I stopped writing,
because i realized my words left no impact.
That when you look them up in the dictionary,
you couldn't find their meanings.
I stopped because,
i didn't want to face my problems.
That re-writing my thoughts
cuts deeper than my wounds.
That's when i learn how to run away from them.
But it distanced me further from the alphabets,
i could no longer sting them together without stuttering.
My words always stumble out of my mouth clumsily,
under heavy breaths,
i guess that's why they never made it into your head.
But sometimes, i leave the emotions behind my words
and let them float in stale air,
i guess that's why they never stayed in your head long enough.

(FAH)

I'm sorry my mouth is lethal
When I'm angry.
I spit venom to avoid poisoning myself.
I hope you understand.
Maybe it's just me,
Missing you.

(Fah)

And I had to walk away
I was just hoping at least he noticed I didn't run

I hate the fact that I can come up with stories for people who never lived,
Or a poem about things that happened when I was a kid,
But I can't figure out how to remember the quadratic equation,
And nothing good comes out of my power of persuasion.

I have no idea what comes out of having a creative mind,
But not being able to do complicated math in record time.

I hate that I would rather spend hours coming up with a metaphor to describe the panic I feel,
Than learn things that are supposed to help me make enough money to pay for even one daily meal.

I spent more time trying to write this,
Than I ever would trying to understand functions and statistics.

But writing ****** poetry isn't going to help me,
When I don't even have the slightest idea what I want to be.