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Him
His eyes, his lips.
His hair, his kiss.

Hand in hand,
Soul around heart.
How in the hell, did this all start?

Perhaps a single look, one word spoke.
Darling, our love has been awoke.

His soul, his laugh.
A word, his touch.

Baby, one glance, and I'll completely fall apart.

A kiss in the dark,
Hands through his perfect hair.

Does he have any idea how hard it is to not let him see me stare?

Two hearts, both know,
that with time, their love grows.

Who knows were this will lead them.

Just a stupid girl, dumb and in love.
Just a perfect boy, do you think he knows?

All she is, in her twisted, crazy, wild mind,
is thoughts of


Him.
Love is wild man...
My friend asks, “Do you never get tired of your sadness?

I do.

Everyday is a battle I face, struggling to keep myself alive, trying to find reasons to not **** myself but all I can find are reasons why I’m better off dead.

She says, “Why don’t you try doing things that makes you happy?

I wish it was that easy to do the things I enjoy (read: used to enjoy) doing but it’s hard when you can’t even get yourself out of the bed in the morning, wishing you would just stop existing instead because that seems like the only probable solution to your problem.

It’s hard to be happy when you’re being constantly reminded just how much of a **** you are, all the negative thoughts eating you alive. The feeling of emptiness clawing its way through your throat and making its presence known but god knows you don’t  want it — never even asked for it in the first place.

I’m tired of being sad all the time. I’m tired of always being tired, locking myself in my room and withdrawing myself from any forms of social interaction because the thing is I don’t have enough energy to talk to anyone today, please leave me alone.

These days I’ve been feeling numb. I try to do things to make myself feel something — or anything at all, but all that I am is numb and empty. It’s like nothing will ever bring me happiness or sorrow. I feel like there’s nothing that will ever make me feel something again.  

My friend says, “You know I’m here for you, right?” but she never remembers to check up on me on days I feel like darkness is the only thing to keep me company, the weight of living taking its toll on me. She never remembers to ask me how I’m doing on days where I feel like death is the only solution to my depression.

It’s hard to stay alive when you can’t seem to find any reasons to live at all.

—l.a.
i know that my friends are most probably tired of me, but please know that i’m trying all the very best that i can to keep on going. however, i feel like there’s really nothing worth living for anymore. life is tiring lol
I am what I am
a man with no plan

but I don't understand?
  you don't have a plan


I don't have a plan
what's to understand?

What about your hopes and dreams?

I just dont know I screamed!
Why do I need dreams to succeed
and what is success anyway?
Why can't I just live my life at play


because you have to take things seriously

seriously, but why?

Imagine all the regrets you will have when you die

regrets about not having a plan?
but what if I die before I can fulfil my plan
now its me that doesn't understand
how can I write a story
if its constantly unfolding
it sounds kinda boring
to already know the ending
I would much rather sing
and why do I need a career path
when I would much rather laugh
all this planning seems so daft!


But you have to be a responsible adult

you mean like a banker that steals?
or a soldier that kills?
or a politician that lies?
or a butcher that cuts up animals with knives?


no! no! those are just the extremes!
you got to have dreams!


I do dream
of being free
of being me
no judgements
no labels
just what you see


But what about a vocation?
a location?
somewhere to hang your hat!


life is a vacation
I don't need none of that!


look I am what I am
a man with no plan
you don't have to understand
as long as you can

can what?
just can.
Something I wrote whilst eating my porridge.
With a pain aching to no ends,
In her mind–
She truly believes she may never be able to love again,
So she cries all night and day (as she cries to no ends)
With her pain that she tries to hide,
But no matter how hard she tries–she just can't hold it all in,
With this angel that has fallen from the skies,
She lies here broken with a pain that aches to no ends,
As it's in her mind–
She truly believes she may never be able to love again
Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
i write of sad things,
lust, or mishappenings,
but there is life for me,
and it makes me happy.

i did not know you would say "i love you" back.
i did not know that God was still with me.
i did not know that my family forgave me.
i did not know i could be so happy.

poetry comes easily
from my sadness,
for it is my remedy
amongst the madness.

but i am actually stable,
for i can finally breathe.
i am allowed to live
my life without apologies.
you can unapologetically live happily; don't feel guilty.
I missed him.
His glowing presence
And warm nature
Brought back the color
Of the ground.
He brought me
Back to life
After a season
Of death.
His existence
Was clouded by worries,
But he came back
Today.
This is not a letter to myself,
Nor to someone I left.
This is for someone filled with regrets,
For those whose pain demanded to be felt;

It was the obscure evening,
The night when you found yourself— empty.
You lost trace of the light's being,
T'was the moment you chose to flee.

You gave everything you must give,
Gave them all their needs—
Yet there's nothing left for you, not a penny,
Not even a single bit of sympathy.

You were lost, tears were crystalized,
Pain made you lose your mind.
There, you made a decision,
You became your own rebellion.

You killed people, hurt 'em with your words,
But never regret, they did the worse.
Chose to choke you while you're breathless;
The people who made your darkness.

It wasn't your fault that you hurt people,
It was them, who killed your own person.
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