What do I make of my poetry?

quill the sorrows within

or

the joys around me!

When we sleep where do we keep our worlds? maybe
somewhere deep down inside among the shattered universes that hide in each and every one ,
and will until the galaxies fade away and are gone into the night where we all come from.

but somehow all the funny quirky things you do
make me laugh and roll to my side and then look you dead in the eye
(you can turn our silly moments into serious ones)
and somehow when you're there, I never have a nightmare
(or when I did you said, "that can't happen because I'm here and you're here and we won't let it" and the nightmare didn't last)
something about this boy
something about this boy
...there's something about this boy

Cancer is a quiet pain.
A fog that clings to innocent beings.
Consuming with unapologetic haste.
There's a sadness in your eyes.  
It gives my world such weight.
How do I hush this helplessness?
It gives the air such infinite stillness.
I am choking on this illness.
I am losing sleep.
I am eating to feel less hollow.
I am thinking to feel less brim.
I want to fight your battles.
I want to hold your hand.
I will not lose you to this.
You're my sunlight.
My deepest heart and the greatest man.

I found out you were leaving today,
Going on a new adventure without me.
Then the bottom fell out of my stomach,
And my heart filled with remorse.
My insides are screaming don't go,
I've tried turning off my feelings for you but I can't.
You made me forget the world,
Forget my pain and sorrow.
If I were to bump into you tomorrow I'd break,
I feel like you are running away.
I know,
I've been trying to runaway too.
I just want to say,
Don't go

too afraid to say the words i've planned out in my head
and rolled over my tongue
but too afraid to open my ******* mouth

residue, she switches like
clean plastic circuits under
my fingernails. two minutes
breaking down, all it took.
even moving parts from afar
seem placid. could've sworn
i heard just one of your
heartbeats. could've sworn i
was underwater at one or another
point i'll become lack-
lustre and you can change your
mind. no trace of blame. long
after this fact you'll still be
a recurring theme on the
back of my palm as skin shifts
in colourless hues inside
sleep. no matter which hand
i write with, your name
looks the same. shines.

i bide motion, sit still,
as the earth revolves around
something new.

Busy being distilled
filled,then
spilled out drop by tiny drop
dripping,dripping,dripping
stop,
and proof,
enough and more to blow you off the roof.
Busy being fortified
scented,
reinvented,
dyed in the wool and full to overflowing.
This distillery's not killing me, but
strengthening and lengthening the shadows in my day,
making way for more,
building my reserve to serve me
opening the door,
giving me the nerve to carry on,
to carry going on
until
the last drop
has gone.