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Take my heart
Fold it in half
Fold it again
Tear it into five different pieces
Burn one piece
Crush the second
Shatter the third
The fourth dissolves into nothing
And the fifth is thrown away.

Take my soul
Fill it with hopes
Fill it with dreams
and promises
Expose it to joy
and happiness
Bring it to life
with your beauty
and then,
just as you welcome it,
abandon it to be engulfed
by sheer darkness.

What happens after that?
I don't know,
But you've left me to figure it out.
Even though I knew it was finished before it began,
even though I knew that I never truly had you,
even though you told me I had a chance,
it was only almost, but not quite.

Even though you told me you loved me,
you turned right back around and held someone else dear.
Even though I thought I was content,
I wanted all of you.
Even though you brought me to tears,
I thought it was worth it.

I'm tired of trying to care,
tired of trying to talk,
tired of you wasting your breath
and my time.

You always told me that it was better to have loved and lost
than to not have loved at all,
but I'm telling you now that you're wrong.
I wasn't happy
I wasn't myself
I wasn't your only one.

Even though I see you daily,
even though you want me back,
even though you want to interact,
I feel nothing.

For you robbed me of everything I had
and then some.
In this point in life it’s time for change,

sure at first it will feel sort of strange.

Sit through the bad and stay a while,

and you’re sure to find a reason to make you smile.

Try not to dwell too much on the past,

because the present is here and will go by fast.

Or is it the future? It was but not now. Wow.

On this journey called life, hold on for the ride.

The one game you cannot win, although many have tried.

Let go, and live for now you see;

this is your time to simply be free.

A hot summer’s day, cold drink in hand.

Hold on to the youth as long as you can.

There are times where life isn’t so pretty,

who am I kidding, it can be ******.

Take a deep breath and just keep swimming;

this chapter’s closing, it’s the last inning.

One door closes and another appears;

it’ll keep happening all through the years.

Never lose the way that you laugh and smile;

everything gets better, it just takes a while.

What’s to come next simply can’t be known,

that doesn’t change just because you’re grown.

Eighteen, twenty-one, even thirty-four;

surprises are plenty and there will always be more.

At the end of the ride you can look back and say

Hey, I’ve sure come a long way.

Through the tears, the drama and all the ****,

it still gets better...just never forget.
A very wise person once told me this. I've just had to share it.
Sleep beckons
like a warm embrace
at my bedside,
Flame dances before me
in a vibrant display of heat.
I watch as it curls
around the paper
that I feed it,
ever curious
if it enjoys
the taste of the words
upon the sheets,
just as I
once tasted them
on my tongue.
Before my eyes
all the past feelings
the joy
the sadness
the anger
everything within
burns away
with the paper
as it fades into ash.
With every old note of yours,
the flame slowly trickles
down and around the edges,
savoring it with care.
I playfully tend
in mild interest
to my small fire
of memories
I wish to forget,
and just when the flame
nearly dies in neglect,
I grant it another note,
watching in emptiness
wondering if its smoke
will somehow
fill me with something
to feel
as it fills my lungs.
Rain seeps
down my window
providing me
a soft, dull noise
as I work.
But before long,
I run out
of memories to burn.
I had thought
that burning those notes
of love and affection
would give me back
something to thrive on,
ever so briefly.
All that it gave me
was a bad new habit
of burning things
and a slight
tickle of irritation
at the back of my throat,
as I continue to inhale
the smoke
the ashes
all that is left
of your precious notes.
With an apathetic sigh,
my gaze returns
to the faint whispers
of flame,
its deep blue color
yearning
searching
gasping
for anything more.
I then lay down
and watch
its dying breath,
the last bit of evidence
of my work
blinking away
as sleep covers me
in the dead of night.
I don't know if this is any good. It's very late, and normal people would be sleeping by now. Let's see how this goes.
I think I finally understand what people mean when they compare their love to a burning candle.
I thought I had already known years ago, but I could never have been more wrong.
You were talking about those butterflies you get when you're around me.
As we danced and swayed together that night, after you carried me out into the backyard to the perfect spot in the wet grass,
We held each other in subtle motion together, with arms drawn close around our bodies, as one.
And it was then, amid the misty nightfall, that you told me about those butterflies.

I smiled and delicately ran my hand across your chest, feeling your heart beat with such profound pace and purpose.
I swear, your heart was beating so powerfully that I could feel your thick pulse hurtling throughout your entire body.
We stood there, swaying, and that's when it hit me.

I probably get those butterflies too, when I'm with you.
But I get them more at the thought of you when we're apart.
And at first it worried me, because it felt as if my brain wasn't synchronized with what my heart was feeling.
I  knew I loved you, but I didn't know how I loved you.
It's not as if I don't feel that excitement, or that rush of getting worked up over you, because I most certainly do.

