Dear vanity,
I don't mean to sound offensive,
But I really don't have time for you.
I struggle to make time for all the whims and worries you wear down upon my weary body,
The lies you tell, the lies you sing,
Oh this will only take a second,
Oh you have a curl out of place.
I have other things I am enslaved to that I must serve besides you.
Oh vanity, why do you continually haunt me?
You twist me up in your lies, twisting and wrapping and binding and tying me up in your lies so tight I can hardly move.
You say it'll make me have friends,
But we've already been down that bend.
For you oh vanity
Do I squirm and writhe as someone plucks out my hairs one by one like a mediaeval torture device.
For you oh vanity
Do I crinkle my nose as I pinch a blemish on my skin.
For you oh vanity do I trim my hair the way you like it so I can be in style
For you oh vanity do I wear a smile
So dear vanity,
I don't mean to be offensive
But I really don't have time for you.

Poets struggle to try to tell you the truth
In a world of lies,
Where everyone screams for nothing but the truth.
They are the singers of the soul.

When life gives you melons,
You know you're a bit dyslexic

Not romantic I mean
But loving each other for struggling through
For being fellow humans on the planet
For trudging through the sludge of daily life
Do I love my fellow man.

Hi

If pain is a river, I'm drowning
If sorrow is a swamp I'm wallowing
If desperation is a waterfall, I'm falling off of my tight rope because
I'm desperate to live

I write because
My inner soul leaks out onto the page

One minute I joke and laugh
He says he sees floating lights
Next he's lying on the floor
Twitching violently.
But I keep my calm
I'm in shock.
I can't believe
I breathed.
I survived,
I don't know why,
But I believe in God

I want to be alone,
Yet I don't.
I don't want to see a love poem every time I scroll down the screen,
Telling me what I don't have
And what I'm not wasting my time on
I'm in isolationist.
And I've forgotten how to love
The world.
And I've forgotten how to love
Being with people.

I hope for a day
When I won't be judged

My brain is a cup
I fill to the brim

I have been one
Al-one
D-one
My t-one is to be below a
Thr-one holding the sorcerer's st-one
Feeling power in my b-ones
I have been the one
Al-one
On the ph-one with no one but myself the one
While the words dr-one on and on inside my mental z-one and I wonder if this is what it's like to be a l-one ranger
A-lone
I have been one

Life is not a contest
There is no winner or loser
There is only the survivor and the dead
The survivor, while they live on,
Feel like a loser for living
And the dead, while they cannot speak,
Feel like winners for reaching eternal rest.
Yet they have lost their lives,
They are losers,
And the survivors are winners.
Or are they not?

They think I'm weird for seeming so
Affected,
But does any one else wonder
Why so many people were rejected
With no type of blunders?
People lost God,
They lost their lives,
Am I the only one that feels like crying?

I stand alone in a field of wheat.
With a camera,
Pretending I'm texting someone
Only so I don't have to admit I am alone

Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets
Of Baltimore at 4 am.
I too walk the streets of my own mind,
Hearing the raven's cries
And walking up at midnight to the sound of a tell-tale heart
Wondering if it is nothing more
Than the bells in my brain
Or the black cat running up the alleyway.
Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets
Of Baltimore at 4 am.
I took have whisked into the shadows
An inky cloak upon my back
Wondering whether my heart feels more like a pit or a pendulum
Or whether I will fall like the house of usher,
A gold bug
In the masque of red death.
Dear Edgar,
We've never met,
But I know why you walked the streets of Baltimore at 4 am.
Never more
William Wilson.
And silence- a fable,
Or is it?

I refuse to explode into a shower of tiny sparkling embers,
Falling through the air like a snow globe when
The going gets tough.
I refuse to blow up like an atomic bomb
And annihilate anyone in my path,
When the going gets tough.
I refuse to hurt others,
Because I hurt myself.
I refuse to hurt the world,
When the world hurts me.

I sent it to you,
Somewhat encoded in an email,
But you never read it.
You said you're too busy,
I'll try to find some more time,
And sure you said it,
But meanwhile my cry for help
Is unanswered, and tell me,
Did you ever make me feel special?
Whenever your response comes,
If it comes,
I live to dread it

Long and thin,
Claw like,
Like spider's legs
Frail
They run
Faster and faster,
The talon-like nails tapping
The table,
Mimicking Beethoven's fifth symphony
We grasp
We clench
With white knuckles
a cold white
A hard white
An icy white
Holding onto the last life we have.
Without fingers,
We cannot hold each other's hands,
We cannot play music,
We cannot write our thoughts.
We are not human,
Without our
Fingers

Why do you weak your mask at me?
Do you think I will hurt you?
Do you fear my hate and scorn
To think that you weren't worth being born?
No, I wear a mask too.
But I will tear it off for you.
For I am not afraid of you.
So why are you afraid of me?

