He is the sun
bringing life
and laughter
and warmth
he is the moon
that lights
my black world
and pulls in
the cooling tides

I want to bathe him in sunlight
or moonlight
whichever he prefers
as long as it's light.

I want to speak words
that'll stitch up the heart
and bandage his wounds

I want to wash away
his sins
and let him start again

I want him to wake
eager to start the day

I want him to have no doubt
no fear
no worries

I want to make him happy,
more than just okay
I want every day
to be worth his while,
even if those days
do not involve me.

I wish I could say words
that would make him better,
but I don't even know how to make myself better,
I don't know what to say
I don't know what to do,
but I know I must try.

Let's go to the mountain top
and scream
and scream
until the sorrow in our voices
is no more

He hates writing poetry,
as boys like him often do,
he hates books,
and science fiction
and generally most everything I like.
He clings like a mollusk,
is none too smart,
and often I'm bored with his very existence,
but lord he is sweet
as he spends an hour
writing a fantastically ****** poem
to repair what I keep breaking.

Poem in hand,
he lays his heart at my feet,
and in one swift motion
I stomp on it.

There's a sad song playing in this cafe
and I'm scrolling through our texts
knowing you mean more to me
than I do to you
   my least favorite episode on repeat, once again,
feeling like I've done an injustice to myself,
                                                           my heart,
giving it away too easily,
giving it up so quickly,
because I'm trying too hard
to fill the emptiness
but the more I pour
the wider the cracks get
but still I pour
hoping to fill it
thinking 'maybe this time it'll be different'
but it never is
       it never is

Is anybody out there?
          in reality people are so close
                    yet too attached to the internet
                           the internet seems like a great way to connect
                                     but it's really just a void

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
or to the winter wind
that blows down the valleys
and whips your hair
into a glorious tangle
as you climb forrested peaks
in hopes of catching
the blazing star
just sinking
slowly
gently
purposefully
religiously
beneath the horizon
coating your kingdom
in orange
and pinks
and purples
setting all you see
on fire
as if it burned
with each quick beat of your heart
and blow colder winds
to replenish your lungs
for a strong
and careful journey down
your many times conquered mountain
so that you may come again
and again
and again
to see the sun
and the view
and breath the winds that blow
and fall in love
every
single
time

-and suddenly,
I stopped caring.
Prepare to read more of my teen angst.

There is little here
in this sun-scaped city
to press a frown onto my face.
I feel free
I've lost ten pounds
my skin is smooth
I bought new fashionable clothes
and I laugh more than ever before,
and that is what people see,
will amber annex buster dani skyla rashid duane kiki chase adrianna
all these new people
who laugh at my funny name
only see this happy smiling girl
who is kind and quick to help
and make jokes
and dance
and offer advice
and yet despite the freedom I feel
it comes with equal parts guilt.
have I ever smiled so much before?
The me people meet now is so new to me
it feels like a lie
it's nice of you to ask me on a date
but how could I tell you the horrors of my past?
with all this smiling
you'd never believe the years of frowns and tears
no one would think to look for the lines where you can see my burn scars
they wouldn't look at my differently
when I trace old bruises
they don't think
to be careful when touching me
they don't have a clue
and it's all I've ever wanted
to have people think nothing is wrong
for me to be like the other girls,
but now that that's what people see,
my smiles though real
make me feel like I'm lying to everyone around me.

I'm begging to scream it out loud,




but no one would care.

Empty rabbit holes
no wonderland
I live in winterland
head up in hinterland
frozen kneeling at the stand
holding out my hand
snowflakes are falling
not touching me though
arctic fox calling
under branches low
beneath the white
fox colored
fox match
they won the fight
they live in hinterland
head up in winterland
take me to where they fish
in sunhordland

Eyes lingering on the steel blade.
Tracing the exact way to tie that knot,
noting where she puts her pills.
Floating in the water,
body tempted tempted to forget how to swim.
Maybe if I starve long enough...
Sometimes I think about death,
but then question
What's the point of killing the body
when the soul died so long ago?
What's the point,
when I'm already dead inside?

Yesterday in church,
I saw a face
and heard a voice,
smooth and low
it blew softly against my neck..
I said Oh who can it be
the Devil he is
starin straight at me
I fall into his arms
and he lets me weep,
he lets me weep,
and I rest at his feet

Coming home from Prom,
locking myself in my room
and crying.

