One
Have you taken your meds today?
You're drinking your anxiety like an alcoholic swallows gin
And I can see the panic in your shaking hands
but the only healing is filled with anti-depressants and sleeping pills
and numbness makes you feel like a corpse

Two
You've gotten a new scar
you show me with wet eyes
And I pretend I don't notice
Because I might just end up shouting
Because I hate that you can't stop
Because I hate that I can't understand
And you think that I didn't care

Three
You look so alone
and I try to come closer
but you've torn a gap so wide between us
that my screams sound like echoes of yours
and I couldn't find a way to reach you
so I stopped trying

Four
You called me heartless
not with your voice but you screamed it in your movement
I felt it in every corner of my mind when I stopped spinning
and all I could think about was you
and I couldn't hate you for your cruelty
because you don't understand what you've done to me

Five
I felt you crashing
not right beside me but a million miles away
and you fought so hard
but couldn't keep up
you said you'd handle it
I should've known you were lying
and now I can't hug you like I used to
and you no longer show me your scars

I know how to read
thinking, interpreting,
it's all fresh in my head,
yet writing is different.
I have a penchant for using used words.
The phased out phrases,
the reworked rhymes ,
the secondhand sentences that fly over pages upon pages of my poetry,
that's the writer I am.
Someone made of words written so many times before,
captivating carelessly.
Literature made from the same recipe yet turning out different each time,
new art made from recycled paint.
They say imitation is the highest form of flattery,
yet I wonder if i'm simply the lowest form of fraudery
as an imperfect wordsmith writing over printed pads
and old book pages.
Touching on topics tactlessly,
Living through artists vicariously,
weaving with words i could never properly pronounce.
But in thought
looking back
I can only write what I know,
and if I know not the world beyond novels,
beyond poets and artists,
at least I know how to read.

You took me and changed me
gave me life and love
kissed my every vein
until they formed crystals
I was beautiful

You then let me go
and I was flying without wings
and I realized
I wasn't the first you touched
as beauty tumbled around me

I hit the ground
like a speck of dust
and I melted, and I died
without truly leaving
or truly living

And after all that
what I'm trying to say
is that I didn't matter
in the best possible way.

Come closer, I won't bite
the fearless hero
afraid of the dark?

You don't fear the wolves
because you know how they bleed
but darkness has no heart
No artery to cut through
and fear is the knife at your back
what will your sword pierce?
what will your blade ****
when the enemy stares at you
from nowhere

what must die
when the enemy is yourself?

How do you get chosen
is it a process of faith
or elimination

how fast can I rip off my labels?
They feel like my scarlet letter
warding off what I want
because they think I'm not what I am.

because it's not easy
it's not easy to be told "not today"
it's not easy to be denied
it's not easy to turn away

and I've told myself that I am the lucky one
I'll be accepted one day
and someday
but days are numbered for a reason
and sometimes a name
is branded too deep
into the flesh
that no amount of friction can ever rub it off
and I
will never be accepted
and I
will be waiting in line
to be told
"not today"

I could never write proper poetry
my words flow from my fingers
in calculated movement
stiff and jointed
like a rusted wheel
trying to turn smoothly
and I tell myself that I'll get there soon
that my words will fit together
less than forcibly

I don't speak in metaphors
or in paradoxes
I find Irony to be less of poetry
and more of tragedy
and people see this romantically
but i see it passively
because these stories do not open
they are stuck in a moment
preserving a feeling already passed
that is poetry
it's complete and utter crap

what use are words if not in prose
if it doesn't let a story be told
a moment cannot speak a lifetime
yet we use up a thousand words
to convey a single emotion lasting less than a second

I hate poetry
for the tears i have shed in useless agony
for the time i have spent deciphering the codes
that lead to humanity
however locked they may be
deep in the heart of some philosophers poetry

dumb
useless
poetry

You are the reason the saddest songs make sense

Maybe after judgement day
We can be together at last.