When it comes to writing down your thoughts, as a young poet does
You're told where to start,
from your heart,
from your head,
or just some bottled up words instead.

Look to the sky and describe it's beauty!
being a poet is easy you see!
Take what you love with a firm grip and spill a little onto a page or screen, hold your values high, but hold your poems about them higher.

never keep your words inside young poet, no matter how dark they may be, or how cliche they are.

Write.

Stop, whispering and saying those invisible words,
Stop following me with those silent steps
Stop looking at me with those judgemental glass eyes,
Stop making me feel all these emotions inside
Stop making me cry on my bed nearly every night.
Stop me from hearing these things in my head over and over again
Stop me from seeing these people in my head over and over again
Stop.
Please just. Stop.

It will never stop will it..

Swallowing pills
                            again
                         ­              &
                                           again
Trying my best to get high again on the feeling, drugging myself up to remember the feeling of your lips, your warm touch, and inhale your deodorant, that succulent scent.

I want to be sleepless, and think in the night. And be happy, or sad, either one works
But I guess I just want to remember I’m alive

Happy,
             Sad,
                     Nostalgia that drains me, happy memories turning into sour nightly thoughts.

I think of the dark night sky, and I thought there was once stars in your eyes, yes, maybe.

You made me higher than I’d ever been, and I miss you my dear dear happy pill

be honest, tell me I meant nothing to you,
                                                       remind me of everything I did wrong.
make me cry, but don’t touch me with words of comfort,
                                                                                               be brutal to my skin.
tear it up with harsh comments, write the names on my limbs and put your hands around my neck, a bear trap on my leg and let me bleed, stab me with your fists, bruise me with the truth once again.

Don’t let me crawl back.

keep me at a distance and kick me towards someone else to bother, as you shove me away and stay alone in the dark. forever.

I wish I could just pick up the phone and text you now and again,
call you even just maybe once in a while.
Instead of just seeing your face from a distance again and again, or hearing little specks of your voice talking to someone else.

It’s ****. I feel ****.
Hearing the stories with your name written in them make me feel useless, like I’m just there, far away into the background that I’m not even a character.

The words you say, I see on someone else’s screen, and my name mentioned once and never again. Why do I feel this way so strongly, so depressing, and yet... so used to the treatment.

By family and friends, my own fricken mates don’t acknowledge my existence when they make those plans for the weekend, my parents not knowing who I am because I’m not noticeable like the others

I wish I wasn’t this way. This way that I am used to being, this way I am used to feeling. Like ****, every-*******-day

Do I mean anything to those around me truly?! Deep down maybe but not straight away, and thats a selfish remark for me to make and I shouldn’t even think of saying such a thing, but I just did, and I’m not erasing it from the screen.

Deep down I’m still hurting but no one see’s because I hide it behind, laughter, sarcasm and dark humour to shield my walls that I let fall. Deep down I just want to be held again, in arms that make me feel safe, to be kissed in a way that makes me feel special, and have my hands played with and my skin traced just because.

But I’m too quiet to ask for help.