I’ve always ****** at video games
and its no surprise you always beat me
I press the wrong buttons and my hands always shake
but that's okay because you press my buttons
and always keep me awake
I’ll be crabby every morning from lack of sleep
until I open your texts and begin to read
the messages saying you love me

I feel my eyes turn from grey to blue
every time I look at you
but when you leave at the end of the day
my eyes turn an even darker shade of grey
and maybe that's why I always get headaches.
I know we’ve kissed a thousand times
Yet you’ve never noticed how I open my eyes.
I like watching your lashes flutter
as you glue your lips to mine.
I wonder what you’re thinking?
What goes through your mind?

We may never see eye to eye
but maybe thats because I have to stand on my bed
just to be the same height
How is the view up there?
Is the weather really all that different?
Do I really have a bald spot in my hair?
That's whats the kids at school said.

So, what if I’m not as strong as you think at all,
and what if I’m not as gentle or kind as you say?
Well you certainly make me feel ten feet tall
and always make the bad thoughts go away.
“What if” doesn’t mean a thing to me,
not when my head is on your chest and
I can hear your heart beat.
But maybe that's just the sound of the TV
because we always watch cartoons at night.
Shrek is my favorite fairy tale
because love isn’t perfect
and there is no such thing as “right”
It reminds me of you
and how even though I’m not a princess
you still call me beautiful.
Now, I don’t know how to end a poem
that doesn’t involve tears being shed
But I guess that doesn’t matter
since this poem will never end.

I keep wondering what I did to deserve this,
but I didn’t do anything.
Nobody deserves things.
We just take what were given and try to make the best of it.
So maybe I have been a ****** person sometimes
or maybe I pushed away to many people who wanted to care,
but none of that matters.
Life is full of unfortunate events,

*And maybe that just has nothing to do with me.

I can't turn my sadness into beauty.  
I try and try and try but the truth is,
there's a certain kind of darkness
and a certain kind of evil
that can't be romanticized into a poem.
Not all feelings can be explained by vomiting up random words into a
college ruled note book paper.
We use words to make our suicidal thoughts sound normal.
Sound acceptable. Sound beautiful.
But suicide is none of those things.
So stop putting the idea of suicidal solutions into the minds of 13 year old boys and girls.
We constantly tell kids that suicide is not the answer,  yet we make the idea seem so appealing.
We paint a pretty picture of
slit wrists
coke lines
anti depressants
hospital beds
and grave stones.
But they are not works of art.
They are grey and cold and empty.
So stop using shades of red, yellow and pink, stop describing the warmth of pain, the way drugs and sliced skin fills your emptiness.
Tell it how it really is.
Instead of writing how good each cut feels, try writing about how bad it actually hurts. how its an addiction.
Instead of writing about the freedom you feel while high, try writing about the way you feel when you come down.  The way the pain crawls right back up your throat,  the way drugs actually ****** up your entire life.
Instead of writing about your sweet dreams of death,  the beautiful idea of taking your own life,
Try writing about the fact that you are terrified to die.  That you want so badly to live. That you don't want to give up.
Stop making the hurt you feel sound cool and trendy.
Tell the world what it's truly like
because lately people have sewn the words
"Beauty" and "pain" into a cute little pink sweater in white lace.

She changes her mind like the weather.
One moment shes a flower blooming in May but with the flip of a switch
shes a cold January blizzard.

Its already December.
Shes disappointed with the lack of snow this year,
as her hearts been stuck in a dull winter.
With wide blue eyes full of fear
she's waiting for death to kiss her.
Spring flowers have been long dead,
Now shes eager for the return of death.
Maybe he took the wrong turn?
He seems to be running late.
For now she's making snow angels out of wilted petals,
patiently awaiting her fate.

I was going to write him a poem
but the only word I could think of was
'stay'


And that's all I wrote.

I'm worth something, I just don't know what. I matter to somebody, I just don't know who. I am alive for a reason, I just don't know why. I can beat this depression, I just don't know how. I will see brighter days, I just don't know when.

If people were art,

You would be a page from a child's coloring book
hanging on the refrigerator.
Different colors filling the page.
An explosion of
red, orange, yellow,
green, purple and blue.
Everything leaking out of the lines you were meant
to contain yourself in.
A green sun and yellow grass,
none of it makes much sense.
And that is exactly what makes you
worth looking at.

But if people were art,

I would be a watercolor that got too wet,
and now the paper is wrinkled
and the picture distorted.
The paint bleeding into itself,
as the paper starts to tear.

You try so hard to forget the look
your mother gave you
the day she found out
your brother touched you
Try to paint pretty pictures
and forget that frown on her face
until you realize her tears aren’t just in the back of your head
they are burned into your ******* mind.

