the thing about school
is it kills beauty

one does not learn to appreciate
a painting by analyzing brushstrokes,
shading,
one does not learn to appreciate
a poem by analyzing metaphors, similes
form, structure, rhyme.
one does not learn to appreciate
a sonata by analyzing cadence, melody
rhythm, harmony

we love art because when we
look at a painting, we see life in its most
basic form.
we love literature because when we
read a poem, we understand the beauty of
the world.
we love music because when we
listen to a sonata, we can hear the fabric
of the universe unravelling.

dear teacher
you cannot teach us these things
because we feel the earth in our bones
we hear the wind and it echoes in our soul
we understand the way the sunlight falls
over each and every one of us

and we know what it feels like
to be alone
to be alive
because that is how the world works

you cannot teach us how to love
one does not learn how to breathe
you just
do

She's the kind of girl
who would walk up to a
stranger and kiss him
or her on the mouth and
not give a **** what anyone else thought
And if she could, she'd make every single one
of her dreams come true, even
the nightmares.
And night after night she
finds comfort in the arms of strangers
and cigarettes and cheap wine.
And she'd do anything to stop feeling
so ******* lonely.
So ******* empty.
So ******* numb.

She's the kind of girl
that would set fire to her hair
just to feel alive.

like the leaves
or branches
of the mighty oak
tree.

like the petals
of the rose, or the
lilac or lily.

like the gathering
tears on your
eyelash's ridge

like night, or rain
or the broken
boy on the bridge

we must all eventually fall.

There are only two feelings in this world

The first is standing with your friends
holding hands
on top of a van stark naked
at five a.m.
watching the sun paint the sky with red and orange and yellow and gold
and feeling the palms of the two people you know better than yourself interlinked with yours
howling into the almost-day-yet-not-quite-night
overcome with your ambitions and hopes and dreams and songs and sights all at once
and you feel alive
alive
alive

The second is sitting on your balcony
with your legs hanging over the ledge
your feet barely touching the rain as the storm pours down
listening to songs from the 60s on the radio
wondering why they don't write songs like this anymore
while all your friends are at a new years party at some kid you don't even know's house
and you're staring out into the ocean as somewhere over your head the countdown starts
and you know you'll be alone for the rest of your life
happy new year

One day I woke up and realized I shouldn't love you
So I wrote this to remind me why

you lie and you cry and you
flirt with other guys and
hate my eyes and
always ignore
me and sigh
whenever I ask you what's
wrong and you reply with some
cryptic *******

and some days you just sit
at your table with your
thumbs inside the sleeve of your
yellow sweater and you trace your scars
you made with your razor
in your bedroom when you
thought no one loved you but
I really did

and you never want to
answer when I ask
why or when or how
or who or what
made you cry
but I know that it's why
your eyes are stained blood red

and i don't know if i hate
you because you scar yourself
or love you because
of the way you hide it

and I know that I'm cheap
not gold like in your dreams
but like that old guy who died
once said
find what you love and
let it **** you

and you sure as hell **** me

and you know that thing
that you said about how
things get better but things
also get worse and I don't think
you realize how much that means
because with you nothing ever gets better
it just gets worse and worse and Worse
with a capital W

and finally I hate how you never
use Love with a CAPITAL L
but instead you always
use love like I love him
and I love this and I love
that and I love you but you never
Loved him or Loved this
or Loved that
or Loved me

once when he was five
he made up a song
while riding on his favorite swing
and when he fell off and scraped
his shin, his brother told him
not to cry because
girls liked scars.

and that night as his father
tucked him into bed he hummed
the song he made up
while riding on his favorite swing
and fell asleep in two minutes

once when he was fourteen, he stared
out the window of a parked car for hours
gazing at the stars
and wondered if they thought he was beautiful.
that was the year he first kissed a boy

once on a blank piece of paper
he tried to write a song
but forgot how it went
and that was the year that his brother
went to college and he was
put into foster care because his mother left
and his father was too drunk
to tuck him in at night

and that was the year the boy he kissed
introduced him to the bottom of a bottle
and the taste of cigarettes
and thats how most nights went

once he began to make art
on a blank wrist and he thought
the only way to end the pain
was to break the veins that
bound him to this broken world
and when his brother came back
for christmas and saw his scars,
he didn't say anything
at all

that was the year the boy he first kissed
beat him in english class
and called him a ******
and spit in his face

once when he was seventeen
he stole the keys to a stranger's car
humming a song he had
forgotten the tune to
and drove out into the middle of
nowhere and as he gazed
into the sky he finally understood
that the stars didn't think he was beautiful
because they were all empty inside

and so was he