I must've heard the phrase
hundreds of times by now.
"My life's going to hell
in a handbasket."
Or some such variance.
Only recently have I become able
to tell you what that actually looks like.
See
you start with a cute wicker basket.
The kind grandma might give you muffins in.
Then you place all the things you've managed to hold onto
inside of it.
Your friends, your family, your job.
Next goes in all those possessions you hold dear.
Your car, your house, your dog.
Lastly
in go the intangibles.
Your hope.
Your dreams.
All your positive feelings.
Then you set the ******* on fire
and watch it all burn away.

This poem is untitled,
sometimes, we have no words
sometimes it hurts
     to be labelled
though its strange,
we often like to be left as untitled
until some one really knows who we are,
  *as I am what I say I am,
depending on who is asking

You speak of love as if you should know it
But you have never fallen in love with a poet

You have never been captivated by a sentence or a phrase
A heartfelt tribute that would leave you weakened for days

You have never been held prisoner by a verse about love
A single idea expressed in rhythm that made you feel like you couldn't get enough

You've never read an emotion that broke your heart and broke you down
No, you've never loved so deep that you thought you might drown

I love you this way, the same that I love my lyrics
If you can feel what I feel, then tell me so I can hear it.

"Plans, plans, plans. They always have their plans. But the problem with their plan... is that when you take an insane person to the asylum, you're just taking him home - the very place he knows best."

*****
*****
*****
You're such a  ******* *****
Can't you just give your body a break already?
You've had enough guys in you already!
I can't believe you're my *daughter
Daughter
You're a little ****, aren't you?
You sure do get around a lot, don't you?
Haven't you ****** the entire school already?
Come with me, lets go get you tested for *** and STD's
I got you a pregnancy test...
Gotta know if you're going to pop another little **** out

My own mother yells at me, day in and day out
But then proceeds to ask
"Why are you so depressed? (Yells to another person) Awe poor little girl is depressed!"
I was an accident at 17.
she has the audacity to tell me that I can't get pregnant?
Not that I want to.
I want to have the children of those I love, not just someone you "guess will marry, since I have a child"

Sincerely,
Your little *****

How would one describe love? Some believe that love is just made up, for a reason humans are living today.

Other say love would be like a good song that you can't stop playing over and over again day in and day out, never leaving your head or just a random thought throughout your day.

Or love is like a piece of art. Always finding something new whenever you search through it more and more, always finding something new that makes your heart swoon more than it had before.

Adults say love is something only they have felt before, something teens or young adults would never understand. The complexity or the feelings you get whenever you think about your lover. How its a thin line of desperation and lust.

Yet, we do know how it feels. Our minds have created our perfect love story just for us, created with what we've been told before. We make this up from stories we have been told as young children, or seeing it as you pass by a house being repainted by a couple who is laughing because the wife got paint on her and the husband put more on her which turned into laughing fits of joy and a new memory being made.

Love isn't just an emotion, its a feeling. A feeling that could only be expressed by one that feels it. Love can be felt in any situation, even in the worst of times.

Love is like an empty book, ready for the beautiful stories and memories to be put in it by the love ridden author.

Children
stop your tears
this life
is just a diversion
This pain you feel
will end.
It has to end