No roof to find shelter under, no umbrella to keep dry, no gentle arms to fall into; I learned at an early age to dance during tornados, to laugh in pouring rain with lighting nearly striking my feet, and to find beauty in bruises from being stranded in hail storms. The weather was always bad, but I embraced it. Maybe it's begun to pay off, because for the first time in forever

I think I see the sun.

I think I've begun to sleep more than I breathe, and cry more than I speak. The nightmares are better than reality and the tears taste better than my bitter words. It’s like I keep searching for some form of normality, some type of structure. But I so desperately need to understand what normal is and how the **** to do it. I need to understand what structure feels like because Jesus Christ, I’m too unstable to stand up straight. I was born with sadness in my veins and these feelings have been rushing through my bloodstream since 2008. From cigarettes to blow jobs, my mouth is full. But when it comes to telling how I feel, I choke on ashes and ***** and my words won't come out. Now I'm coughing up emotions and trying my hardest not to suffocate. My mother gives me a tissue and says this is my fathers fault. "You get the sadness from him." Well maybe he's the reason I feel so lost, because apparently nobody knows where the **** he is.

I can literally feel the sadness in my bones.
My heart ******* aches and I'm losing control.
This **** has been killing me so it's time to let go.
Sit back and listen because this story is mine,
Its utter madness but now you'll know why I never trust guys.
I don't think God is real, never have, never will.
They say he loves all his children but don't you see how he breaks them?
I'm not just some atheist because I know this for sure.
Not once has God answered, he's just sent the devil to my door.
You would think the devil isn't human,
But he's as real as me and you.
He doesn't have horns but his favorite colors are black and blue.
Monsters don't hide under beds,
They walk into your room and restrain you under covers.
He pulls back the blanket and I'm staring into the eyes of my own brother.
God smiles, not cries,
As the devil he created shoves the wrong
Definition of love between my thighs.
I can't even call him a fallen angel
Because he never even made it to heaven.
Although he probably felt like it while he ***** me when I was 11.
Naked and scared, I prayed to god but he wasn't there.
I asked God why he dammed me to hell
I never got an answer but maybe I'm the angel that fell.
God said **** it, so I did too.
Years later, Impulsive desicions made me look like a fool.
These demons play hard and knock me to the floor.
But every night I crawled back fiending for more.
I started locking my door because
His empty eyes were burning through my skin.
All "God" has taught me is good hearts never win.
He creates bad men because he's obsessed with sin.
He sends lost souls to my door because
I'm so empty and desperate I let them in.
God did teach me one lesson back when I was 11.
"Close your eyes and think of a song,
you have no reason to feel so wronged,
Stop fighting the devil, accept the ****.
When someone actually wants you,  learn to appreciate."
The words stuck in my head for 7 years
Now I've got a new demon who whispers in my ear.
Drink a bottle, pop a pill, smoke ****, make yourself bleed.
"As long as you have drugs it's all you'll ever need"
Day after day, fighting to get clean
But the devils always watching and never lets go
I've never met a fallen angel so mean and so cold.
We fear his grasp but no ones ever prayed for his soul.
Why not pray for the one who needs it the most?
Because God gives up on all lost souls.
He did it to me, everybody knows.
He'll put you in battle, you'll die for sure.
There's gun shots in my head, so gimme some pills to fight this war.
Make the pain numb, learn to **** like a *****.
It seems like an endless battle but that's what the drugs are for.
So my advice to you is to never open that door
It's not worth it, I'm sure.
So when you hear a knock, go hide in your room.
God only sends men to break and bruise.
It's all about power and dope,
A ****** ******* nose.
They only hit you where the marks don't show.
In 97' God stopped caring about others,
So if you open that door
you might be staring into the eyes of your own brother.

And take it from me,
You'll never recover.

I love you
I love you
I love you
But what does that even mean?

Chew me up,
spit me out.
Stick me under the restaurant table.
Let someone else's hand graze over my
oozing body
and watch the disgust in their face.
Eyes squinting,
nose wrinkling,
hand jerking away.
Watch them leave me there,
stuck in the same place you left me.
Call it love.

Lurk in the shadows,
crawl into my room at night.
Take off my shirt,
bite my neck and break my heart.
**** me side ways,
hold my mouth shut.
Put your clothes back on,
say I'm a liar,
walk out the door and
never say another word.
Call it love.

Text me at 2 AM on a summer night.
Meet me in the graveyard
behind the statue of Jesus.
Kiss me under the stars.
Go home when your dad realizes
the car is gone.
Drive away,
**** yourself 4 months later
and become just another tomb stone.
Call it love.

