Poetry is hard.

Not because of writer's block
or the fear of judgemental readers

Not because you can't decide whether or not to rhyme
or you check your profile all the time.

Poetry is hard because of the knowledge you gain.
The dark secrets of people's lives are so
so
so

sad.

Girls that I know in person to be sweet and wonderful
suffer from demons that I couldn't dream of.
Boys that seem to breathe nothing but affection
tell of abusing the worst of substances and the best of women.

Poetry is dark and scary and makes my problems seem so
so
so

insignificant.

When I see your face at school, I know how sad you are inside.
And it's not fair.

It's not fair because I can not help you
I cannot help you
and I feel like a terrible friend.
I am already selfish and would like nothing more than to say "Just get over it" and for it to work but I can't because those are your problems.

Not mine.

I won't tell anyone your secret

Poetry is so
so
so

hard.

*******
and your indecisiveness
Your mysterious demure caught my glance
You twisted, and dissembled my sight
Wrapped up in your eloquence
Believing in good intentions
Our evanescent love lasted only a moment
If it existed at all
Your nearness to me was made insignificant by your blithe nonchalance
And here I remain
An ingenue
Fooled again, lured in by your perplexing,
Negligent attitude towards life,
Towards me

Friday 28**
the lack of attention,
lack of sexuality weighed on my shoulders
the abundance of stress and hardships
without any distraction
all at once
***** take away the pain
and it does
surrounded by beautiful people
with strangely demented faces
at least from my point of view
they watch over me as i stumble
a small rest in an elevator with pranksters
a cigarette on the balcony with..
who knows
a burning cigarette resting on my body somewhere
gum in my hair
then in the taco bell drive through
removing the toxins, in the worst of ways
and heading to the drunken second home of the beauties  

he cuddles me to sleep

Who knows tomorrow?
Who cares about yesterday?
I love you today.

The thought comes almost everyday.
In English.
She sits beside me or near me or far.
And I begin to daze upon how it should be.

If only I had my dress.
If I had my dress you would see not my sarcasm,
But the lean meat that I am privileged to call my flesh.

If I had my dress you would not be intimidated by my skin
But left in awe by it's glow

If I had my dress you would not be able to fear my height
But embrace the perfect and soft curves as you look upon me.

If I had my dress you would no longer hear her shrill siren call over my deafening beauty.

Pretty speaks volumes,
But what does untouchable say?

Absolutely nothing right now.

Skinny.
Moppy hair,
high, defined cheekbones
framing your pale face,
Those eyes, nearly black,
kind and soft with illness.

The disease lies strong within you,
bony metacarpels tracing my hip,
you feel it in me too.

At peace with our dragons,
frozen in war-
purple dye
tainting the test results,
prompting questions
of skinny love
run rampant.

Voice of an off-kilter Angel,
whispering sweet horrors
into mine that are nearly deaf.

Entrance me
in your dying symphony,
your frail sonnet
your crisp breath-
your last breath.

Set me on my way
into an unknown,
shrouded
in little miseries.

Pink confused with white
flowers and flowers reversed
take and spill the shaded flame
darting it back
into the lamp’s horn

petals aslant darkened with mauve

red where in whorls
petal lays its glow upon petal
round flamegreen throats

petals radiant with transpiercing light
contending
              above
the leaves
reaching up their modest green
from the ***’s rim

and there, wholly dark, the ***
gay with rough moss.

if i could write the way that you'd speak
my days of slinging beer would be behind me
     and i'd be sinking my teeth in to my third or fourth release

i just can't remember your voice

but i do remember your eyes
and if i could paint anything as gorgeous
as the way that you saw the world around you
     i might finally understand what you were always trying show me

i'm miserable at sorting through clues
     though i have been spending nights on end
sifting and measuring the magic of you
that still can't evade me