But the main thing that I feel when I'm around you is this wholesome peace and calm atmosphere,
As if the Earth stopped spinning and time is slow.
You make me feel so utterly relaxed that I don't ever notice any other feeling when you're around.
The air feels thick and comforting, sweet and pure, as it surrounds me in everything that you are.

Nothing about this love I have feels rushed, out of control, or over-powering.
It feels like a slow burning of pure passion, delicately taking its time to pass on by.
Its slowness is not to be confused with "boring" or "dull", oh no.
It's something that is slow and careful, but so bright and powerful and...calm.

That night, it hit me, and that night, I knew
just how it was that I loved you.
I finally understand what they mean when they compare their love to a burning candle, and it's not what most think.
For a candle is not fast to burn, nor does it vary in how bright its flame flickers.
Once it has been lit, there's no stopping it, not for anything in the world.
Its steady candlelight glows with ease, with hues of a radiant spectrum of heat.
My love for you is beyond measure, beyond pace, far beyond description, and it feels as old as this dry August sun.
A candle, burning lazily, flickering in a vibrant display,
just as it will be tomorrow, and as it was yesterday.
How on Earth am I
ever to cope with this sense
of absolute dread?
What can I do when the future lies dangerously close, and I cannot escape the past?
I walk along these cracked streets
Taking in every crevice, every patch
And cannot help but admire
its character throughout time.

By night, the rain fills in the openings between the asphalt
By day, the sun rises and the water fades away,
And I cannot help but understand
that this cracked street and I have a lot in common
as I look inward and consider
all of the cracks
in my own being.

Some nights, the tears flow, mingling betwixt the cracks
in my heart and soul
flowing without direction.
Most days, the sun rises
and by that point everything within has dried.
There's no real point in fixing me,
because like the road that I walk upon,
there are simply too many cracks for people to pave.

It's not a particularly bad thing,
I've just accepted it and continued on.
After all,
I admire this old street for its character,
and so too must others do for me.
What can I do to make you see
what the world can truly be
and the endless possibilities
that are out there for you, and me.

What can I do to make you smile
for you to sit back and stay awhile,
to get you out of your comfort zone,
to show you that you're not alone.

What can I do to make you laugh
about something other than your crumbling path,
why can't I help you open your eyes
to look ever so slightly on the brighter side.

Just get up.
Get up, and feel the thrill of being alive,
I want you to be your best and thrive.

Just wake up.
Wake up, from this hazy nightmare,
wade through the depths of your own despair.

If you ever get there,
come and find me.
I'll be waiting beneath the old willow tree.

It's the one filled with memories
of what is and what used to be.
Under the constellations of wonder and awe,
by the sea of emotions, ever jagged and raw.

Its roots are etched into my bone and skin,
for it's part of who I am and what lies within.
I want you to meet me there,
in the lands that lie beyond your despair.

I'll be waiting, ever fading
for you to see what I can't bear to know
that it's up to you, there's nothing I can do.
Time will pass, what will it have to show?
In the middle of the night,
I'm sleeping.
In the middle of the night,
I'm dreaming.
So don't worry about my well-being...
I'm perfectly fine, submerged in my subconscious.
Well, most of the time that is.
You are a building
simply put.
Created for the sole purpose
of being my current shelter.
Nothing more.

You are not the home I grew up in,
but a house,
a humble structure
in which I currently reside.

You are not
the home I was born in,
yet new beginnings
are born from you.
When they start to see what's written between the lines
When they concern themselves with the opinions of others
When they become self-conscious
When they go with the crowd
When they watch someone die
When their nightmares become reality
When they accept that their reality is an illusion
When they find out they were adopted
When they lose self-confidence
When they can't look their mother in the eye
When they steal to survive another day
When they're left to fend for themselves
When they see the flaws in society
When they just accept the pain
When they fall and just don't want to get up
When they find the wrong role model
When they hide behind a mask of fake composure
When they give everything to somebody
When they start looking at their Daddy and cringe in fear
When they feel they have to hide their tears
When they no longer feel safe in their mother's arms
When they see through your lies
When they lie to themselves
When they're no longer accepted
When they're raising their siblings
When they break someone's heart
When they break Grandma's antiques
When they care naught for others
When they deceive
When they cheat
When they hate
When they hurt
When they ****
When they destroy
When they love
When they lust

