It's not a boy- so let me stop you there.
It isn't drugs either.

Everyone has an addiction.
Whether you like to admit it, it's there.

For some, it's a substance.
A-
grindable, smokeable, snortable
-substance.

For others it's an action.
A-
keep me busy, cleaning, eating, touching
-action.

For me, it's a cycle.
A-
god just look at him looking at me I want to be pursued what if he would touch me please come over me and touch me before I explode and my friend has to pick up the hot pieces I want to express this but I can't because I'm calm collective and sophisticated and mature and no one but Jackson Chesley Fenna Sarah Fish Alicia and Plum can know how desperately lonely I am I want to be with you oh my god you don't love me what's wrong with you what's wrong with me I can't believe that I waisted all of this energy on you I am so much better than that because I am calm, collective, and sophisticated
-cycle


Repeat.

Do you dare to break a window?
Oh angry girl.
Your accidental outburst puts us all to shame.

What did they do to you to make you like this?
Is it really my business?
You made it so when you broke that **** window.

You kicked it. With brute force and intent.
What was the window supposed to do?
(Surely not break)
Well it did-

I pray that your regrets last until the next decision;
when another insect crosses your path.
Perhaps then you would choose a wiser action?

Oh angry girl, I will never know what angry thoughts you hide.
"It was an accident, not out of malice," Gail defended.
"How can you kick out a bus window without malice?"
The woman on the other end replied.

I've liked many, I've liked a lot.
Some I remember, and some I forgot.

But you, my friend, have always been around.
To lift up my spirits and make me feel proud.

I wish for you to feel the same.
To see the value and honor your name.

When your sorrows drown out the praise.
I wish you to remember the happiest of days.

Help will be enlisted; help is on the way.
We will hold your hand when the demons come to play.

Even if all seems lost like the Battle of Trost
We will carry the banner, on which, your name is embossed.

I pledge allegiance to you, my friend.
You have a long way to go-

This is not the end.

I don't know what I'm doing.

I think that I'm clinging to the hope
that when this all ends

I won't be alone anymore.

Peace is hearing Sinatra sing again.

Words are ****.
They make me want to rip a pillow with my teeth
Or marinate in a sensuous heat.
Where you'll be, sitting there.
Waiting to kiss my spine and touch my hair.
Tell me regaling tales of what you think.
Of what is rational or obsolete.
Worlds like Suggestive, Sarcastic.
Forlorn and Bombastic.
Makes my skin melt and heart palpitate.
I will no longer settle for those who are adequate.
I need substance. I need someone (you) to say.
That you're enamored and beg me to stay.
I want that learned passion that only we
could portray.

I have no reference
No ability to see
If this is perfection
If you are the best one for me

Your gut is loud and confident
That I am the one you seek
But how can I know that
You are the best Fish in the sea?

It is not the present I fear
But the future I can not see
Will a random stranger suddenly come
And sweep me off my feet?

Will years of happy marriage thrive
For all eternity?
Or will passion wilt away for all
And split our family tree?

I want to be believe you'll always be my cup of tea and we'll get our happy ending.

Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I stare at you.

Why can't I keep you safe as my own
One moment I have you-
the next you're gone.

We have steps on an empty stage
That boy's got my heart in a silver cage.

Why can't you want me like the other boys do?
They stare at me while I-
Crave You.


It's true.
                  I crave You.


Around his little finger
that boy has got me curled.

I tried to reach out but he's in
his own world.

This boy has got my head tied in knots
with all his games.

I simply want him more because he looks the other way...


Why can't you want me
like the other boys do?

They stare at me while I-
                                                             *Crave you

Could it be?
A once small crush might pine for me?

How pleasant that would be.
We'll have to wait and see....



If I **** it up again.

Poetry is hard.

Not because of writer's block
or the fear of judgemental readers

Not because you can't decide whether or not to rhyme
or you check your profile all the time.

Poetry is hard because of the knowledge you gain.
The dark secrets of people's lives are so
so
so

sad.

Girls that I know in person to be sweet and wonderful
suffer from demons that I couldn't dream of.
Boys that seem to breathe nothing but affection
tell of abusing the worst of substances and the best of women.

Poetry is dark and scary and makes my problems seem so
so
so

insignificant.

When I see your face at school, I know how sad you are inside.
And it's not fair.

It's not fair because I can not help you
I cannot help you
and I feel like a terrible friend.
I am already selfish and would like nothing more than to say "Just get over it" and for it to work but I can't because those are your problems.

Not mine.

I won't tell anyone your secret

Poetry is so
so
so

hard.

"How can you offer me love like that?

