I am so sad, and so lost. And nobody cares.
I have friends who manipulate my situation and try every single way to convince me to believe what they think is right.
I have a guilty conscience and a thirst for consistency in something- anything.
I am a newspaper that someone accidentally spilled their morning coffee on.
I am the overgrown pit stop on the side of a highway with a luxurious view.
Except you parked the car but never got out.
You just cried.

Today it rained in my living room.
The couches are soaked.
Maybe the rain cloud is just following me around.
I didn't want to stay in my room anymore,
A place you had once laid your head.

Tell me I look beautiful,
But I'd look better if the tears that ran down my cheeks ended up dripping into a river somewhere.
If they disguised themselves as part of nature,
if my sadness became invisible,
It wouldn't make you sad, too.
And all I want is to make you happy.

Every time I read the bible I feel the angels spitting on me from above.
Reassure me that that's just how you know my mind works-
That I have a funny way of looking at things and it's not always positive.
That sometimes,
When I'm alone with you,
Those tears don't fall into rivers but instead stain your t-shirt.
Remind me that you never know why and it's too much of a hassle to ask.

You wish I could be happy although I just don't like to read my poetry aloud!
Why don't I like to read my poetry aloud?
"It's amazing!
However
You just have to put more emphasis on the stanzas where you talk about
suicide.

There are things I haven't said in fear of what those words might feel like to say them out loud.
But you already know I rehearse my sentences repeatedly in my head until the words taste raw and become meaningless by the time I'm ready to finally speak.

Why don't I speak!"

Don't I know how rude it is to not say hello to the crossing guard?
But it's alright.
You tell me you *forgive me.

Isn't it ironic that the air conditioner only works when I'm driving,
Not when we sit in silence,
Sweating over the tension.
Wondering what words are going to come next and which one of us are going to speak them.
And it only starts to rain when you try to leave.

You tell me it's okay that I don't like thunderstorms but please, tell you again why?

Tell you again, when's my birthday?
Tell you again, is that what we were supposed to do tonight?
Tell you again, please, because you forgot time and time again.

But I know you have a delicate mind,
A fragile heart,
And I know there's a beast that lives behind those glimmering brown eyes.

I'd love to be the one to tame it.

However,
This is not a love poem.
And I'm not the one.
Am I?

I find myself forgetting who I used to be
The darkness that once consumed me vanished
Like a burnt out candle
And I don't know if this flame will ever reignite
But the smoke still lingers here
It seeps into the walls, into my bedsheets
The memories don't give me headaches anymore
Nor does smoke burn my throat or pollute my lungs
And I'm trying not to let the consequences of my previous mistakes anchor me down any longer
It's hard to write poems that don't make people want to cry
Because for the last five years that's all I've done,
Is cry
And dread the following day that has yet to arrive
As if I know how I'll be feeling when I'm 54, 65, 80
As if I know what beautiful days the future holds
As if I know the glorious moments that await me
I don't
Because life is a ticking time bomb without a visible countdown
How could I be so vain as to determine how long this sadness will last?
How could I play God?
I won't

You are a full moon rising.

You are a bitter cold winter morning where I have to crawl out of bed, sleepy-eyed and still in a daze, to scrape the ice off my windshield in a hurry,
My pajama pants, wet at the bottoms from the snow,that now cling to my ankles, begging me to love them.

You are the question "why?" asked over and over again on repeat until the bathwater flooding my ears drowns you out.
If you tried so hard to leave this world,
Why'd you want so badly to stay with me?

When did it start to become all about you?
Because pretending to love you out of fear was like being forced to sit and repaint a table when I had already sat and watched the paint dry.

You never could repeat back to me my favorite color until I turned it in the face.
You said I never looked good in green.

And you never understood the weight words could hold until I told you not to call again.
And you must have realized then because it's been a year and I haven't heard from you.

If I'm being truthful,
Loving you was being seven years old and coming home after a long vacation to find out your goldfish had died.
It was missing your bus and having to walk ten blocks home in the pouring rain.
Being yours was when I realized who I was and realizing that wasn't who you wanted me to be.
And most importantly, it was realizing  that I was not yours after all.
                                                 I was mine.

You are a full moon rising,
But I don't howl at you anymore.