I've started archiving and deleting certain poems. . . I used to share with this site because I enjoyed getting input from strangers who didn't judge my life. It was great input, it helped me learn what people liked, and which lines I should incorporate into my music. But now everything is so socially driven, and I feel alot of good writings take a back seat because of it. Im going to just leave behind some of my more "frilly" poems. I made some good friends here, and read a lot of great work (with much sorting). I will still write here form time to time, but the site just isnt the same to me anymore. Keep writing folks! Its a dying art, and we need up and comers to breathe new life into it.

I want someone to look me in the eyes
like nothing else matters

I want to wake up to him
or a text from him or something more
than the empty feeling in my chest

I want someone to share random thoughts with

I want him to pull me into
his jacket and zip us up inside

I want to talk to someone
about theories, ethics, words,
the universe and more

I want someone to call me at one in the morning
and tell me to look at Polaris

I want him to pick me up unexpectedly
and make me laugh hysterically until I snort

I want someone to trade literature with,
sleep in with, cuddle with

I want someone to miss me when we're apart

It's heavy tonight and every movement feels like a paper cut.
I thought I might be getting a cold but I just keep coughing up broken piano keys. It’d be no use going to the doctor, he’d probably just ask me something sharp like when the last time i felt loved was, or if i still pulled the heads off daisies like i started doing after you left. Jesus I wish you had left. You’re gone but you’re ******* everywhere. Does it get hard to breathe for you too? I’ve realized that missing you comes in two different forms. One is wild. Frantic. The kind that makes me gasp for air and rock back and forth hugging my knees. My mothers seen it enough now that it no longer concerns her. It’s desperate. It’s hysterical. It’s us. But the other is quiet. The other is breathing so steadily that you can hear the absolute silence in my ribcage. God that kind of quiet aches. It just aches and all you can feel is the absence of everything. Of anything. Of you. Of us. There’s never a clean break is there? You can never lose someone and not have jagged edges cutting into your sides every time you try to look at the moon or an old t-shirt or your favorite mug with a chip in the handle. I don’t know why I keep shouting at the sky like there’s a God up there, or like he’d be listening to me even if there was. I guess all I’ve learned from all of this is that sometimes love is just sitting at a bus stop but waving by every one that stops. And it tastes a lot like drinking cough syrup when you’re not even sick.

And that’s us.

Throat is closing
stomach churning
lips wet
mind is burning
shaky hands
scratch your nose
distract yourself
adjust your clothes
knee ****
small sigh
eye twitch
tongue tie
swallow hard
calming sound
taking over
downward drown

Today you said
you were ashamed of me,
that you didn't know why I existed..
you called me an anorexic *****
you told me I wasn't good at anything
and I was going to amount to nothing
you called me a depressed brat
well I'm sorry I seem that way
today you said you hated me,
to your friends
but today I heard.
And I didn't expect it.
but I didn't cry...
I didn't hate you...
I didn't respond...
I just walked outside
in the freezing snow
and made myself numb.
today you said I was worthless
and I've never deserved anything
or anyone
and today
I'm not sorry I don't meet your expectations