                  I'm exhausted

                                                                            Leave me alone."

The thought comes almost everyday.
In English.
She sits beside me or near me or far.
And I begin to daze upon how it should be.

If only I had my dress.
If I had my dress you would see not my sarcasm,
But the lean meat that I am privileged to call my flesh.

If I had my dress you would not be intimidated by my skin
But left in awe by it's glow

If I had my dress you would not be able to fear my height
But embrace the perfect and soft curves as you look upon me.

If I had my dress you would no longer hear her shrill siren call over my deafening beauty.

Pretty speaks volumes,
But what does untouchable say?

Absolutely nothing right now.

Those flowers spill out
Over the sides like your soul spills out of your clothes
Onto the floor in front of me
Where I watch in amazement because you're everything I've ever Wanted to be.
The smoke of your husbands pipe leads the way
Through the door past the kitchen
Into the room where you lay
With chickens and pottery
You tumble out of your chair
And I
Tumble into your arms as if
It was my birthday instead of yours.
I would drive a thousand miles to eat your humus and hear your words.

You have everything I've ever wanted to have.
Teach me.
I will bring you as many tall vases as you want.
Teach me.
I will bring will make you as many flower arrangements as you need.

Relationship
You used to bring such longing for me.
Such hope.
Such solace that,
Once I obtained the contents of your letters,
I could be happy.
I could be complete.

relationship
What a different *relationship we have now.

relationship

GAH-     ****! Where did you come from??
I was just reading an article and there you were.
Sitting there.
Out of context of my constant thoughts, but I can't help but apply you.
I can't help but panic.

The word relationship. My new biggest fear.
The collection of the consonants and vowels that make up a vocalization for my soul anxieties.

Relationship
I cringe at thee.
Hours of pouring over videos, how-tos, books, guides, diy, people, you, me, him, her, them, we, us, future, communicate, self-love, expectations, desire, infidelity, falling in love, falling out of love, love, lust, true love, more self-love, thoughts, peace, gratitude, forever, temporary, fleeting, cheating, shame, truth, lies,
all in the ******* name of

Relationship

I could quit.

But how can you quit on someone
That is only eighteen years old
And has already based the foundation of their life on

you?

I must remain silent.  
As she sleeps on the floor of my room, surrounded by wet tissues.
I must remain silent.
Until she is ready to bring justice.
I must remain silent.
When my friend is ***** and is looking for refuge.
I must remain silent.
When the worst, most violent, horrendous, and personal crime is committed against someone I love.
I must remain silent.

I must remain silent.
Simply because:

She wants me to be.
And when someone you love has her wants disobeyed in the most gruesome way.
You must remain silent.
You must not tell the story that does not belong to you.

I've got a problem.
A habit, really.
Of freaking out over my reality.

I wake up one morning.
Not feeling so great.
My stomach's in a knot and my heart palpitates.

I scream. I cry.
My whole world's in a wry.
Looking for answers on the internet.


But then.
Something happens.
He takes me outside.

And everything's not as bad as I thought it was.
Not bad at all.

******.

I was sure not to lead you on.
I know we hit it off
I know we get along.

We've been texting all week
And I am honored that you think
I'm beautiful.

I can't wait till D & D
The invitation means a lot to me.
So strange that you'll be down the street.

I want our friendship to grow
Do I want to date you?
I don't know.

Just don't send me heart texts.
Don't wish I was there.
Breaking another heart is my only fear.

"But you like him-"
"-That's what you said!"
Before I flushed the hormones out of my head.

I don't want this to happen.
Not again.
Don't make your affection something to regret.

Because I could never tell you I like your best friend.

I have the unfortunate belief that
my self-worth lies in the quality of my hair.
It may sound ridiculous, but it's true.

Go ahead, touch my hair.
I feed off of your fascination
-though I remain engaged only as long as you do-
my tolerance for my hair is equivalent to its length.

I once had someone tell me
"I like your hair better straight"
And that was when fifth grade ruined me.

I thought by changing they would accept me.
And Daniel would like me like he liked Taylor
and all of my likes would be returned and
Eddie would choose me because we were best friends
and I had the fortune of being beautiful
but I wasn't allowed to be beautiful to him because
I have this hair.

People wonder why I spend hours with an iron.
But when you're so different that
boys won't like you because your hair is curly
and you teeth are crooked you have no choice but to
change the things that are in your power.

I could never make myself fully white
But I sure as hell can straighten my hair
and let Mamaw buy me braces.
They can call you giraffe neck still,
but at least your hair is straight like everyone else.

