i don't have any poetry left within me to continue to write about my pain
i have too much embarrassment left within me to constantly throw my issues into poetry for the world to see

my heart hurts
it yearns for love

love you may never be able to provide
if you don't have enough love within you to continue to give to me

i understand

but i just hope you have enough integrity left within you
to tell me

do not weave me into your poetry.
the needle hurts,
the yarn itches,
your words swarm my head with lies.
your bittersweet poetry-
all a show.
your words create illusions.
i will not allow you to try to create me as your own masterpiece
when i am my own destruction.

it was like a car accident- falling in love with you.
painful and unintentional.
i want reparations.

I find that I miss you more at 11:07
on a Monday morning
speaking of your beauty to people who only know you by a name and a face
people who do not know your depth
the true beauty I speak of
than I missed you at 4:34 am
last Tuesday morning
vowing to never write another poem about you
on a notepad that knows all of our ***** secrets

i think i cry too much

i keep my mouth closed
using super glue like it's lipstick
i tie my wrists together so i can't use my tears as ink and write my secrets into poetry

is it still considered a secret even though i don't spill it from my mouth but from my eyes
a river of secrets trails its way along my cheeks until a fountain of truth begins to fill on my pillow
my pillow must have nightmares from my constant sobs that often turn to screams

sometimes i can hear my pillow sobbing with me

My name is Daisy,
like the flower.
People tell me all the time not to **** myself,
they'll miss me.

I've never seen anyone cry over a dead flower.