Just another night.
same as all the rest.

what does that say about me?

I'm doing great!
OH, JUST DANDY
fantastic!
fine
okay, you?
pretty good
well, and you?

maybe if I keep lying to people
when they ask me how I am,
maybe eventually my answer will be true.

Whats it been,
four, five years?
I can't shake the thought of you.
Each year I want you more
wish you were mine
and have my heart shudder
with each girl you put your arm around.
I'm always so scared though,
scared you're too short
and I'm too tall
afraid I'm not interesting
or pretty enough
or maybe you're not pretty enough for me,
though I'm always afraid of not being what you need.

You're always there for me,
you know I'm hurting
and each year, I hear,
you can't shake the thought of me,
they're probably lies
but it makes my heart fly
and I'll pretend I didn't cry,
what's wrong with me?
You reach out and I reach back
but just as our fingers touch
I'm too scared to hold on, and I fall,
but you always wait for me to climb back up.

but how long will you wait?
I need to get it together,
man up,
finally tell you everything that hurts,
then you'll pull me up,
and maybe everything will be okay.

You held me close
and the tears began to flow
I'd like to thank you Huckleberry,
for never letting go.

wrapped in his arms
                 I feel only warmth
               and un-yeilding
                  
                              *serenity

I'm done.
It's as simple as that.
I'm done with living,
I'm done with breathing.

life is a little infinity,
We have such a short time to live,
But that short time seems to never end.

When will the curse of longevity be lifted?
when will the turmoil end?
Is this a punishment?
we do not deserve this.

why?
why, with such a long life
do we also receive
such ignorance,
such cruelty,
such power?

We who are so easily damaged...
we, so selfish, so confident,
what gives us the right to live so long?

what's it like to raise your voice

to stand atop a mountain and scream

to clench your fists tight

I wanna know

I wanna know

I've read adventures
heard tall tales
I've smelt the wind
at the top of mountains
I have glimpsed treasures
and jewels of glory
I have chased
the ancient fantasy,
for since I was a child,
I have dreamed of dragons,
I have dreamed,
of you.

From a single supernova explosion.
We are stardust.
I am stardust.
Stardust that has become self aware
And learned to question oneself.
Blood, flesh, bones, cells, arteries, veins, brains,
A product of God,
Or the product of a funny little happenstance?
The same as everyone else.
But I like to think I’m different.
Personality?
A conundrum,
Paradox,
Silent,
Stone,
Made of stone,
That is what they tell me I am.
Lost in a garden of graves
I reach for the light
But retreat back into the shadows
When it reaches back.
Speaking in sweet solitude
My heart lies with green
But my body is draped in black.

Quiet, a mystery,
An ignored enigma
Wrapped in Bowie’s melody.
Life in slow motion,
Seen on tattered film reels.
Long nights of insomnia,
Driven by an attraction to the monsters,
Let’s forget my past,
Let’s forget my name,
Let’s forget I’m a coward.

Long hours
With shaking hands
Trying to write a happy poem,
But that simply won’t happen.
That simply won’t happen.
Forgive me for my morbid ways.

Tell us about you,
Tell us the real you,
An assignment to create forced poetry.
Poetry should not be forced,
Poetry should come from the heart,
From my heart does not come my favorite authors, such as Scott Westerfeld,
Nor does my favorite food, sushi, my goals of being a director, or the llama as my favorite animal,
From my heart comes something much darker,
More complex.
I was asked to tell no lies,
And no lies were told.
The truth is all there,
The real me is in plain sight.
It all depends on if you know where to look.

In short, to tell you about me, I am a cube.
I am a rubix cube no one has yet to solve.




(This was a school assignment to write a poem about myself...)

Please
I know I was mean
I know I was rude
Please
just remember
I'm only 19
I'm only nineteen
I've never had a home
I've always been on my own
I'm only nineteen
acting 30
pressure
so much ******* pressure
can you hear it through the sobs
the neighbors knocking at my door can
please
remember I'm still just a kid
I'm still so little
I'm still living in that day
when my own father tried to take my life away
please forgive me
I'm trying so hard
but it's all so ******* much
and I'm so overwhelmed
and i'm so ******* tired
and the worst part
is that I'm doing my best
I'm doing everything i can
why doesn't anyone care
why doesn't anyone cut me slack
I'm nineteen
I'm still just a kid
It's still 2002
I wan to watch cartoons
please i can't breath
I'm sorry I told you to go
come back
come back
leave
come back
I don't know what to do
I don't know what to do


I am so tired

my own mind

is a merciless masterpiece

still holding

the dripping dagger

the music was saying what I couldn't
                   and all I want
    is for you
                     to be good to me

I need to read more
and study the dictionary
and ask more questions
and read philosphy
and stop wasting time on Pinterest
pining for things I don't have the drive to work for
and think more-

so then maybe I can learn how to speak.

