"Writing?" you might ask.
"What's it about?"
Everything
I wanna say
Nothing
I wanna say
Misunderstanding
Like the look you give me while I try to explain the poems that spill from my lips
Before I've even got a grip
On what it is
I'm saying.

And no, I don't want you to read what I've got so far
When my head is busy dancing circles around my pen.

I wanna write.

It is my one selfish need I will never give up.
It is my freedom of speech that you will never corrupt
With your requests for ballads
As you **** inspiration from me like it's chocolate syrup
And you can't get enough of those
Semi sweet words.

But poetry
Is not fuel.

It's oxygen.

And you are ******* at the air from my lips as I recite these
So-called rants. These
"Depressing chants" of First World problems.

Well, welcome to my life,
Where First World problems rain down on my adolscence.

Because, my hands?
May never have to wipe blood from my loved ones.
But, my cheeks
still know the hot sting of tears.

We've all got First World problems
Hidden down dark corridors.
Or, sitting as eye-sores on street corners.

But poetry is a metamorphosis.
Where we lock away our ugly.

Its purpose?
To emerge from our throats like butterflies.

And with our pain set fluttering free,
There is nothing left stopping us from helping those far or near
In need.

And the world will make poets of them yet.
Whether they know it or not.

Whether our breath ever shutters in the same way or not is not important.

I surround myself
With artists of word who can sometimes tell me
What I want to say in ways more beautiful than my tongue could ever shape but

I
Will never
Stop
Writing.

Never stop
Fighting
For what I believe in

So,
Don't read.
Just listen.
And I will write you a duet.

I know that I can make a poet of you yet.

A mocking bird is a creature that mimics the sounds that its surroundings want to hear.
And you never did stop singing.
Every word that came out of my mouth reminded you of a song
And when you'd sing to me, everything would feel alright.
You became the soundtrack to my life.
You were the melody I  couldn't get off my mind and
We were the Love Story even Taylor Swift couldn't write.

We were like Bonnie and Clyde.
We lived by our own rules like partners in crime.

We had our own world.
Our own language.
Our own customes that nobody really understood
But we didn't give a flying **** 'cause we,
were sitting in the stars,

Like, on Pandora,
Only this little planet of ours
Took 167 months less to make.

I  hate how you still bring up those old traditions because now,
They only come under certain conditions.

Like, you used to kiss my palms to give me something to hold onto
But now,
They only come when you find yourself ashamed of the scares and the scars that you gave to me.
Only to turn the tables on me and act like I pressed self-inflicted wounds to your lips
And made you taste it.

That's all you.
So, don't go looking at me like I'm poison running through your veins.
Not when I remember a time when I was your fix.
You needed me.
You put that needle to your own arm, baby.

No relapse for us.
I went to rehab to get that song off my brain.
And I don't need your painkillers replacing me in your bloodstream,
Headed for what's left of your heart.

But all that strain is gonna tear the muscle tissue there apart, you know.

And all that numbness still won't explain why I thank you, though.

'Cause I didn't know how deep I could feel until you filled me
With a sea of my own tears.
I didn't know I could come so close to death
And feel that rush between each breath.
And I'm gonna use that gush of air to sing sonnets like a prayer to a God I don't believe in,
In hopes she won't see the playground bully
I see in you.

You switch sides like a game
Of Red Rover.
And when you sing, you change everything on me.
Tell me, how am I supposed to keep up?

How am I supposed to keep my chin up when you tell me to look down?
'Cause I know tomorrow,
You'll be coming around thinking it's okay
To be my best friend.

And still,
In a couple hours,
You'll be listening to our song again.

You don't need to say you still love me.
I can hear it as you purposely misinterpret the words that used to sound so lovely.

But if I'm wrong,
Explain how our song meant nothing.
Our words? Meant nothing.
Our dance? Meant nothing.
That our world meant nothing to you.

Tell me you didn't feel,
Something.

You were a melody I couldn't forget.
But now?
I regret ever learning the tune.

And I hear you singing louder than ever,
To remind me that you're fine. Well,
That's all fine and dandy.
But who told you I was prepared
For a love song
Turned tradgedy?

I'll admit it.
You got me.
I believed every word, but
You never kept a single promise to me,
Mocking Bird.

Someday.
Somewhere.
Somebody
will write my biography.
I will never read it.
It won’t be about me.
It’ll be called, '1001 Days That Shaped the World'.
(Volume II)
There will be a bright eyed,
bushy tailed girl
mentioned on every page,

Because they told me I could do anything,
Someday.

But back then,
My hands were too small.
My plans were too big.
My climbing trees were too tall.

