I rather sit in a coffee shop in a small town, and sip on my latte and look at the pretty people walking by.
I rather dance in the rain with my friends then hide out from one of the simplest pleasures of life.
I rather have a deep conversation with someone about life, death and the passion that lie with themselves.
I rather go to a little joint to see a up and coming band, because I know one day this band is going to make it big.
I rather get roses on random days, than get roses on the one day of the year that people actually care.
I rather sit in my room at 2 am in the morning burning candles and drinking tea and reminiscing on my life.
I rather be alone sometimes, and not be bothered.
I rather be well known for the poems I write, the books I publish, the opinions I produce, and the mind behind it all.
I rather have something to live for, something to give me a purpose to breathe air, I rather have that reason be myself, because what lies ahead of me is hope for a tomorrow.

I write on anything.
It's an obsession.
I look around and I dig deep into my thoughts.
I write and pour my thoughts on cheap, crumpled pieces of paper.
Then throw it away.
Along with my past.

m.d.

I think of you. Your ******-touch that crosses my eyelids
with chlamydia fingernails accenting in all the
wrong places. The white powder trail leading like a
highway to your right nostril—the unemployment rate
like a dropped lit cigarette in the ******* apartments available. I think of you.
I think of you.
I thought of you.

It is true,
that your eyes are as blue,
as the sky,
and that is where I get it from.
I believe that you will,
pull through and let me,
look into them.
It is true that you've,
made mistakes,
but none of that matters now,
for you've changed,
and I love you still.
It is true that masterpieces take time,
and you, have been rewritten,
what must seem like a thousand times.
This time, I believe it's been done right.
It is true, that no matter what,
I will never stop fighting for you,
and that no matter what hardships I face,
I'll always come running back.
I believe that the greenest grass grows,
from refurbished land,
and you are the sole definition,
of broken and repaired.
It is true,
that you are a fighter,
and you still remain strong.
I believe you'll pull through,
and live to see your daughter grown.

I seem to only want to write in
the middle of the month
It's safer hugged between
the beginning and the
end.
Would January
please help release me
from December's arms?

You fill the dimmest parts
of my saddened soul with light.
You picked up my
torn and tattered heart
and loved it unconditionally.
You tell me I'm
beautiful, perfect, flawless.
All thoughts that have never
seized my mangled mind.
You're just who I needed
and
I'm just who you needed
when we both needed it
the most.

Despite what you do and say,
trying to convince me
of your care.
I can see through you.

I see the way you treat the others
who I hold so dear
and love.
I can see through you.

Please don't try any longer
to get any closer
to me.
Prolonged pain lingers deep within.

Nothing can replace the past;
the anger and emotions
ever haunting.
Pessimistic thoughts tied to each beloved.

My troubled soul still aching;
filtering old complaints
and memories
which try to hide from truth itself.

Methods to cope with dull reality;
to ease the pain once more
which resides.
I can see through you.

You don't like it when you're wrong
Do you?
You hate it when I love something
Don't you?
You miss when you could hold me down
Don't you?
You're a failure at being a human
Did you know that?
You are evil
I know that.