The history books say we outgrew a "phase" of nomads.
We don't move,
or do we?
Do we move in our childhood?
Interrupting friendships and education.
Removed from a house built of brick, mortar, and memories.
Thrown into the populace of new locals.
They're kind, welcoming.
But they're not the people I know.
The school is strange and I have no friends to share my time with.
They say you're supposed to fit in after a couple weeks, right?
Or maybe it's a couple months.
Or years.
Or maybe it's until you become anorexic because you realize there must be something wrong with you, never them.
Always you.
That's when you fit in, right?

They say we're not nomads.
We're done with that phase.

The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.

People ask me why I do not believe in God, so this isn't a poem just an explanation for my borderline-blasphemous atheist views. All over the world people suffer: children are abused, women *****, men tortured. Yet people still trust a happy grandfather up in the skies to make their lives perfect. Yeah, people say that heaven is this great place but why do people on earth have to suffer to get there? Okay, some religions believe in sinning, but isn't it a sin to watch as 4,000 children die every single day just because they don't have enough water?  If there actually turns out to be a God, I would honestly rather rot in hell for eternity than sit up there being happy whilst people down here suffer...

So yes, I do not believe in an omnibenevolent God that sits in the skies, because if he loved everyone then why let his "children" suffer?

The stars can't compare,
To the gleam in your eyes.

You make death seem like the ultimate thing to wish for
                   On a shooting star,
                   Or at 11:11
                   Or on whatever it is people wish on these days.

You make slicing my thighs seem like the ultimate prize
At the end of a long day.

You make death seem like it’s the only thing I need to aim for.

I don’t dream of what my life could be anymore,
                    The job I could have,
                    The family I could love
Rarely crossing my mind.

When people ask me where I want to be in 5 years,
                    Or even 3,
I hesitate.
Wanting to be 6 feet under the stars,
                    Maybe in 5 months,
                    Preferably in 3,
But these are secrets you dare not speak of,
So I simply reply
                    Happy.
Maybe in Washington,
In a port town,
Or in Colorado in the mountains.

I don’t dream about love anymore,
                     Or at least I try not to,
But my god do you make it hard
Because,
Well,
                      I love you.

Instead I try to dream of cars,
Crashing into me,
It gives me the same sensation as dreaming of you,
                      But it doesn't hurt as much,
                      Or as last as long.

I find it hard to find the thrill in living.
Maybe I’m just not doing it right yet,
But right now I find a certain thrill
                       In hiding my scars,
                       In pretending to be fine;
I like to give others enough information
That if they tried hard enough
They could figure me out,
To see if anyone thinks I’m worth the effort.
                       Update: I’m not.