That is when a child loses their innocence.
Is it just me, or is everything regarding love unbearably intense?
No matter which end of its spectrum you take a look at,
you're left in a daze
Whether dealing with crippling heartbreak
or a rush of sweet endearment,
it's up to you to find a way through the labyrinth.
There's just so much emotion that can course through
your  veins,
your  mind
your  heart  and  soul
it's hard to grasp the reality of the concept
that gravity is ever present
but still every
single
one
of
us
falls.
And yet
we embrace it.
This love that we find
and manage to scrounge up
into existence
and for some unknown reason
hope that it's reciprocated
because
what is love
if we are not loved?
With love,
it's not common that you see someone
unconditionally loving another
without wishing
wanting
dreaming
hoping
that they love them in return
but in many cases
the hope is all for naught.
Even in the midst of dangerous waves of rejection,
we force ourselves to believe
that somehow, some day
our efforts will be successful
that we will find the one,
that special someone
with whom we can spend the rest of our days with.
The fact that we all feel incomplete
and struggle about in the darkness
without some form of it,
that our structure
our frame of consciousness
has no stability without it,
the fact of the matter is that
it could very well be the epicenter of everything we do
and that to me is so incredibly intense.
We force ourselves to believe that it will all be worth it.
Because it is worth it.
Love is worth the intensity,
whether I can grasp that concept or not.
I didn't realize until after I finished writing this that at one specific point the poem looks as if it's dangling on a thread...huh. Kind of like love...
Loving me is like trying to venture into the deep, cavernous wasteland of the shattered pieces of my soul. I seriously don't know what will be left of you when you return...a hollow shell of a human being when someone like me has disposed of you.
Loving me is going to end with the essence stolen from your very being. Not a very charming proposition, but there it is.
HA. DELVE INTO THAT ONE, THERAPISTS! I'd like to see you try.
Seriously...anyone?
*sigh*, A girl can hope, right?
So many things are swimming through my mind right now.
So many thoughts, memories, emotions, and demons.
They float by like sheets of ice,
chilling me down to the deepest part of my broken soul,
making me numb.
Their compositions are so complex I avoid them for my sanity.
My mind is so distortedly dysfunctional.
It's filled with an infinite number of all these things,
but if I focus on one of them for too long, my mind pushes them out of reach.
My mind is a vast labyrinth guarded by sarcasm, bitterness, and a mask of composure,
filled with wastelands, trenches, and locked doors.
Only those that are patient will ever find the vault at its very center,
and even then, my mind is nearly impossible to crack.
This vault is like no other.
It's one that you never
                                                        want
                                                                                      to
                                                                                                             open.

Despite my mind's shortcomings, it's quite clever in this one sense.
The vault contains demons so repulsive, so revolting, so disturbingly terrifying,
why, my mind can't even remember what it put there.
But at night, as my mind pulls at dreams,
the vault is most unfortunately opened when my guard is down.
I sometimes wake up breathless,
with only faint recollections of the nightmarish memories and demons that my mind conjured and unleashed in slumber.
As suddenly as I awaken, the dark matter of my mind retracts back into the vault before I have much else to do.
I then peel myself off of my bed, scrape the attempt of a smile out of the gutters of my soul, and go about my day.
There are other times when the solid walls of my mind melt away for reasons I cannot explain.
Everything then swims through my mind,
all the darkness of it tugging at the back of my consciousness,
wearing away at my thought process,
and filling up my mind with hazy grief.
Nonetheless, the vault of my mind is better off locked.

However, by design, a vault must have a key to open it.
The key to mine takes many different forms,
and the interesting part is, I don't know what the key looks like.
From day to day, my mind is an imposing, impenetrable fortress,
to the point where even my own mind can't determine its complexity.
I live each day, watching, searching,
dreading the day when I finally find what frees my mind
from its nightmares, secrets, and its vault.
As each day passes, I anxiously await for when I may finally see him...to be with him.
......I close the door as he presses me up against it, trying to feel for the lock as he ventures beneath my shirt, his breath hot against my skin. I feel every inch of him against me, my heart barely keeping up as his lips trail down my neck. His breathing quickens, my hands feeling the tight muscles all over his body. I tug at the fabric of his shirt, and he swiftly tosses it across the room. Suddenly, he lifts me up in his arms and carries me over to the bed....where the real fun begins.
Should I say it?
Should I wait?
My feelings flow quite easily,
but these questions are much harder.

God knows it's a sin to dare say it first,
but I can't help and almost say it
every time we say goodbye.
I know that's probably really bad,
but I don't care
Because with you....
no one compares.

I also can't help but doubt
that I could possibly keep you.
I mean, with all the obstacles in our way
it's not like we should be together now...
but we don't wait.
I can't wait.
It's literally impossible at this point.