I feel so many things,
everything.
I feel each breath,
heartbeat,
conversations across the room
I feel the sun burning
and the moon glowing
and the ferocity of the wind
and each smile
and sigh-
I feel everything
and I feel it too much
to the point where it builds up
and becomes numb.
I am weighted
with all these feelings
and thoughts
and jokes
and fears-
but I don't have the words to express them.

In my fantasies,
the perfect man,
the perfect friend,
is one that doesn't badger me to speak more
and make idle conversation,
but one that knows what I feel just by looking at me,
one that breathes my silence
and understands that putting words to these emotions
is far too difficult a task-
but that's a silly fantasy,
everyone else talks
so why shouldn't I?

I write poetry in hopes
I'll find a proper,
eloquent way to
announce my feelings
but they just jut out like ugly spores
in the form of average teen angst
and I look at my work - even my best -
and think
"no no no, that's not right.
It's more complicated and painful and beautiful-
no no it's so much more than this"

it's silly of me
to think that in a world so loud
I can be silent and happy.
Not that I'm dying to be happy,
in fact I quite like the misery,
silence is the only thing I truly strive for.
In a way, for me, silence is a native language,
and speaking is foreign and hard to learn
and all the while I try my best to learn-
I want someone to also try to learn
the much underpreciated silence.
silence is an important language of it's own,
one often disregarded
but it's the only language I comfortably know.

It kills me how hard I try to speak,
but that's not the point,
I just wish someone else would take a chance
to understand the silence.

Let me be alone
alone
alone
leave me by myself
myself
myself
I don't need anybody
anybody
anybody
Though I won't tell a soul
a soul
a soul
That someday I wanna be a
married woman
married woman
married woman.

you passed by
like a hurricane
a tsunami following your wake,
you turned my world upside
I had no choice
but to go along for the ride,
so much happened
I thought
it must have been years
but it was only a second
that you passed me by,
in a whirlwind
so fast
so driven
you didn't notice
I slipped my heart into your pocket,
and you kept on going
leaving me behind,
forgetting...
I know not where you have gone,
but I wonder
if you ever took your hands off the beast of life
and dared to relax them in your pocket,
if you would find my heart there, still,
or perhaps it fell out
tumbled down into the bush
on one of your adventures,
lost forever,
it hurts
it hurts so bad
that you have my heart
but I do not blame you
for not giving yours in return
no,
for you didn't know I gave you mine,
to blame you would be unfair,
so I shan't tell you of the tears I've cried
from my loss
my pining
no I do not blame you
for not returning a love
you don't know begs returning.

"Quit while you're ahead"
words I should've listened to,
I didn't know they applied to me
I didn't know they were about
my love
my life
my constant.

I didn't crash and burn
I had a slow,
ungraceful decent-
clambering for stranger's likes and comments-
for their approval of what should be
my deepest, most personal thoughts
mattering only to me
but instead plagued with the single thought
"I hope this trends I hope this trends"

If I had quit long ago
they would have asked
"whatever happened to the girl
who wrote good poetry?"
but they won't ask now.
they won't notice.

I poured black oil
over my previous work
and in a shocked attempt to clean it up
I only smear it further.

"quit while you're ahead"
I've lost my chance,
now I can only leave in shame.
and I'm sorry for that.

There was a time,
when I wrote poetry
for the sake of poetry
for the sake of emulating my feelings
and expressing an idea.
But that broke
when the likes kept coming
and the comments of praise
and the follows kept growing
and each day I stuck my tongue out
so I could taste the satisfaction
of having another poem trend.
It ruined my poetry
it ruined who I was
groveling-
writing meaningless words
that sounded okay together
because I didn't care to write my heart
I cared to write what would trend
and what you feed my crippling self-doubt
make me feel like I was good at something.
It poisoned me.
and I fed off the poison
and mutated
until I shocked back to reality and was ashamed of what I saw
and stopped.
I left.
without even a proper, dignified good-bye.

