I destroyed my body
for a peace of mind i never got.

It's amazing how at one point in my life
I will be extremely close with you and then
later you will become a complete stranger.
You passed me without a word,
without a single acknowledging look. But,
you were the person, who once knew me so well
that you knew all my dark secrets and saw me through.

You were the smell before the rain but
now you are the blood in my veins,
a heart without chains.

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

Do you ever feel like you just don't fit in

to all the cracks and cliques

that society puts you in.

Or do you ever slightly fear being fully yourself,

scared of the raised eyebrows and curious eyes

that
dig
dig
dig into your timid soul..

I try and solve this by putting up walls made of paper

that slowly turn to concrete, a roof, a cave, a den, a house,

away away on a hill side,

so that they can't get in or smell or see

the beast that they've made of me.

For they love to toss me two and fro
with words and chatter. Vulchers * of
*'Why do you look, talk, dress like that'
There mouths like open caves I can see there teeth,
rotten and decaying.
Graves stones.

I don't want to explain
I don't want to talk
I walk away alone
and peer through windows
watching them silently turn to stone,
mannequins of each other
letting my spirit grow.

-

To me it means sacrifice
to hide who I am
never
For I'll find people
who know and understand

what its like to be
ostracized
beaten,
battered,
and
killed over and over again,

all for just wanting to live,
for just wanting to be human.

People forget we are all human.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

The world around me slows to a crawl,
No one around me knows me at all.
I look over the crowd of familiar faces,
From various times and different places.
They laugh and they play, one and another,
All with secret pains, I’m just like the others.