I want to say it.
Because I know I'll mean it.
But uncertainty makes one hell of a delay in the process.
I don't know if you actually feel just as strongly.
And that scares me.
It does with you more than anybody else.

Maybe I'm just kidding myself for wanting to say it.
For feeling this way.
Because I shouldn't,
but I do.
And there's not a **** thing I can do about it,
until we're face to face, that is.

I want to say it
but I shouldn't.
I want to say it
but I can't.

Should I say it?
Should I wait?
My feelings flow quite easily,
but these questions are much harder.
I love him.
Don't tell anybody.
A stranger.
A stranger lies in front of me
but he didn't used to be one.
This stranger used to look at me
but now he looks at no one.
He used to talk and laugh with me
and hold me when I've broken,
but now our bond is shattered
and words remain unspoken.
I look at this stranger
with longing and regret,
Why did it have to be this way?
It's like we hadn't ever met.

There is nothing that I recognize
about this stranger that I see
He looks the same, speaks the same
but there's hardly familiarity.
He doesn't have the spirit
that urged me when I struggled
Nor the warmth and understanding
when I melt into a puddle.
There's no happiness in his eyes
no matter how hard he tries.
Instead he found new outlets
as his soul inside dies.

The man I used to know
is nowhere to be found
instead this stranger takes his place,
I cannot make a sound.
This stranger looks at me
without emotion
and departs with one swift motion.
But the clock is ticking
as I am picking
the pieces of my heart off the floor.
Looking up
I see the hardwood trees,
their patches of leaves
gleaming in the evening sun,
shifting in the breeze.
The skies are blue,
wisps of faint clouds strewn about
floating along like they always do.
Looking up
through the window I do see,
and for some strange reason
I feel momentary peace.
Nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where you sit against the windowsill
looking out as the rain engulfs the outside world.

Everybody talks about the sweet flowers,
blooming in the vast sunshine and warmth
beautiful colors and scents overwhelming your senses
as they sprout from the lush, green grass
and the renewed freedom you have
as you discard your coat and scarf.

Everybody talks about the cool afternoons in spring
where you find yourself reading your favorite paperback,
beneath the ancient cherry tree and its bright, pink blossoms
in the serene meadows overlooking the thawed pond,
where the only sounds are the birds in the distance
and the faint rustling of the trees as they sway with the breeze.

Everybody talks about the days where
the sun urges the snow to melt,
for the cold to disappear and be replaced by warmth
that goes down to your very core,
bringing life and joy to the world again.

But nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where the rain steadily comes pouring down
and you stand outside on the wet asphalt,
welcoming it with a smile as it purifies your consciousness
and opens your mind and heart.

Nobody talks about when deep puddles appear at every flooded street corner,
and even now you cannot help but take one giant step into it
for children's sake,
allowing the water to fly in every which way,
drenching your clothes as you go on to the next one.

Nobody talks about when a storm brews up in the sky,
thunderous dark clouds filling in as you try to outrun it home,
but try as you might,
there comes a point where you simply accept fate
and stand there anyway as the rain crashes down upon you,
upon everything.

Everybody talks about the wonderfully bright, cheerful days in spring.
But it's the days with rain, the dark skies, the sudden downpours,
that I believe need more attention.
As where would the pretty flowers and blossoming trees,
where would the lush green grass and soft, quiet meadows be
without a little rainstorm every now and again?
Spring is my favorite season of the year. I love everything about it. This poem just kind of wrote itself as I was sitting in my bedroom, letting the words come to me as I could hear the rain outside my window.
I've lost countless hours of sleep to these nightmarish thoughts of mine as they engulf me from the inside out...trying to write them, to let them escape, but my face remains as blank as the empty paper.
I miss you at times like these
when I'm getting ready for bed
like you should be here when I lay down...
just falling asleep with me

I miss you at times like these
where your scent lingers on my jacket
on my clothes
in my mind

I miss you at times like these
when I hear your name
and find that it was in reference
to somebody else

I miss you at times like these
when even from a distance
you still manage to make me
laugh and smile

I miss you at times like these
when I wake up in the middle of the night
and you're not there
your arms not surrounding me
in comfort and warmth

I miss you at times like these
where I can still feel your chest
your steady breathing
as you rest beneath my head

I miss you at times like these
when my body aches for yours
with only memories to recall
the stolen moments

I miss you at times like these
when I think of you
and my heart can't help but
skip a beat

I miss you at times like these
when I'm alone
and I don't want to be.
I miss you.
Oh, to be in love
To wait for his arrival
I'll be with you soon
But never soon enough.
I haven't been on here in months.
I haven't written anything in months either.
I haven't even opened up a book,
and my drum set has mostly been collecting dust.
It's sad I know, but to be honest
I haven't been doing much of anything lately.