Every night,
we were skin on skin,
soul on soul,
pain on pain.
I only knew him through heavy breaths
and vulnerable ***,
but I still let him slip away.
It hurts to say,
you can know someone so intimately,
from head to toe,
yet be blind to the emotions behind
every kiss.

But I should have saw his downfall,
because happy people don't
show up drunk at 3 AM,
begging to be touched,
begging to feel alive.

I don't know the
meaning of content.
I either fly to high
or crash to hard
I'm not sure what it's
like to be in between
the darkness
and the light
Because every day
I'm stuck
at one end
or the other.

My wrists still burn from 7th grade
when the entire school laughed at me
for having *** with my brother.
But they didn't know how ******* sick it really was
and they didn't know I didn't want it.
So I ran out of class and sat on the bathroom floor,
carving my skin with my favorite earrings
that started off silver but slowly turned red.
I told you I don't wear earrings anymore.

My throat still hurts from the time I tried to drink drain cleaner
but it was so bitter i spit it all out and it ran down my chin.
So I slept all day and all night
because I cried so hard I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I wonder if that's what you taste on my lips,
Salty tears and bitter chemicals.
Is that why we never kiss?

My neck is still bruised from when I was 11 years old
and hung a jump rope from the ceiling in my basement
and tied it in a knot around my neck.
But soon as I jumped off the chair I ******* fell to the floor
with nothing but a rope burn beneath my chin.
It wasn't the feeling I wanted and I cried so long and violently,
I thought my head would explode.
Does it make sense that I don’t like heights?
Maybe that's why I'm afraid of bridges.

My lungs are still full of water from 2011
when I tried to drown myself in the bathtub.
But the water wasn't very deep and it was hard to stay under.
I could feel myself getting dizzy as my head popped back to surface.
So I stood up,
shampoo still in my hair,
and I washed everything down the drain besides my self.
When I told you I don't know how to swim,
I actually meant I'm too afraid to learn.

My ******* still hurt from the boy who thought getting me drunk would make me take my clothes off.
And I hate to say it but it ******* worked.
But what he didn't realize is that at 15 years old,
I would have gotten naked for him anyways.
I would have touched him even if
I wasn't influenced to pour
shots down my throat and coke up my nose.
I didn't have a chance to say yes or no.
I just wanted to have fun and try to forget everything I was wanting
to **** myself for.
But I ended up with a heartless human being on top of me calling me a *****
while I lie motionless about to *****.
When I got home,
my chest was black and blue but I didn't cry this time
because by then I was too ******* numb to care about anything.
I told you I don't like to drink.
I told you my body aches.

My hands are still sore from when I got sent to rehab and met a boy who liked it when I touched him.
He only came out of his room when the nurses helped him walk.
His face was so white you could almost see through him and he only spoke when he wanted to feel me.
Every night at dinner I would put my hands down his pants underneath the table,
until he stopped eating dinner with us.
He was addicted to something bad and he just kind of stopped waking up.
I got sent home but I don't think he ever left.
I waited months for that boy to call.
But he never did.
Every one disappeared
*And now I'm doing the same to you.

I'm just an angry poet with really weak eyebrows, a bad sense of humor, and even worse poems.

In 40 years I want
to be able to say
that I still
love the same boy
I wrote poetry for
when I was 17.

Guys like you are the reasons my poems are so repetitive.

..

I want to save the world but first I must save myself.

I dread every
                                          Breathe
I take as if letting
                                             life
in my lungs will          
                                             hurt
more than              
                                       suffocating.

I want to smash my head through a ******* wall. Anything to make these thoughts stop.
I want to be held and have my forehead kissed, with the words “You are loved” whispered in my ear.
I want hands on chest, hands on neck. I want my neck to turn blue and my heart to stop. Then to start again with a kiss.
I want it all and I want nothing. My mind is so fast and so slow at the same time. Is this why the words come out in random orders?
Is this what it feels like to die??? /??? ??

I keep asking myself,
What is left for me here?

I whisper,
I don't know
I don't know
I don't know
*I don't know

I am burning from the inside out
And although everyone can *******
See the smoke
Seeping from every pour in my body,
They just watch because
Maybe I'll put myself out?
But how is one person supposed to stop
An entire world from being engulfed in flames?

Sometimes I wish I believed in god so I could pray for a better life.

I’m the storm
that nobody expects
to cause as much damage
as it eventually does.
So board up your windows
and lock the doors
because
I’m a ******* hurricane.

I don't want to fake happy in the days
And be a sad nothing in the night's

*I want consistency

Now I know it's hard to understand
And equally hard to explain
This story of brothers breaking sisters
Father's breaking daughters
And little girls breaking themselves