If there was a story,
What would it say?
Would it speak of tales of glory?
Or how he wouldn’t stay?
If there was a story,
Who would read it?
Would the adventure be too gory?
Would anyone heed it?
If there was a story,
What could it mend?
Could it rescue from purgatory?
Would anyone make it to the end?

You're such a rose
But when you cry
All the pain fills your eyes
And your tears look more like blood
You'll drag our race through the mud.
While we are here,
You'll be abused
When we are gone,
You will feel used
And through all the tears shed
And all the blood shed
You're still a rose
Such a beautiful bleeding rose

Art is subjective.
Critics are selective.
I want to be that person.
But not one whose poems are clichés rehearsing.
The one whose poems are more than just rhymes
The one whose poems are more than just lines.
The one who writes about the rays of a sunset
The one who writes of how much they have regret.
But I find myself constantly needing to rhyme.
And my poems not taking much time.
To write I mean of course.
And I just can't figure out the source.
My poems just flow out of me so adolescently.
It makes me fear that that is all people will see.
Adolescence and cliché filled lines.
Maybe these are the signs.
To give up on a little dream.
To no longer let these poems be more than they seem.

The pain today,
It won't mean a thing tomorrow.
The rain will wash away,
So forget your sorrow.
The love today,
You won't see it there.
Oh, it won't stay.
It will turn into thin air.
The mistakes you made,
You weren't the only one.
If only you stayed,
But what's been done has been done.
You'd never realize the pained love of his soul.
And eventually his stained love becomes dull.

“You don't live every day, so why not live today?”
Said the boy to the woman who lives just to pay.
Pay her bills, pay her loans, and her rent.
Until what's left is just barely a cent.
We forget so fast, we were so young.
Youth doesn't last, trying to go back to where I came from.
Where am I, where is the rewind?
I am looking for something that I just can't find.
Go back to 18 and start again.
Maybe if we go back our stories will have a different end.
But then again not only will the ends change.
Soon enough our whole life would rearrange.
So really we must just hold onto our youth
And remember that bills aren't the only truth.

I am good enough to ****.

But not good enough to love.

I am good enough for now.

But not good enough for tomorrow.

Our generation normalizes casual ***.

We are "down to ****" after just one text.

Two consenting adults may not be wrong.

But it is beyond that night we must think on.

She may have felt beautiful for a moment.

He may have felt good for a second.

But tomorrow morning when she wakes up.

Tomorrow morning when he wakes up.

She will feel like she is trash.

He will know it wasn't meant to last.

It is emotionally damaging for the people involved.

So they seek more comfort thinking the pain will be solved.

Insecurity is like a disease.

And when spread among lovers it's harder to seize.

Soon enough we are a disease ridden youth,

Soon enough we must face the truth.

The world is a ****** up place

Humans are a fxcked up race.

From the moment I wake to the moment I sleep,
Tears threaten and when alone I weep.
I don't cry over boys or lack of friends,
I don't cry over toys or when happy stories end.
I attempt to smile yet I still cry.
Sometimes my sorrow makes me want to die.
I know people love me and want to help.
But their sympathetic eyes make me want to yelp.
So alone I suffer and push people away.
My negativity just keeps people at bay.

I feel like a cup.
A cup that is always full,
But is always leaking.
Pouring the happiness in,
Only to see it slowly make its way back out.
Temporary fulfillment.
Plastic smiles.
Everyone claims it will get better in a while.
But no one knows for sure.
It is like drowning in the ocean,
But everyone believes you will wash up on shore.
They believe happiness is always in sight.
So if you believe it, I believe it, right?

The pain today,
It won't mean a thing tomorrow.
The rain will wash away,
So forget your sorrow.
The love today,
You won't see it there.
Oh, it won't stay.
It will turn into air.
The mistakes you made,
You weren't the only one.
If only you stayed,
But what's been done has been done.
You'd never realize the pained love of his soul.
And eventually his stained love becomes dull.

In the dark I hear them scream,
Their voices drained and eyes losing gleam,
Most have forgotten why they cry out,
And soon enough their moans will die out,
Yet every time I think they are done,
The screams re-ignite one by one.
I am forever stuck in this hell,
It is driving me crazy so I must too yell.

Falling in love is exhilarating.
It is filled with laughter.
It is filled with tears.
And so many times it reveals your worst fears.
Jealousy, anger, commitment.
It is just about enough to call it quits, isn’t it?
But there are the ones who somehow make it through.
And it just makes you stop and think maybe one day that will be you.
To laugh and joke and sing.
To hold each other together, no matter what life may bring.
I commend the people who somehow make it through.
They are the ones who keep us believing that love can be true.