mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?

mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.

There your body hung
And all you left was a note
And all it said was *I'm Fine.

He kissed me so deeply I forgot whose air I was breathing

you said 'i love you'
i said it, too.

the only difference
is that i didn't lie to you.

i would take the time
to tell you about someone
i like

but instead
ill just describe

hes sweet,
kind,
caring.

probably the nicest person
you'd ever meet

too bad
he doesnt like me.

the bullied girl had never spoken
when one day she did,
and all her bones got broken