My friends don't know me.
I'm not who they think I am.
Most friends help eachother, If I looked to a friend for help, they'd laugh and mock me.

What I want is someone to listen.
Someone to care.
Someone to tell me there secrets.

I'm not different.
I just don't hide what I am.
Imagine it, freedom.

Freedom to express;
How you feel.
What you want.
Why you're hurting.
What you love.

Someday I'll have someone.
Someone, I can trust my feelings with.
Someone who won't go telling everyone my private feelings the second we fall out.

Come be broken with me.

Others have damaged our trust.
And I have gained more fear than courage from it.

I know you have too.

I can't promise you fearlessness or perfection.

But I can promise you that I will try my best to feel better than okay.

Fear holds my hand.
But I keep walking.

I'm scared to death.

Inside and out.

You can tell.

And even with this mask of confidence...
It shows through the cracks that are forming.

What if you are expecting something more?
What if I am not what you think I am?

I think I've been myself all along...
I'm just curious to see what you think.

From when I was a child,
I wondered,
I pondered,
I was confused.

Life.
It bewildered me.

I was put on this earth.
Why?
Do I have some daunting mission ahead of me?
Some prophecy to fulfill?

What gave my life reason?

I'm only a teenager,
but from what I've gathered,
most people have no idea what their reason is.
Many of them haven't even considered it.

As of now,
Mine is just to live.
Be myself.
Follow my dreams.

Most importantly,
make a difference.
This doesn't mean save the world,
or become president,
or invent the next Apple product.

It's the small differences that count.
The ones that can make a person's day.

How can we be satisfied with our own lives,
if we have not bettered the lives of others?

i think poetry is most beautiful
when it is written in pen. unedited.
there is something about reading
the words as they were written.
to see where the tears kissed the page
and how they distorted the writing
as they fell.
i like poems that were intended to be journal entries;
pure naked emotions somehow blessed
with a god-given aesthetic.
sometimes an honest poem
doesn't reflect its title,
as if human emotion altered the original plan.
that's real.
that's poetry.

Steal me to distract me

Maybe then I'll forget