I am not so much afraid of falling
as I am afraid of the sound my bones
would make against unforgiving pavement,
if you were to neglect to open your arms.
I apologize if I don't immediately
trust your charming smile, but in past
experience, behind a charming smile
lies an appreciation for liquor bottles
and the art of a good disappearing act.

If I seem wary of your good intentions
know it is only because I have experienced
abuse and neglect, and it isn't quite as easy
to get over as the self-help books say it is.
Because of this, sometimes I am distant.
Sometimes I create a spiny shell around
myself to keep from experiencing more of
what i have previously had to run away from.
or even suffer the loss of.

Sometimes I put more thought into my writing
than I do into my relationships because
after a countless streak of falters,
you begin to think that is all there is to expect.
I am sorry that I am damaged, and I
am also sorry that I would never expect
anyone to have the power to fix it.
As time has passed and I have been wrecked,
I lost the expectancy to be put back together again.

Though I hate to be alone, I will probably
push you away, trade you for the solitude of my
tiny bedroom. After being left time and time again,
I have been forced to leave, myself because
I would rather experience loneliness than heartbreak.
Funny thing is, I'm learning they are close to the same.

Quit rhyming,
not every line has to be in time with the next,
and not everything has to make sense,
poetry is feeling,
creativity,
there are no rules,
no guidelines to such art,
just do whatever may spark creativity,
or even curiosity,
who the **** cares?
just write.

Those scars.
Those cuts on your wrist.
They show the pain you've felt.
They tell stories of the past.
Of a time not so long ago.
Times of terror and struggle.
Times of great pain.
But for every dark side there is a light.
Those stories of sorrow are rewritten.
With one single kiss of my lips.
For each kiss I rewrite those stories.
The ones of us.
Tales of beauty and passion.
Tales of love and peace.
I'll always be there sitting and cutting my hands on the broken glass of her heart that shatters when she runs that razor on her wrist.
But thats okay.
Because in the end that heart will have my name written across it.
Because Im the one who is there to pick up the pieces.
This is not a poem of sorrow.
Not pain.
Not sadness.
But a poem of promise and love.
A poem to make the pain go away.
Darling I promise, I swear.
Darling, you'll be okay.

I yearn,
To feel the blade against my skin.
I need that metallic feel,
But I know I mustn't give in.
Because after all I've fought for,
It just wouldn't be worth it.

I wish,
I could just give it one more go.
Draw one more dark red line,
On the canvas that is my pale wrist.
But I won't succumb to temptation,
Because its gotten me nowhere in the past,
And it's also part of my current problem.
Plus, short term relief is a one way train to addiction.
And I don't need that.

Desires aren't always healthy,
That lessons been learned and reviewed.
Why on earth would I want to forget?

Make-up hides all,
Under the coverup your,
One big bruise,
Why
Would you let someone,
Do this to you?
Better yet,
Who would do this to you?
Him...
He would,
Because he's reckless,
And he doesn't care.
He abuses,
The weak,
But you are strong,
Put him in his place,
Put him where he belongs
Because deep inside,
He knows he is wrong.

Tears are blinding as the page is filled,
with words written, full of meaning,
all in pursuit of wishing you well.
Our paths are distraught,
jutting in different directions,
disrupted by poor choices,
and fitting consequences.

No matter how fitting,
nothing has ever hurt more,
to know you'll be gone kills me.
With the exception of possible visits,
It's possible I'll be nearly 17 by the time
of your reentrance into this crazy,
ever-changing life.

A life where my only correspondence now
with the woman called mother,
is through letters tearstained.
I send them anyway,
knowing they'll be written
without the presence of moisture,
in the corners of my eyes.

Sun shines through the trees, even on my darkest days
You know, those days were nothing seems right,
Those days where you know you're going to cry yourself to sleep that night,
Few moments past when you don't feel like you're nothing to the world.

Even on these dark, thought filled days,
The sun still shines, interferring with my trace of thought,
There is a slight chance, this poem doesnt rhyme,
because I can't exactly think with the sun in my eyes,
And a fly buzzing around in my face,

So if the flow of this is ****** up,
And there are more grammatical errors than normal,
Just ignore, because today, just isn't one of my better days.