I've been in and out of court,
in and out of towns,
in and out of schools,
in and out of hospitals,
in and out of houses...
It's been one hell of a time to say the least.

I've been to the city's courthouse so often, it's almost funny.
Almost.
I recognize the security guards every time that I'm in there,
even when they switch shifts.
I know the layout from the first to the seventh floor.
I know which of their vending machines is the best to choose from
and how the elevator doesn't work the way it should.
That place is too familiar for my own good.
It's a world of officials in immaculate suits,
dishing out the ***** work in the most vicious of ways,
with small talk, fake smiles, sweaty palms and anxiety.

In the past year, I've lived in four different places
spread all across the Keystone state.
I look back on the first house I grew up in with a twisted nostalgia.
How could things have been that simple, that easy?
With one big happy family under a suburbian roof,
in a small little town that nobody's ever heard of.
The simple times.

That simplicity was shattered,
with the family broken and trying to go our separate ways.
I did love our next house for just a few reasons though.
I loved the fresh new perspective.
I looked at my town in a whole new way.
Hell, I looked at everything differently.
I felt safe and secure,
even though we were living paycheck to paycheck, day by day.
Our next-door neighbor was the sweetest woman that I've ever met.
She brought the culture of her home-country to us,
getting us together for meals,
brewing tea with sugar cubes on a silver platter.
And even though things were turning into absolute ****,
I thought that it was going to be okay.
It was nice while it lasted.

Living in the mountains was refreshing.
I was torn away from everything I had ever known and loved,
****** into a living arrangement that was not exactly ideal.
Secluded by trees, nestled at least a half hour away from civilization.
But you take what you can get when you have nowhere else to go.
It's funny how life works.
I grew to appreciate the simple things:
having a bed to sleep in,
food to eat,
a place to shower,
clothes to wear.
I finally started understanding my life as it truly was,
a big, swirling mess.
But it was okay, because I was finally going to start anew.

Wrong.
Suddenly we were back down where we used to be.
A tad bit further south, just on the edge of the Maryland line.
Once again I had a new perspective,
once again in a living situation that was not ideal.
It's been rather awkward,
being forced to live with family friends.
It was either that, or I would've been forced to live with a monster.
You take what you can get when there are no other options.
This is the life.

It's pitiful to see the state that I'm in.
One would think that I am a pill-popping drug dealer,
for all the bottles of pills that I have with me.
A little bit of Naproxen, some Carafate,
along with Pantoprazole, Methylprednisolone,
standard painkillers and Flexeril, among others.
But nothing is touching the pain,
and the doctors are running out of ideas.
If my father doesn't **** me, this stress certainly will.


Ladies and Gentlemen, I know this isn't exactly a poem...
I don't even know what to call it.
It's just something that I've thrown together for my sanity,
because I've tried everything else.
It's just a big clusterfuck of words,
because I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.
It's just what I've been up to lately.
You think I don't know you like the back of my hand?
That I can't read you like my favorite novel?
Think again.
Everything you're trying to suppress from me...
come on, don't doubt my intelligence.

You just won't say any of it to my face...
instead, you'll let it seep through your presence,
through the vibes you give off on the ever so rare occasion
that you're near me these days,
silently tugging at my mind with your gaze,
which speaks more than your mouth ever will.


There's nothing to say?


Really?


You're just not saying it.


I don't have a problem with you.
I'm just left here to watch
as you continue to build a wall between us.
Yet you want me to open up,
to tear down the barrier you're creating
and bond with you as I once did.

It doesn't work because
you're not saying what you ought to.
It doesn't work because
you're contradicting yourself.
What you say and what you won't
are two completely different things,
because what you SAY
isn't
how you FEEL.
I KNOW what you don't want to say.
I KNOW what you're feeling.
I KNOW.
But you just won't face it.
I've firmly shut one door in love
and slowly creaked open another...
In an attempt to eventually find what I'm looking for.
For the pains of love to be worthwhile.
Some poets have muses
they have inspiration
that wells up inside
and gives them something to write

Some poets have great emotions
boiling up,
overwhelming their thoughts
until they have to take action
their words teeming with feeling

Some poets have experience
their knowledge and wisdom
flow with what they've been through
and they take you on a journey
as they enlighten you
on their life

But me?
Lately my pen and paper
have been left untouched,
neglected.

It's not like I have writer's block,
I have writer's uncertainty.
It's not that I have nothing to write,
I'm just not sure
if I want to take a long look
inside myself
and write about something
deep
dark
and dangerous
that I've kept within.

— The End —