I'll probably cry myself to sleep again
It just can't be helped.
I've burdened those around me
With my happiness.
Am I not strong enough to stand on my own two feet?
Do I not trust myself?
I am despicable.
Ugly.
Worthless.
Why, why must I hate myself?
Because I don't trust myself?
I am alone. I have always been alone. Hiding inside the books,
Wearing multiple masks that no one
Bothered to take away.
Say something I'm giving up on you

Where is the silence?
I have music coming into one ear,
Buzzing like an insignificant fly
And the chatter, like harsh dischords of symphony, fill my head like a balloon.
Someday it will pop.
And I must find the silence, to fill
It again.

Hang on me on a telephone pole
And let my skin crackle and
Crinkle in the sun.
Let the ravens make nests in my hair
Until they cloak me with a cape
As feathery and black as death
Who comes to say hello.
He embraces me.
Tells me my soul is desirable.
He wraps his arms around me.
And kisses my mouth.
The kiss is soft and cold
And permenant

Anyone can be a slave to their own passions, only the brilliant ones release themselves

I was bullied once
Seventh grade. I hid myself in books.
But to me being bullied is better than being depressed.
Being bullied you are at least
Significant enough for someone
To pick on you,
Call you names, and hurt you.
Being depressed, you're as insignificant as a quintessence of dust.
You're nothing.
Even to yourself.

I am a disease,
Avoided by everyone around me.
My own sister on the phone
So she doesn't have to speak to me alone.
I am a lost cause
No one gives me a pause.
I am alone.
My disease undone

Once I start writing I can never stop.
It's like birth, once you start breathing,
You can never stop.
It's like drugs, once you start using,
You can never stop.
It's like love, once you start loving,
You can never stop.
It's like dying, once you start dying, you can never stop.
Writing is like birth, a new beginning, a blank page a fresh start.
Writing is like a drug, addticting, making me see alternate universes and strange creatures,
Writing is like love, there once was a Romeo and a Juliet. And they lived happily ever after.
Writing is like dying, with each  page that's bleeding ink, you seal a little but more of your soul onto the page. A different kind of horcrux,
One that cannot be broken.
It's written in blood, in ink, in thoughts and dreams.
In life and death

I am a writer,
And artist if you will.
I dig my claws into my emotion.
I grab it with white knuckles like
The ghost of my visions.
I make beautiful things out of trash.
Tell me if you can,
Can you show me hatred and fear
In the cold hard brittle equations
You use?
Where is love at first sight in the quadratic equation?
Or the happiness I feel,
Is that in the Pythagorean theorem?
Tell me if you know.
I'm curious

Open your mouth.
I'm turning away.
Please never forget me.

Sometimes we talk.
Like every weekend.
We're both busy.
That I understand.
Sometimes I look at
Our Facebook messages
Just to see your profile picture stare
Back at me,
So I don't forget your face.
I miss you.
I want to cry out to you
And tell you I miss you
And love you like a brother.
But you don't talk.
And I feel naked
And embarrassed.
So I shut up
And move on.
Still missing you inside.

Can't find the map.
Where the heck did I put it!
My grand plan,
My ten step move
Of how to be successful.
In life.
And I lost it.
Lost it.
Lost.
I am.
Lost.
I have.
Lost it.

We both have felt like charred trees,
Tearing out each other's roots and
Setting each other's roots on fire.
We've fought
Tooth and nail
Clawing out each other's eyes,
So we can't see.
But today you smiled.
And for once I felt bad.
You were alone friend.
And yet I left you.
I meant to be nice.
But what to say?
Reconciliation.
We need to replant our
Scorched roots
And hope that the seedlings
Sprout in the wake of our
Beautiful disasters.

It rips flesh from bone.
It strips away the the lies,
That surround me like a fog.
I breathe in the thick air of my words,
Like cigarette smoke,
Elementary my dear,
No,
I am not a sleuth.
This isn't a mystery.
I am the mystery

Today I must end our friendship.
It hurts,
Like acid burning your skin.
And I wish I would have scars to
Remember by,
But instead all I have is the heartache
That will one day go away.
So today I sever us.
I tell you I need space,
I need to be alone.
To fight this depression on my own.
But I so wish you were here with me.
I am afraid.
And if I lose you,
I'll be alone.
But it's for the best that I do this.
It's for your sake,
So you don't get hurt.
I don't want you to end up like me.
So I must sever this.

Now is the time,
When I realize that all that walking
All that sobbing,
All that pillow hugging,
Is because I probably have depression.
Or my life is just a pile of shattered glass,
Not easily fixed.
It needs help from the outside world.
Will the world help me?

It's been a while
Since I opened my lips,
And wrote the sweet words
With a voice that drips,
Sincerity.
Clarity.
Charity,
Hardly ever disdain in this voice
Of mine,
But plenty of it,
In the race of mankind.
It's been a spell
Since I wrote poetry well,
And where's my mind?
Neither in heaven nor in hell.
But on poetry,
How sublime

I'm wearing stripes on top
With a black skirt
And a band of elastic
Across my waist.
I'm squished into this dress.
Not that it's uncomfortable,
It's just...uncomfortable.
I'm sitting in the backseat of a car
Mom wears polka dots on my right
My dad in a black shirt on my left.
We all press each other's elbows into each other,
Leaving indents.
I'm squished into this car.
And it's kind of uncomfortable.
My dad's hairy arms prickle and tickle me.