I'm runnin' round in circles, and I,
can't control my feet,
Yes, runnin' round in circles,
looking for something, never to be found,

Confused to the point of comatose,
my mind will soon shut down,
I'm just so sick and tired,
of runnin' around,
looking for somethin'
thats probably never to be found,

Feet hurt,
mind swells,
and I think its time to slow down,
for whats the point of running,
if you're running into the ground

Relationships are meant for two,
But there's me.
And then there's you.
And then theres that raging blue ocean that killed us.

No. I killed us.
I plunged a knife through your newly mended heart.

I always knew I'd be the one to hurt you.
No. Not because of the distance.
Because I love you. And love hurts.
Strange analogy I know,
But it makes sense in my head.

****. No it doesn't.
I'm horrible.
I lied to you and now,
I'm sitting here lying to myself.
I knew I wasn't good for you,
Even though you were more than good for me.

I still say you were the one who taught me how to live again,
How to love again,
How to realize that there is good,
Somewhere in this ****** up world,
And that if I look hard enough,
I'll realize it was staring at me, straight faced, the whole ******* time.

But I gave it up.
Because I thought I could get something better.

Hell. Not better.
Closer.
What is the definition of better,
When you were the best I ever had?
I gave up my everything, for a single sensation.
A stupid temptation,
Created by drugs, and feelings.
But I swear it was something real,
Or.. Was it?

God ******.
To whoever's reading this. I'm sorry.
I know this must make no sense.
And if that's what you're thinking,
You're right. It doesn't. Not even to me.
All I know, is I'm severely confused,
And openly bleeding.

I do know one thing.
One thing that stands clear in my mind.
I love you. And despite what I told you,
I don't think I ever stopped.
I love you so much it's killing me to say otherwise.

But there's a second element in the mix,
And you know exactly what(who) it is.
I'm really sorry. But that's something I won't lie about.
I won't deny having the slightest bit of feelings for him.
Because I've done you enough wrong.
And I won't let you live on thinking that  everything is resolved.

Because its not.
There's still a mess in my head.
Next to the one that was already existent.
This ones freshly formed, and still growing.
**** like this is just flooding my mind.
No wonder I'm half past crazy,
And the meter is still climbing.

But back to the point.
I'm sorry.

I can't tell you I have all this figured out.
And I can't tell you I will anytime soon,
But I know one thing.
I really do still love you.
And despite all of this,
I'm really glad you love me too.

I wonder,
If you're still drowning your blood
In alcohol.

You make it hard to sleep.
I'm tucked under comforters at 3 am
with the image of your face in the absence of moonlight stuck in my head and I have never been more comfortable than I am
when you hold me up in the air as if
you're trying to show the
whole world my apparent beauty.
And then, you kiss me.
And smiling mouths kiss better
than ones that frown so I pray
that I can keep that grin plastered
on your face just long enough
to connect lips like constellations
yet again.
God I am a mess but I wouldn't have it any other way because
you are comparable to the
shining light that leads me
out of the gallows,
and brightens all the corridors
in my gloom filled head.
I wish I could whisper all of this
into the curve of your neck while you hold me but I can never find words
and form them into correct sentences,
rather than incoherent gibberish
while under the trance that is
the feel of your fingertips
I'm tucked under comforters at
3 am thinking about how lucky I am
and that's why I was late for school this morning.
I overslept dreaming of all we could become.

Color me a pretty shade,
of blood and gore,
come on and scare me,
until I can take no more,

Shake me up and rattle me hard,
make the air leave my lungs,
let me see the way you do,
out of your eyes come bugs,

In this place of fright,
come one, come all,
and stay a night,
for everyone who enters,
will have the time of their lives,

Do you think you can handle it?
or is it too much to bear?
come on don't chicken out,
everyone needs a good scare.

Tying strings to all my fingers,
Trying to remember to forget,
All the haunting memories,
All the tears I ever shed,

Trying to remember to think of what lies ahead,
And forget my sadfilled past,
Think of the present and live for the now,
Knowing I now have purpose in this world again,

Whenever I'm upset,
I can let the music play,
Let myself finally forget,
And remove the strings from my fingers,
For they have started to decay.

no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could stab at you like knives
carving out your insides while,
you sit in silence as you feel the hole
deepening.
stretch.
no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could feel like gunshots,
from the inside out.

Maybe I won't survive, but that is okay for,
*Egal, wo wir morgen sind!