Dear you,
i do not know how,
to describe this feeling of mine,
to you,
whom i saw,
everyday,
from a far,
all the feelings,
i've been keeping it,
for a quite some time,
not knowing when to let it out,
as i'm afraid,
afraid of being rejected,
for the thousandth time,
if you're,
to come up upon this,
this is for you,
and i...

"I Love You"

The wind howls
outside my bedroom window
shaking me
my heart; my soul

it screams
while you sit there
drinking sweet-smelling coffee
a baby boy in Africa
cries of hunger
and aching ribs.

while you are curled up
under warm and soft blankets
an old and lonely man
wanders the darkest streets
looking for warmth;
a home

while you hide there
surrounded by light and family
with an aura of ungratefulness
you are lost in the rays of your technologies
with a frown on your angelic face
when a weeping woman
shakes and prays
for her gone children to reach Heaven happily
but you dare forget God to a screen?

my house shakes
from Wind's agonizing words
and a streak of cold
trickles into my haven
along with the words
"what am I doing?"

somehow
my stiff legs reach
a window
and the arms in front of me
pull it open
to reveal no sound at all

where is the wind?
did he leave just as
he touched
my heart; my soul
making me waver?
or does a gust not howl ,
speak,
and isn't heard?

no
the wind was here
for how else did the once-twinkling snowflakes
suddenly freeze
and lose all of their beauty?

no one but Wind
would take the innocence
of such young and beautiful white specks
just as they landed
in this cold,
dark world

no one but Wind
would flare you with reality
enough to make you cry with obliviousness
for this wind; my Wind
he is the voice off all those
who have faced
life's stinging brutality;
him
instead of
hiding under covers
and whispering morbid lies
that
everything is okay

The nights have
always been the worst.
Sitting alone
with a drink
and some drugs.

Close to the
open window,
listening to
the sounds of
the night.

Passing cars and sirens,
a couple arguing
somewhere down the alley,
a whistle set loose
by one of the young
whose turn it
is now to
own the same
night that I
once did.

That slow and
lonely fog horn
sounding it's
warning every 45
seconds a quarter
mile out.

The mind filing through
the days events.
The failures
and the progressions
that weren't really
any type of
real progress at all.

Flipping through it all
in search of a reason.
Images flashing,
the infants smile
or that girls manicured
fingertips gently
along your face.
Magicly guiding
you into a kiss that you
knew meant nothing
to her at all.

Still drinking,
still using,
still counting the
seconds between the fog horns
sounds of the night.

Still trying to keep it all intact.
Mind,
Heart,
Body,
and Muse.

Waiting on a word,
a line.
Something to put
down and save
for the ages.

The nights are
the hardest,
that they've
always been.
But the night
is usually when
this magic
appears.

do you ever feel worthless?
everyone has a bad day every now and again, that's perfectly normal. but it's the days where you can somehow feel everyone around you constantly judging you. in complete silence. supposedly without you knowing.
but you know.
you know their silence just as well as their voices.
the comparisons they make of you, to your peers. your closest friends. your family.
the "perfect" ones.
and then there's you.
you alone, standing right in front of everyone, waiting for a reason to continue the short yet steady inhales and exhales of oxygen into your lungs.
you haven't found it yet.
the people standing in front of you are waiting for you to find that reason for yourself. it's expected of you to know exactly why you're placed on this planet when you're in high school, sometimes even before that. with no help from anyone at all.  
it's a bit difficult to figure out exactly who you currently are, who you want to be, who you could be, who you should be, but most importantly who you will be, when there is nobody to light your lantern through the cave you have to trudge through to get there.
in addition to that, as the one being judged, it's just as terrible to have to sit there and take it like absolutely nothing is wrong.  to stand in front of these ******* and continue inhaling and exhaling like you suddenly have some sort of purpose to continue to do so.  making it appear as if their criticisms and comparisons don't make you want to down that bottle of pills you have laying under your bed.
continue putting on the front that you are just fine, that there isn't a raging crater of fiery anxiety in the pit of your stomach where normally nothing except complete emptiness sits.
extinguishing the fire inside of you is easier said than done.
and most of the time, it's a lot easier to let yourself become engulfed in flames.

I can't describe -
How the yearning hides.

How it waits
Until the dead of night,
To wear upon the mind.