I'm the one starting all the conversations
Not they.
I'm the one pumping in words
Like I was trying to pump in oxygen
To keep them alive.
Not they.
I'm the one asking questions,
Looking like an absolute idiot,
Or sounding so smart they don't want
To talk to me.
No, not they.
I depended on them.
They said burden us with your rants
Your thoughts
And sorrows.
But yet they never reply.
I am once again alone.
And could someone please tell me why?

We twist words,
So they look like beautiful
Cylindrical knots
Than the lines they really are.
Art is never really made out of
Straight lines,
It comes with curves, tangles,
And mystery.
Writers are liars.
We embellish, we polish,
We try to put as much spice in your
Cup of coffee just so you can hear us
Think.
We lie. Hard. Yeah there's no such place as "hobbiton"
And Sherlock Holmes was never a real person.
And there's no district 12 where Romeo met Juliet.
All lies.
But yet, we love them.
We scream feed us more.
Writers are liars, but we also ******
Mirder out characters
When we get bored with them.
You think Moriarty was bad,
See the man penning his words,
His soul is darker than death.
We are liars. And thats why we are good writers. Because we
Don't need the truth to support ourselves.

Does every poem on this site
Seem to be about love?
Two bodies,
Two lips,
Two eyes looking into another two eyes,
Like they were reflections
Through the looking glass.
Why do we read of longing,
That I need you in my life,
Why do we read about boys and girls
As if they were commodities
Their stories never getting old?
Why the love?
Why amor?
Why romance?
Do tell if you have an answer

You could relate.
You listened to my fate.
You understood.
I loved you. I love you still.
I hugged you goodbye on
The last day of camp.
You were crying.
I missed you. I miss you still.
Those fun summer days.
Bus rides, museums, shopping.
Dreams now they seem.
You were the middle
Yet the smallest.
I wish I could see you.
Thank you best friend, for understanding,
And relating,
I love you.

You are Sherlock Holmes
But so am I.
You are Watson, I am too.
Neither is greater than the other,
Yet were both superior in different ways,
You with your mind,
Me with my words,
You with your understanding,
Me with my cries.
You never once complained,
But said you were there for me.
You understood right off the bat,
Why I was apologizing so much.
You knew my past,
I told you. Willingly, because I trust you.
Do you remember that last day, of camp, we hugged, and I remember having to stand on tip toe to reach your shoulders,
You're the youngest but the tallest.
From then on you had my back,
And I thought maybe I was
Saddling you with too much.
But the yoke seemed light to you.
So my best friend, I love you.
Never forget me, and I will never forget you.
I trust you,
Thank you for listening,
And believing in me.

There's never any warning when
An idea hits you.
Bam!
Pop!
Zap!
Wow, it's like love at first sight.
Both are so rare,
Epiphanies are like lightning.
One minute they're there,
And you see their shape,
A tangle of nerves,
Cracks in the sky,
And the next you look at nothing.
Where did it come from?
That I don't know.
They won't come with a warning.
You just better be ready with an open jar waiting for the lightning to
Strike so you can catch
Your sparkle.
Forever.
Hold it tight,
Don't let it go,
For when the lightning strikes,
You'll know

I hate you
The words floating from my
Brain to the page
Like bees to their hive
Those words hate you .
My mouth drips with disdain for you
Like when you drip saliva after
Biting into a juicy peach
Hate.
I hinted
I should have written signs in
The sky.
You wouldn't have even seen those.
Even if I wrote it on my forehead
You would have been stone blind
Leave me alone.
I hate you.

His hand slid around her waist,
The moonlight shone upon
The trees, spotlights,
She could feel his warm breath
Caressing her skin.
She leaned in,
He closed his eyes,
He leaned in,
She closed her eyes,
And wow, something
Electric.

Am I not a poet?
Yet poets speak,
Ere the moon doth move
In her heavenly orb
Or Jove doth sit upon his golden
Thronez
Poetry is the fruit of love,
Nay passion.
For I love the flowers
The temperant wind in May,
Yet I do not write on those subjects,
Yay passion is the fruit of love.
Ere I spake to mine own heart
It did grow the delicate fruit
That called itself poetry.
And indeed I call mine self poet
And writer
And I am one.
Nay to those foul tempered men
Men of rank,
Yet there's more rancor to them
Than ranks of their own.
They do not believe
And yet poet am I.
And I write and they listen not.
Fool fool they are
Fool fool I was.
Am I not a poet?
Nay they will never believe.
They believed in Shakespeare
And am I not he?
Nay I am a poet
Humble
Not a playwright
Not a bard.
Not he whose words are held as celestial alone
I call mine self a poet
And a poet I be.

Ever feel lonely?
I just want a soul
To talk to.
I'm in
Pitiful
Wretchedness.
I want to talk.
Someone listen
Let me learn about you.
I'm a wretch
A pitiful wretch.
Talk to me

Considered the staple of life
Is nothing more than ground up
Grain from
The ground.
Bread,
What so many peasants fought for in
France and Russia
Is nothing more than
Carbohydrates smushed together
Bread,
What everyone eats today,
Is nothing more than gluten free,
Wheat or multigrain.

But could some thing so simple
Be so important?