Yes, you like to touch it and it's "neat" and it's "soft"
But why on earth should that matter to me?
People respect my hair because it is mine.
But he will not love it unless it is like hers-
wind-caught silk that hangs to her waist.

I weep for my hair.
I weep for my hair.

You do not understand how different it is.
You do not understand how hard it is
to stick out like a sore thumb because your
genetics were oppressed for 500 years.

I am ugly
Because of my hair.
No number of people telling me of its beauty will matter
because I cannot see it.

He cannot see it either.

There are so many. So many boys.

I like to hear the smart ones.
Who can cut a pi in half and use proper diction.
That's ****.

I like to see the handsome ones.
Who have impeccable shoulder blades and those sultry eyes.
That's ****.

I like to talk to the funny ones.
Who are fountains of wit yet still laugh at my jokes.
That's ****

They all like to see, hear, and talk to me.
They just don't know it yet.
I'm ****.

There are so many. So many boys.

I had a dream
that you tried to **** me with a hammer.



I guess this means you don't love me.

God stabbed me through the heart with an arrow.

You were that arrow.

I didn't even notice when you pulled yourself out of my chest.

But now I'm left with nothing but a hole.

I prevent infection with pictures and memories



but the antidote is something much more potent.

I wish you'd stay and keep me company
where do you go?

I think I want you to come closer
but I'm the only one who's allowed to devour.

I could say that I want your hands all over me
but you smell like cigarettes.

I live for the wink, the recognition
but I can't believe it's real.

This isn't love or infatuation.
I'm simply lonely.
And I need someone to test my resolve.

I don't love you, not one bit.
But I do love it.

It.
The feeling of you creeping up my side
I'll dismiss you no matter how hard you try
To convince me that you've got nothing to hide.
That feeling of worthiness that only you can provide.
I need it.

Touch me. I dare you.
I love it.

I didn't buy this perfume for you.
But smelling me is the least you could do.
Smell me. All over. You know you want to.
It will make them so jealous; because they all want you.
They want it too.

I know I'm selfish, and I'm so sorry.
I think I'm addicted to you.

I am ready now
I knew I was ready when the words slipped from my lips driving home.
It wasn't the song that was playing, but  lines of a poem that I had not yet written.
The lyrical reminders that I am still smitten

By You.
You're still there.

I'm the in the library
You pull out my chair.
I need a parking pass
You pay for my fare.
In the day you're there and I'm aware that you stare at me but
at night

At night
I. Feel. You.

When the wind reminds me of how warm your presence can be.
When the door below the exit sign of the lecture hall opens and it is not you but the kind of girl I thought you would have wanted instead of me.

I stare at that door.
I stare at it and wish for ***** blonde and broad shoulders.
For sturdy hands that make the perfect holders for my heart.
I stare at that ******* door hoping that you will open it and everyone will wonder who you are and their answer comes when you grab me and give me that kiss long overdue.  

at night
On Tuesdays
I leave that lecture hall and return to my room.
And I stare at that door wishing for a flannel and green-hazel eyes.
I stare at my door praying to any god that for the night you come and make love to me.
For you to come and look at me like you did the first time and let me make up for all of the over-thinking. For all of the fear.
So you can teach me how to love you.

You don't have to stay till morning.
Just long enough for me to fall asleep in your arms.

at night
When the time comes for me to squeeze the sheets
I whisper your name.
Because I only want that pleasure from you.

I am afraid of loss.
I am afraid of being used.
And during the day I venture alone.
But at night I
only
  want
    you.

I see who you say you are, and I hear of the things you do.
I am above it, and my self-awareness never clouds my view.
But your outer shell is so innocent, like a gentle morning dew.
The girls begin to salivate when they speak of "you know who."

What was the meaning behind that message? God I wish I knew.
You should have made your intentions clear before you bid me adieu.
Your then brief words now stick to me, like a sickly residue.
You're a dangerous one who could devour me and I'd prefer a safer brew.

I'd like to think you could change- but we both know this isn't true.
So I'll just think of that dream and that oh-so soft, sweet taboo.
I don't know who you write about or what she does for you,
but I'll never admit that I'm the one who I want you to pursue.

You're a part of the culture.
A culture of oppression, and profiles.

You're lost because you know this,
and you're one of the exiles.

But you are wrong.
I tell you, yet you remain in denial.

Only you can save you,
from becoming a hopeless juvenile.

This has happened before.
And it will happen again.

This stage.
My most and least favorite stage
where I sit and think of you all day.

It's exciting.
And ever so self-destructive.
It's where I'm the most vulnerable,
and the most motivated.

The thought of seeing you
propels me through the day.
But I'm left disappointed
when you won't look my way.