But I wrote poetry still.
without posting.
and I kept on at it
and slowly my smile grew
slowly the spark came back
I told myself I would post on HelloPoetry again
when I was worth it
when my work was something I could be proud of-
but with each poem I save as a draft
I think
"no no, not ready yet, I can do better, I am better,"
and I dig deep and am creating works
that for once-
show that I am growing-
progressing
taking the steps all great poets should.

I had forgotten what it was like to write poetry for love.
I only remember feeling disgusted with myself
for less than twenty likes.
I hope someday I know only love,
and forget what it's like to be addicted to stranger's "approval".

It is amazing
how just the thought
of having to go home
can incite such tremendous fear,
trembling hands
watery eyes
a bad mood
and heavy weight
making my body tired and slow?
Isn't it fascinating how
no matter the great day
the timeless adventures,
the tender hugs,
going home
can make it seem
like it never existed?
isn't it wild
isn't it phenomenal
isn't it crazy
how simply going home
can make me want to die?

Am I doomed to feel loss?
In theory I do not mind
being confined to my own company
till death do me part,
but I am hindered by my heart,
by feelings.
I'd like to say I'm fine
with this solitude
but my wretched heart
beats out in anger
declaring it is lonely.
Why can't my heart agree with the rest of me?
So terribly inconsiderate
to make my life difficult
to make me feel sad for all the things I do not have
when in truth I do not care.
My heart is a monstrous thing
a creature I'd like to be left in a box
on the side of a road
perhaps on a rainy day
because clearly my heart enjoys
dramatic scenery such as that.
Truly the things that make me most miserable,
are the doings of my heart.

"ssshhh
it's okay,
you don't have to cry anymore.
I can make it better.
trust me-
no no don't doubt yourself,
everything can be okay,
it will be okay.
trust me.
I can make it better.
I can end your pain."

with each passing day
the steel blade talks to me,
and with each passing day
I begin to believe it.

If you’re a useless ******* and you know it clap your hands
- clap clap -
If you’re pathetic waste of space and you know it clap your hands
- clap clap -
If nobody cares about you and there’s nothing you can do
If you wanna cut out your heart and throw it clap your hands
- clap clap -

I condemn the ignorant.
I persecute and judge
The hapless swagsters
With their pants dragging across the pavement.
Their style,
their style I can judge.
Their ignorance, I have no right.
I took a look at the world.
Wrenching my heart.
Making my head fuzzy
With eyes aching from what they have seen.
My ears throb with the pitched wringing
Of constant technology
And controlled ignorance.
Most of all it is my legs.
My legs move awkwardly
As they struggle to support my weight.
They struggle to keep me standing against the gravity
Of a world that does not seem worth walking through.
Jumbled sentences,
no political views,
no future in mind,
hatred of any and all religion.
Yet they are so open.
So open and accepting to those
Which religion,
Politics
And the future have so swiftly rejected.
I look at the lies
And personal gain
Of politics.
It is disgusting.
I look at the future
And see nothing but horror
And the downfall of society.
I look at religion
And am ashamed to be called a Christian.
The world has become ignorant.
It is the blind leading the blind
As those with money and power
Do all in their ability to control everyone else.
I see the beauty of religious faith
Turned into a monstrous topic
People like to avoid
So they don’t have to think
Of the revolting people
Who are full of sin,
Parading around, destroying others
In the name of the Lord.
I look around and it hurts.
I look around and I collapse to the ground.
My legs have spent so long supporting me,
As if walking would bring me somewhere
Where we are literate and confident.
But as I look around and see the horror
And the misshapen beings swaying to and fro
As they themselves begin to realize that they, too
Want to sit down and wallow in their garbage.
Nothing but Fish in an unkempt tank,
Swimming in our own, endless s**t.
I begin to envy those I condemn.
Those who I purse my lips, raise an eyebrow and scoff at.
Those who I dismiss so easily in their ignorance,
For not seeing the world as it is.
Until I realize that I am not so smart.
Until I realize that their ignorance is the greatest genius of all.
Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.
Bliss I could only lie at the feet and kiss
In envy and want as I lose hope
In that I am just as ignorant as the rest.
I try to forget what I have seen,
What I have heard,
And how hard my legs have worked.
But I lay down and kiss.
I accept the bliss that comes with not knowing.
I forget the lies,
Manipulation
And cruelty of the world,
And even if it’s just for a little bit,
I bathe in the glory of ignorance.