Anything, seemed so unlikely.
So overwhelming.
Sobriety told me to hide under my covers.
To stargaze at the impossible but only from the safest places,

Last night I discovered that if you keep your eyes open through the dark,
you could watch your dreams come alive while the sun rises.
You can leave your mark in history when they least expect it.
You can protect your memory long after the last person you knew is gone.

And today,
For the first time in too long,
anything finally feels
Real.
And present.
And possible.

There is nothing on this Earth more glorious
Than biting into a warm Lindor chocolate
To find the center has completely liquefied.

As curious as it is to wonder how it got there in the first place,
You don't.

You're too distracted,
Racing to keep it from dripping down your chin.

In that short moment,
Your taste-buds take you to your own private haven.
Saving you from the many trials you are forced to endure
while inhabiting this world.

Do it as stealthily as possible,
Else be prepared for
"Yum! Can I have one?"

Lindor chocolate is not for sharing.

What do you think of me?
Really?

When you see me standing in front of you,
Is there an underlying feeling
Of knowing?

Do you know about the the butterflies
That fester in me
when I talk to you?
Or about you?
And I do,
talk about you.

Do you know that when I'm near you,
I lose myself
In the atmosphere?

Can you hear my heart
Beating right out of my chest?
I do my best to hide it.
But I can never tell.

Do you think I'm funny?
Like a clown,
Can I make you laugh?

Can I make you cry,
And feel the pain that wells up inside me
Before I pour my heart out
Onto this page?

Do I seem sagely enough to you?
Or wise?
That is what I'm trying for,
Approval.

Because,
When you stare at me
With those bright,
Bright eyes,
Let me feed from your energy and light,
I am (not quite) invincible.
But I am fearless.

That is close enough.

But that's not to say I'm not scared.
You terrify me.

If only you were aware
That when I write,
I write to you.
In hopes that each and every morning,
You'll ask for something new to hear.

That when you hear it,
Your mind soars to whole new worlds.
And you feel inspiration

Coarse through your veins
Like a hurricane, trapped.
Looking for a way out
Through your own fingertips.

Sprouting like grass in the spring time.

The way it does for me
when I hear the ringing of your voice.

You, leave my knees weak.
And I, am almost unable to speak in return.
But I do.
Because I want you to yearn for my lines.
Pine for my love.
Before you learn that you've always had it.

I want you to know that,
Although I seem shy right now
(If anything at all),
I want you.

Someday,
I will capture your attention
And keep you enthralled.
I will never take you for granted.

And when the time comes
When my time in your limelight is through,
I will bow out gracefully.
And never
Ever
Forget you.

This poem is a suicide note.
Tonight, this pitiful life is finally coming to an end. I,
have finally accepted that much.
No longer suspended in a lost, hopeless state:
Not quite asleep.
Not quite awake.

Oh, I've been trapped for too long.
Wrapped up in you.
A translucent bubble wrap.

My voice has given out by now,
Absorbed into this shell.
Thrown back in my face.
No.

I feel like a marionette,
Losing control over what I do
And yet,
Despite my best efforts,
I'm just tangled.

Up
Around
Over
Through

So much so,
There's a knot so tight,
The only way out is to
Cut
Right
Through.

There is simply nowhere else to turn.
Oh, but I tried

I ran.
I hid.
I fought.
I cried.
Bled.
Froze.
Got burned.

And you can say it'll get easier.
It's easy for you.
But I lost my drive to please
Everyone around me.

And I hate lying here,
On the ground.
In it.
In this grave that I dug.

I'm scared,
But only of what I might become.

So, I'm gonna cut right through
the ties from the lies I've been living in.
No.
Not living.
More like spending time lost in the darkness
Of a dead, dead end.

But Death will be attending his own funeral.

Tonight,
I'm gonna restart.
Gonna be brand new.
No.
Better than brand new.
Better than the best, and yes,
That means leaving you behind.

You are the weight of the world on my shoulders.

If I can't get you off my mind,
Then how will I be set free?

I might be on a leash,
But you don't get
the choice to let go or not.

You don't get
To hide me behind a curtain
And, prop her up on a pedestal.

You shouldn't have knocked me off in the first place.

I'm gonna crawl away to a brand new place.
Where I'm loved
And live properly.

After what I went through,
You should have known.
Something had to give.

So,

I'm giving up on this life I planned with you.
I'm moving into cloud nine.

But I'm not leaving.
No.
I'll be weaving my way through
your conscience.
Leaving a trail of words so sharp,
They could cut
Clean
Through.

All the while,
I'll be moving on.

I am the rising sun
Here to **** the "me" I was
When I was, with you.
Your Envious Moon.

My heartstrings may be tangled,
And tearing,
Mangling my innards.
But I will not let myself be hanged.

Tonight,
I'm taking your picture off the shelf,
Waving good bye to my old self,
And praying I have the strength
To make it home.