He writes poetry
But no one knows

He writes poetry
He writes about love
And loss

He writes about smiles
And frowns

He writes about sorrow
And forgotten towns

He writes about how lost he gets
Caught up in his own mind

He writes poetry to
And about others

But no one knows

Know one knows the depth of his soul
Because they all choose to see the exterior
And that exterior screams

Preppy
And preppy
Don't have souls

Or so they thought
Until the day he was consumed
By his own poetry

Waking up to a heavy chest
My body begging me to sleep again
And my anxiety begins the second I realize I'm alive
I'm trying to learn to function
With all of this negative energy inside me
I know it'll pass and
I know it'll get better
But right now it hurts
I feel unloved
Unloveable
I feel lost inside myself
A place I can't stay too long
Before I lose my mind
I can tell myself I'm worth it and
That my worth isn't defined by others
And it works for a bit
Until something else comes up and
My heart loses its energy
And I either feel like giving up
Or ready to fight everyone

i need you like i need warmth in winter and water in the desert

after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiot
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families

this is absolutely appropriate
also absolutely inefficient

but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed

I wish very much
that the nation
   AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE  the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevent such disasters
in the first place

A black boy came upon me
running with the wind
He rushed passed me
With one blue and one yellow balloon
Bouncing excitedly behind him
Like some faithful pet companions
His laughter in both sight and sound
Spread all over his face and around
The bright bouncing balloons pulled
Hard against the strings
And he laughed and laughed...