It's like a self-proclaimed waiting room
inside my fantasizing head.
It's where I wait to see if you'll fix me.
I've been diagnosed with loneliness.

Is this fair? No.
But I do this to myself.
At least I don't focus
on possessions or wealth.

It's the cycle that I spoke of.
In that other poem.
Where I daydream of a boy
yet I barely know him.

When things don't work out
I am destroyed and relieved
I will never have him
And the cycle repeats.



This has happened before.
And it will happen again.
Where I sit in the waiting room
inside my head.

You might not ever know what I think of you
You might not ever love me.
I might not ever be able to hold your skeletal hands
I might not ever be able to call those boney shoulders mine.
This might be another failed and broken cycle.
This might be like every other crush I've had.
I might not ever show my true self to you.
You might not ever like it when I do.
I might have wasted a month of my time.
And you might not ever care.

When I read your poems
I want nothing more than to be close to you.
Intimately, not Romantically.
I want to sit next to you
and take your hands
I want to look at the scars and wonder.
Wonder why you do those things to yourself
why it's so hard to talk to you
Wonder why you chose to be my friend.

I want to take your hands in mine
and kiss your palms
and look into your eyes with a reassuring smile
that tells you everything's going to be okay.
But I can't.

I can't because you terrify me.
You terrify us all.
You're handsome and unknown.
You terrify us because we know nothing about you
accept for the scars.
I want to kiss and hold those scars.

I want to not be afraid anymore.

I am enough.

"Why is this **** man single?"

Why indeed?
He's tall and lean, nice but never mean.
He rolls in dirt yet always seems clean
to me.

Why indeed?
With soft arms that should hold
Only a girl who is beautiful and bold
like me.

So Why indeed?
Hasn't he let me
Tell him how good he looks
in his recessive jeans?

Why indeed?
Isn't he
with me?

I can still feel your arm around my waist.
Your hand above my hip
unconsciously tugging me closer.

I can still feel my hand on Ryan's shoulder.
He said it didn't make him uncomfortable
which is a rare thing.

I feel your hand tugging again.

I don't know what to do.
When I look at you I don't feel anything.
But when you touched me that was entirely different.

It just about pushed me over the edge.

Roses are Red
Violets are blue-





I got nothin'.

Is something that I can't do to you.

I've returned to check up on my past.
Now I know that I have no idea was love is.
Never did.
Still kinda don't.

Guess I better find out.

I want conversation and car rides,
long nights of green eyes.

I want pastries with whipped cream,
text messages that make me kiss the screen.

I want belted Frank Sinatra,
followed by Moonlight Sonata.

I want gifts I can't afford
that you bought when you were bored.

I want to be calmed and collected,
defended and protected.

I want knowledgeable open-minds,
loquacious words to be defined.

I want my hands to be called soft
and looked at more often

I want my neck to be smelled
then my face to be held.

I want impressed parents,
please share your organic carrots.

I want admiring looks
over the top of Ayn Rand's books.

I want a loss of words
over a song that you just heard.

I want minor disputes
over ideas that don't compute.

I want you to continue to listen
when I question your decisions.

I want button-ups and bowties
that make you different from most guys.

I want time to freeze
and for you to always need me.

I want envious stares
from people who shouldn't care.

I want effortless chemistry
to attract me helplessly.

I want tension filled days,
say you want me with a gaze.

I want my back to be a painting so scandalous
you brush your lips up and down the canvas.

I want clean, boring sheets
to be livened with heat

that I provided.

I want you to be excited

when I come around.

Lips to ear, whispering something I need you to hear.
This is what happens when I dream of you.
You scare me with the reckless things you do.

Last night it was cigarettes.
I threw them on the ground and turned you around.
I knew you had more than the one pack I found.

I stepped closer and you held me.
My arms around your neck
You had your hands on my lower back.

I pleaded in whispers, "Tyler, please stop"
You said nothing, that's as as far as I got.

I remember your body, breaths easy and low.
Then I woke up, drooling on my pillow.

Why don't I think you're hot?
Other girls do more often than not.
Thinking of you leaves my stomach in knots.
So why do I hesitate if I like you a lot?

How dare you tell me to give up.
That this dream will not come true.

I love him because I choose to
and I possess enough determination
for me to obtain what I have been searching for
in one form or another.

Do not place your disappointment on my shoulders in the form of a warning.

I do not need a warning.
I have learned plenty of times from past experiences that my dream is unrealistic and rare
but It is still my dream

And this search will not end in heart ache
It will end when I choose it to.

Do not subject me to your disappointment
in the form of a warning.

I am warning  you.