She's so thin.
She's so nice.
She could really light up a room with that grin.
Her blue eyes sparkle when she cries.
Her hair is like silk,
woven,
from a spider of golden.
And her skin is soft and pure like milk.
I'm not jealous.
Far from it, actually.
I have no reason to be.
I'm thin.
I'm nice.
My laugh can fill a room, it's so loud,
and I'm not afraid to fight.
My hair is red and gold and brown.
She's blond and beautiful.
That's just who she is.
So I shouldn't be jealous.
And I'm not.
It's just, I'm surrounded by blond and beautiful,
the brunette feels out of place.
When those Blond and Beautiful shine so bright,
It hurts my eyes and I hide my face.
I'm the odd man out.
But that's okay.
Cause I'm Brunette and Beautiful,
Or so I assume.

is thIs what hell looks like?
is this what heaven feels like?
and the laSt time i kissed you, it was sad.
and the last i Touched you, it was out of spite.
he's asking questIons about me, things i don't even know.
and your happiness Lovingly attributes to my lame misery.
but i don't think i'm realLy not so heartbroken as i may have first thought.
i'm a thief of religion,
he doesn't beLieve in me after all.
a handsome, lonesOme crusader of the high seas.
and i trust you'll be leaVing rather soon, like you always do.
and i trust you'll be leaving mE rather soon, just like you used to do.
my thoughts aren't voiced
my prayers left unanswered.
he says he can love me.
but love who exactly?
can he love me more than i loved YOU?

I won't even give you the satisfaction,
I won't let you ruin my night
It's my ******* right
To be happy.
It was your mistake
Your loss
Don't think you can come back around
Just to say "hi"
*******.
*******.

So, I wanna try something. I know this is a poetry website, but I have been writing this story. I stopped for many reasons such as being too busy, not inspired, not sure if it was good enough or not, etc.
So I wanna post just a part of it, just to see if anyone will like it. Just to see if it's worth it to continue it.
It's called The Sweet Pea, Honey Bee Kiss.

I tried not to regret the decisions I had made thus far, so the decision to pack my things and leave San Francisco was my own. I said not a word to anyone—not that anyone cared—and left on a rather depressing Wednesday morning. Leaving was not as hard as I thought it would be, rather, it was easier than well...me. There was an empty feeling in my stomach as I left, a sense of worry and depression lingering, but I refused to let the tears fall. So he didn’t turn out the way I wanted him to. That was fine, I suppose....
But who was I kidding? I thought he was the guy...the perfect guy. I didn’t know he could be so cruel, so detached and so...so much like every other **** there was at high school. Not all guys were bad, I knew that I wouldn’t succumb to blaming every breathing human being with a *****, I just knew now that Tristan Booker was an evil ******* and I was a complete idiot for thinking that he could ever like someone like me. Watching him turn his back away from me—away from the possibilities that could eventually be us—it crushed me. I had never felt so alone in a world filled with people—people who may have experienced the same thing I was going through or at least experienced heartache and heartbreak. I felt so emotionless. I couldn't find it in myself to cry, a cry that I so desperately needed, so desperately wanted. I could go my whole life blaming every guy that was a “Tristan”, I could go on with my life and succumb to the whispers and disappointment that pressed itself against me until one day it wouldn’t matter so much anymore. I could fight back; defend the dignity that was left behind and on life-support. But I did what any rational and distressed human being would do: I ran away. I hid in a tower much like how a Disney princess would, but then I remembered Cinderella was never called a *****.


I know it's long. Please bear with me and like/comment it honestly. Thank you so much!!

Oh Dear God, Holy Deity,
My Virginity,
I Lost In The Back Seat Of Forever
I Was On The Ninth Cloud
Back Flat On My Suede Couch
With The Volume Down Low,
Watching Some Cartoon Show,
We Were Kids Back Then.
Fifteen,
With Large Dreams,
Our Future Looking Bright
Baby, It Just Felt Right
On that Night
December Eleventh,
Didja Even Mean It,
Darling?
These Old Salt Wounds Are Scarring.

I'm happiest when you're here.
And I'm devastated when you're not. 
Wrapped in your arms, I have no fear.
I'm home.
Without you, I feel cold and alone.
Do you feel the same?
Does your tongue tingle when you say my name?
My stomach ties itself tight.
And the butterflies that are trapped begin to fight.
I could love you through the night and all day. 
I wish you could stay.
Stay here with me.
That would be the dream. 
You and I, 
Living the rest of our days, 
Knowing that there will never be another love like ours.

Alabama, you’ve got some bad memories for me.
Not because I’ve been there, because I haven’t,
Because where he’s from, he lived there with you, you see.
He brings me joy and pain and love and hate,
And you remind me of him, and it’s nothing against you, really,
I try not to discriminate, but it’s really hard,
When this boy really broke my heart.

Remember the war.
You remember the war
of 1994?
When you struggled with yourself,
And left your dreams in a jar on a shelf
Collecting dust and grime
Stuck in a corner in the back on the right.
Remember when you fought yourself?
Trying to decide whether or not you needed help.
Trying to decide who you loved more
You or him, the terrible war of 1994.
Remember the war
Blood and gore
Spread across your face like war paint
And you screamed out your battle cry
For hours on until day became night
His words like bullets hitting your chest
Spitting out nails to conquer what was left
Both sides tried their best
To win something that was never really addressed
Blackmailing each other with things that were never confessed.
What a mess,
The war of 1994.