it's hard to accept your apology

when it comes from you thinking your
        pain and bad mood tomorrow
trump my grief and sorrow.

77 miles to the place
I call home.
No drama,
no ****.
Just family and more.
To grow a smile on my face,
and get away from this place
I abhor.

So many people tell me I look happy.
I want to tell them it's all a lie,
but then I'll just break down and cry.

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.

I am like the sky.

We blush at the same
        moments:
before the dark,
and before the light.

We don't know the difference.

I was going to do it on my own,
but I was rudely interrupted.
I mean, I've tried before,
but you never got it.

I'm sorry,
not sorry.
Enlighten me.
Why should I apologize?

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.

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.

Every three-hundred seconds,
she danced three-hundred more.
Every three-hundred seconds,

her head bobbed to music,
her foot kept a beat,
and her mouth mouthed a chorus.

No music played,
no beat pounded,
and no lyrics were there to mouth.

Her silent song played from inexistent speakers,
and her body danced to a silent song of chaos,
every three-hundred seconds.

People know because I show them my words,
I never say them.

This is how I express my sores,
I can never speak of them.

I physically can't.

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 don't care about your purpose, I only care about how it makes some people feel.  If you're going to post something graphic, descriptive, or something that could trigger flashbacks or anything online and your account is connected somehow (via following, facebook friends, or whatever) to someone you know or even don't know who has dealt with what you want to share to make a point like "all men are evil," then you have to reflect on who you are as a person and how dire it is that you share this piece of information.  Is your point so important and "accurate" to prove that you need to put someone in harm's way?  Do you really need to post that video of someone being run over or shot, or killed or wounded in any way?  Do you really need to share that person's **** story?  Do you really need to post that picture of someone's hanging?  Do you really need to post any of that?  If you really feel the need, AT LEAST - okay?  at least? - put it in your settings that someone you may know who is sensitive to whatever you want to post doesn't see it.  You want to make the world a better place?  Maybe start thinking.