i keep trying to write about you
and so far all these poems have turned out terrible
i can't begin to fathom why
because the way you make me feel
should be providing me with great material
but no matter how i try
i just can't seem to find the right words
so i'm left staring at a blank page
frustration in my veins
just wishing i had the courage
to tell you how i feel

how i'm... addicted to the way you laugh
at all my jokes, even the terrible ones
how your eyes remind me of aquamarine some days
and the storm-tossed sea on others
but they always take my breath away
how your opinions mean so much to me
i'd change the universe for you if i could
because i think that highly of you
and hope someday, maybe, i'll be worthy of your notice

i don't know what it is about you
but you've brightened my worst days
and eased my heaviest burdens
just
by being
you

i hope that someday
i can do the same for you
because people like you are few
and far between
and life has taught me to appreciate
the qualities in you i've seen

you are my greatest weakness
at this moment in time and space
but i think there's a chance that if you just take my hand
you might become my greatest strength

i don't know if you see me that way
- you're, like, the one person i can't read -
but even if friends is all we're ever destined to be
i promise, i'm going to stay
you're worth so much more to me
than just a potential romantic fantasy
and that's what makes you so amazing
it's the fact that you're gazing
out at the same ocean that i am
underneath the same sky
because, for some reason,
you were meant
to be in
my life

a few simple words
ones that i have heard time and time again
but even still, i feel
like i've just been
force fed
shattered glass
its jagged edges
like mountain's ridges
tearing the back of my throat into ribbons
making my screams
into running streams
of crimson and carmine
except i'm not screaming out loud
because outbursts of emotion are not allowed
so i scream in the confines
of my own tortured mind
until i drown out everything else
until i am beyond help
until the only thing left behind
is the long, low-pitched kine
of an animal in pain
and i am living it again
because no matter how much i train
ptsd is still invasive
and my memories are still pervasive
it's just that they're usually dormant
not giving rise to this caliber of torment
when my own mind holds the .45
how the hell am i supposed to stay alive?

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

it has been in vain
all my efforts come to naught
because no matter how much i struggle
all it does is tighten the knot     in the noose that is looped 'round my neck
and further my development into this train wreck     of a person
who can barely manage
to get up and fake it through one more day
when all she wants is to sit down and say
i am done
i give up
i am clearly not enough
     i couldn't cut it
i didn't make it
i never thought it would be this tough
but failure has never been something that i handled well
and these events are to me nothing more than a bell
tone that signals the end of the death knell
that will sound for me at the end of my struggle

because no one will ever be as ******* me as i am
or as cruel as the thoughts in my own head
and as anxiety swarms, planning its next attack
i am still trying to recover from its first blow
the one that hit me like an all-star fullback
falling just short of a true death blow
because ending my misery is not in the nature
of the cruelest mental illness whose nomenclature
does not do justice to all its wicked wiles
nor explains truly how twisted and vile
it is to have the voices in your own head turn against you
and seek to break you down
no matter what you do

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

life is a constant state of entropy
but the erosion i experience turns me to misanthropy
purely for the sake of self-preservation
but i find myself suffering damnation
at the hands of my own emotions
because regardless of my notions
of protecting myself and refusing to feel
i find my brain asleep at the wheel
while my heart runs rampant
forcing me to be a participant
in yet another heartbreak

you and i both know this is a trap
and the pit's bottom is not shallow
we'll fall for what will seem like ages
controlled not by marionette strings
but by pre-written script, like players on stages
and when the curtain falls and we depart to the wings
a hand will turn the tear-soaked pages
leaving you unscathed, as per usual
while i die inside
and try my best to hide
my true feelings behind a fragile smile

it was so easy
falling back to our old habits
i dismissed your concerns so breezily
telling myself my heart was like granite
but even granite can crumble
given enough weathering, under pressure insatiate
and can wear away and leave behind
nothing more than a love consigned
to that fate worse than any pain a mortal has known
love unrequited, pain untouched by even methadone
because when the unrequited love was true
the lover knows they will die alone