the words you spit,
cut like knives,
it doesn't hurt,
not yet

the words you write,
about me,
sometimes it makes me think,
you cant cope,
can you?

im trying to help,
you push me away,
you're right,
i don't understand your pain

i'd rather you cry,
and scream and kick,
then play another mind game

you can't tell whats real,
what's fake, what's good,
what's bad,
cause no one can really say

but when your gone,
i hope that can lead me,
the "right" way,
to home.

i do not write poetry.
i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.
i am not a poet. my heart spills the ink onto the page and lets me take credit. i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not original, i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.
i am not original. i copy a poem that my mind already wrote and then i plagiarize it. i am not a poet. my heart spills the ink onto the page and lets me take credit. i do not write poetry, my soul touches the blank paper and blurts out some truth.

i am not original, i am not a poet, i do not write poetry.

my pen hits paper,
my mind spits words,
nothing from the heart,
nothing from the soul,
for I don't have one

is that relatable enough,
to say i'm dead inside,
to say that i'm soulless

i wish to be correct in the word form
but alas
i cannot

You remind me of Chai tea.

You're warm, and sweet, and you make me want to curl up with you on a rainy day, tangled in bedsheets and watching the rain pitter patter on the window, in my pajamas and my hair piled up atop my head, listening to soft music that speak of lazy love and croon of kisses.

You make me think of tan sweaters and unrecognizable spices, alluding to all the mystery I don't know and want to know, devouring you like I would a good book on a crisp autumn day. You make me want to take a road trip to a forest where the fog comes meandering in, and I sit in the backseat, talking about life-to me, to you, or my non-metaphorical, quite literal, tea.

You make me want to slow down, and sit in a coffee shop and work on a book, or admire the chipped mug that you came in.

You remind me of Chai tea, and all that we could be.

The demon queen & king of high school
want to:
die
scream
cry
break
kick
leave
not exist

so instead they make others:
feel invisible
leave
get kicked out
spirit break
cry
scream
want to die

it's all just a cover-up
for only the best
because the weak die
and the strong survive

do you ever hear
someone call your name
when they need you

but when you call their name
when you need them
you get only silence

you contact them
until they block you
you speak to them
until they say something

then you stop
you fill your part of the conversation
with silence

silence
silence
silence

one day
while your silent
someone asks you to speak
so you do

then you stop
because you get interrupted
spoken over
ignored
told to shush

so you go back
to the silence

the cycle repeats itself
until you die