None of this has hit me yet.
It hasn't hit me so hard the absence of feeling has rippled into the rest of me,
to all things;
all events
and all goodbyes
are said with not even a hint of a tear
nor a hint of a smile
nor a fast or slow beating heart
it's said with words I know I mean
but they do not sound so.
This leads me to believe I am terrified.
So terrified
so frightened
so unsure
and scared
it has shocked me frozen
paused in time,
because if I recognize this daunting task
this great fear
this leaving of the few people who truly mean something to me
and the only place I have ever known,
I will not be able to venture one size 8 step into this great adventure.

I love to laugh,
I'm sure I do,
so why does it make me feel so awkward and so sad?
Why am I afraid of it?
Why can't I join the merriment-
share the bond?
Why do their cheery giggles
make me feel so alienated?
Why does their joy
push me away?
it's not like I dislike it...
I love to laugh,
I'm sure I do.

You beat me
you break me
you consume me
but what can I do?

I love it.
The pain,
the harsh grip,
the prominent shouting
and ice cold eyes
to match your icy heart.

It's not that I love it,
it's that I know it.
This kind of treatment
is all I've ever known.

Kind words,
a light touch,
and trusting eyes

I could not do that.

It's the monster inside you I fall for,
it's the sadistic ******* that chills my spine
it's the voice that says
I am yours to kick
and yours alone.

Monster who cracks the whip
and sharpens the knife,
Who leaves me black and blue,
I've never loved anything before,
so I might as well love you.

I'm not a poet.
I'm a lost suicidal worthless teen
desperately grasping at light words
trying to make sense of this world
desperate to find meaning
begging for a connection
drowning in my silly hopes
that the words I write have an impact
and mean something
and can somehow help me.

I'm not a poet.
I'm just a lame useless twisted pathetic scared drowning kid grasping at any old thing that floats.

I love you dearly,
please forgive me,
I do not mean to hurt you,

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
but this disease is raging strong.

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me
I fear I may be empty inside,

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
You deserve so much better...

I love you dearly,
Please forgive me,
I'm nothing but a monster,

I love you dearly...

Please forgive me...

This is all my fault...

I love you dearly...

please...
please forgive me.

I have not a voice
to properly enunciate
the fears and terror I experience
on a daily basis,
nor hands stable enough
to sign the loneliness
that wastes me.

The key is to remember,
I really do not matter,
not to a single person I meet,
not to a passerby on the street,
To unlock happiness
and never be disappointed,
the key is to remember
I am nothing
and no one.

the expanse
    cold and relentless
      mocking my nose
   it knows
       my mind is too wasted
     to throw hands
         so it taunts on
       while I
                limbs limp
stare on

Indigo darling,
Puff disappeared
so I stopped reading your poems,
I didn't know
Puff turned purple
but now I'm reading
now I'm reeling
Indigo darling
put your gloves on
wrap a scarf around your slender neck-
it's winter now
and the world to you
might seem mighty cold
so keep wrapped up tight
keep warm through the harsh winds
and dreary rain
that matts your envious mane
Indigo darling
look at your hot breath
in the cold air
know that you're alive
and human
and nothing can be more beautiful
Indigo I think of your smile
and soul
and century-old eyes
that glisten like stars
mapping out your past
and hopes and dreams
Indigo darling
you are loved
by many
by all
by I
Indigo darling
don't harm yourself so
don't say unkind words
you don't deserve that,
know that it's winter
clouds are overhead
but the sun lies just underneath
just wait
just wait
eat well
and breath
and adventure
don't you dare weigh yourself
until those clouds break
the holidays are gone
and the sun's warmth
can wrap around your slender neck
and lighten your hair
and blare brilliantly
off your pale hands
reaching to the sky
thinking philosopher's thoughts
Indigo darling
let that warmth touch your heart
because you can say unkind words
and shake your head at the mirror
and stamp your feet at the scale
but these things
won't stop the world from loving you
it won't stop the truth
so Indigo darling
write a happy poem
wander up a mountain
and please
just stay warm
stay warm

If five year old me,
bruised and battered
with big circle glasses
could see me now,
what would she think?

I can't imagine she'd be more disappointed
than I already am.