if no one will pay attention to me,
then i'll lock myself away and write more poetry
the vastness of the internet
resembles an intensely large ear
to which i may tell my secrets and heartache
without a body to belong to or a brain,
i needn't worry about how my words
are perceived;
just knowing they are received by someone,
something
is enough
i'll harp on melodically and tragically,
much like the eloquent language of an actual harp,
until the entirety of my current emotional state
has been examined, molded, displayed,
expelled,
exhausted
replayed

let's take this whole thing and forget it,
smash in
every crack that has been growing since you left
since you came back,
i've forgotten what minutes feel like
i've forgotten what day it is
i've forgotten the nostalgia that used to make me love you
nevermind

where do all the fallen petals go?
One minute, they're on display amongst the leaves and branches
And the next, they're falling to the ground
Where do they go after that?
Does the sidewalk absorb them in an attempt to become less grey?
Or maybe they are sent away by a magical force that we will never come to know
All I know is that it makes me sad if I think about it for too long
I mourn the departures of all things

the headlines of my heart are a mix of fear and passion
i have this relentless need for something so real, something surreal
take me back into the dark and split me open
learn the curves of my mind, each crest and crevice
i know you'll find my truth deep inside
all along, I've been grasping the key so tight
while you scoured the floor in search of it
but this time, I'm ready
i want you to know too much

i thought i had forgotten, but really,
you were there the whole time
maybe it wasn't even actually you,
but the idea of you;
a collection of flawless moments
i've been saving up,
playing on repeat

i had a dream about you the other night and i thought
it was no longer possible,
but there you were without warning
and beautiful as ever

if everyone can see it, then it must be real
if we can joke about it, then it's happening
i will tell myself this until the end of time
i'm hopeless as you've probably figured out by now
maybe you don't want to believe it,
and maybe i want to believe that you don't want to believe it,
but you do, and deep down, we are both aware
without actually speaking, i'll continue to express how i feel
without talking, i'll drill a tiny hole into your head
and slip a piece of paper through with every dream i've ever had
about you written down on it
because that's the closest i'll let you get to reading my poetry
and you only let me talk to you in your sleep

i tell secrets in the form of poetry
each of my subjects is a special fruit hanging from the limbs of my mind
once they become too heavy, i must pick them,
tear them open, and reveal their matter before they become spoiled
not for the world to see, but more so for my own relief
i'll place my subject right in front of me for dissection,
but only when it's ripe and i am fully ready
my subject transforms from a drunken pith into a gem,
from a simple thought into a sonnet
this form of expression is the only thing keeping me from endless suffering
writing frees the subject without its knowledge,
and it frees me from having to protect it any longer
for it is a burden with which i have a sporadic love affair

butterflies and moths display their dust proudly and without apology
each speck of the stuff adds new facets of light and color
new dimensions of growth and repose
unlike the snail, these creatures do not carry their homes on their backs,
but rather their stories
a tear in the left wing in memory of rebirthing,
a blur of deep red for all the times that they bled,
and a streak of blue for each time they stayed true
such a short lifespan for a creature that reminds us humans
of the fragility, beauty, and fleeting nature of the life we are given
wearing scars like blue ribbons
and silently departing before we ever get the chance
to appreciate them and their elegant dance

i was driving home when a flash of lightning reflected
in my rear-view mirror,
brilliant enough to pull me out of whatever zone i was in
it reminded me of the way that you enter my mind-
always bursting out of darkness, calmness;
never giving any warning other than a low, rumbling thunder
too soft for me to pick up on
not that this occurrence is at all your fault..
it's simply my mind's way of dealing with a subject
as dangerous, tainted, and flawed as you
subconsciously, somehow, i just know
that you should not be brought up gradually,
but rather quick as lightning-

a radiant flash and then nothing,
stillness

if only something so simple could actually take place
no, instead,
the flash remains, burning into my field of vision,
much like when all you can see is a blurry, yellow spot
after someone takes your picture
or when you can't take your eyes off of a sunset
because it is so beautiful, but you know it won't last,
so you watch it melt for as long as you can
before it slips beneath the horizon

it seems that the more i try to explain it, the more confusing it becomes,
so i will leave it at this:
you are the lightning to my tree;
you strike with the potential to make me burst into flames
and you don't even know it

there is hidden elegance in the grotesque
some are able to detect it, but most won't even begin to attempt
even the word grotesque is both horrifying and beautiful
a viscous, slimy drip from a rusty ball of barbed wire
a flawless rose sprouting up through a pile of moldy leaves
anything initially perceived as disgusting can become poetic
just as anything that radiates beauty has an ugly side
the latter is much easier to discover
for people quite enjoy the destruction of a saint,
but to turn coal into a diamond takes effort and motivation
one must have a strong desire to expose the potential secrets
within things that don't normally receive a second look
the people who are able to unearth these gems are artists,
taking the repulsive and placing it on a pedestal
they transform their pain into a painting,
their cries into a song,
the least we can do is listen

come near, sweet and trembling child
with skin like the surface of the moon
and a heart that reflects the sun's light twice as bright
you are small, but only compared to your aura
it's a swirling and sparkling cloud of green and blue;
green like the moss on the rocks near the ocean,
and blue like the way your heart feels when it's broken
you've spread yourself thin,
but the world still wants moore
as you sprinkle fairy dust at each stop on your tour
your hair like a tangled nest,
an obsidian mess cascading down
the t-shirt that covers your chest
you give so much and expect much less
to the point where i feel that i must profess
my love and admiration
you've taught me more than just patience,
but humility and compassion too
everything you say is true
that's why i'm in love with you

talk to me, i say
but what is not said is what matters most
respond in ways that suit me
without any hints
keep your interest
and don't forget

my silent demands,
hidden motivations,
and careful, sweet inception

i mean no harm, always with some form of a smile
don't want you too reeled in,
but never detach completely
and never grow sick of it

if i keep up my end,
i think you'll stay
both of us working out of fear
neither of us knowing the other's intentions,
always coming back for more
of what we do not understand

i promise that my words really do mean something
i know it's hard to hold onto a fist full of nothing
in hopes that it will one day bloom

it might be reaching, but is it crazy to assume that all those songs were about me?

i can find salvation in things other than god

it's crazy how someone so angry and confused and depressed
can turn all of that around for themselves,
but in the process,
make everyone around them carry the weight they just shed
from that point on
i wish you'd given some of it to me
even if you gave me all of it,
i know i'd be able to handle it,
but you wouldn't let me see
i want to scream until my throat bleeds
i want to cry until i fall asleep,
but only for every time you had to alone
your oversized heart was my home

"listen to this song about me"
i want you to hear what i can't put into words,
what i can't bear to tell you myself
i'll let the voice of another eloquently describe
how my heart feels like there is a rope tightening around it endlessly,
squeezing the tissue out from between its coils,
stretching the walls thin and slowly strangling the arteries
if you listen to each carefully-selected syllable,
you may begin to understand
why attempting to tell you this myself will only bring me to my knees
it saddens me to know that others have felt so similar and even worse,
enough to write a song about it,
but i am grateful that i do not have to carry this weight alone
so listen, please
and maybe then you'll understand me