It's a late monday night
Or an early tuesday morning
I'm far too tired to decide which
3:47 AM
And you're not here
The caffeine from my tea
Is keeping me wide awake
It isn't the only thing
Keeping my eyes from closing though
You may as well be laying beside me
Because the thought of you is the only one on my mind
Except you're not here
Not beside me
Not holding my hand
You're probably still out
Knowing you
Her pretty little hand in your hand
And your precious little heart in her hand
I guess you were right
I don't know you.
I hardly ever did.
But just so you know
I probably didn't tell you more about me
Than you didn't tell me about you
Still though
You can spell my thoughts
With the letters of your name
It's a late monday night
Or an early tuesday morning
I'm far too tired to decide which
3:47 AM
And you're not here

Repost if the letters of someone's name can spell your thoughts.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!

At some point
You care far too much
About not caring that
You spend all your time
Not caring about caring
Until you finally care
But you care so much about not caring
You care enough to not admit
That you care since you care so much
About not caring that you don't care about
not caring that you care.

All that is true for me.
After hearing the echoing of that same word, does the word "care" now confuse your mind?

That's how I feel about your name now.

I've heard it echo in my thoughts too many times
And the meaning has now detached itself
from the sound.

Because everytime I don't care that I care
about not caring that I care
Your name slowly carves itself deeper
In my soul

Hair dyed pink and blonde in a ponytail
Leather jacket and plaid mini skirt
Designer bag and 6 inch heels
Slits down both sides of her trampy shirt
She's not thd type to fall in love
But you love her endlessly
You're an option not a boy to her
But that's something you're too blind to see
I bet you she can't write poetry
But what am I telling you this for
I could be flawless and still
She would always be more
So you're a writer to me that means
You're an artist with words and ink
She hears writer "Great! He can do my English homework!"
Is all that she thinks
She's left you so many times before
So quick and easily
Now she's taken you back and when she let's you go
Don't you dare crawl back to me

The boy next door
He moved here when we were both still little
Years and years ago
He used to come over
and play monopoly with me
And we'd argue about the rules
But he was one year older
And back then it didn't matter
But we slowly grew
like two flowers on a single stem
up and apart
I started to notice him for what he was
Green eyes and freckles
A smile like twilight's glow
Muscular and attractive
With his red baseball cap
And his music blasting
from his open garage door
And I like him
But he sees me as a little girl
I peek through the curtains
Every time I hear the echoing
of a basketball hitting the pavement
I watch him and catch his eyes every so often
An addictive terrified thrill courses through me everytime
Now he can drive
And I'm still so small to him
But time goes on
Now I'm a big girl
I'm not the little girl who plays with his little sisters anymore
I am just me
He came for dinner one night with his family
And I tried to sit next to him
But it didn't work out
But he is breathtaking
It's been years
When will I stop being a little girl to him?
When will he see me as the girl next door
Maybe never
But to me
He will always be incredible
He will always be
The boy next door

Repost if you have or had a "boy next door".

.There is nothing else left to say to you.
I have said it all.
Poetry is emotions made out of words.
And I only have these last few unpretty words left for you
They are simply put, but I mean them with every ounce of my soul.

You're not sorry
I'm not sorry
You hate me
I hate you
You hurt me
And those I loved
So I sure as hell
Hope I hurt you.
Just stay away now.
You've done enough damage
To last a lifetime
But I'm stronger than you
So I won't let it.

Repost if you know the feeling.
Comment! I love to read interpretations or any thoughts on my work! :)

I sat on a rock and stared
At her eyes the color of ink
Wondering what she’s seen
When she is ruffled by something
It is literal
A duck’s feathers are easily ruffled
But that is a minor problem
When we are ruffled by life
It can disorient us for months
Sometimes years
Sometimes a lifetime
I wonder what her life has been filled with
She swims and she dives.
She mates to reproduce, never to love and cherish her mate eternally.
The way (some) humans do. Or at least should.
She never suffers emotional trauma.
It would be so much simpler to be a duck.
No monetary worries
No emotional worries
No grudges
Only the concern for survival
I bet she’s never cried
And I have so, so many times.
She spreads her wings and takes flight.
The way I often wish I could.
To escape situations I don’t like.
Just flying away.
Her beautiful russet wings
But I wasn’t born a duck.
I was born a human.
And I can’t spread my wings and fly away.
And somehow
I’m glad.
I’m glad I can hurt
And I can feel
And I can love
And be broken
My main concern is not my own survival
Because I am not a duck
And I am not a coward
And even if I can suffer
What a duck would never have to endure
I can have forever from someone else
And I can become something
An artist
A writer
A dancer
A poet
An inspiration
A lover
A mother
A father
Okay no not a father
But I can make something out of myself
And the duck will always be
Well, a duck.
Also, ducks are NOT YELLOW.
…I needed to express that.
Rawr.

Please repost if you are happy to be human. Unless you are not a human. And if you are not a human, then I am kind of scared. Or if you just feel like reposting. Then you go ahead and do that. Have fun with it. :) woahifoundagrape!
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work!

It's so dark
It's so dark
I can't meet my own gaze of my reflection
The pain refuses to fade
It won't stop
It won't stop
I can't turn on the lights I'm too afraid of what I might see
The bleeding won't stop but I can't tell anyone
Panic
Panic
please please just stop
no one can find out
Then I call you
and I don't even say anything
But you see my name on your caller ID
and you hear the catch in my breathing
a stifled sob
I whisper: I can't
You say: I know
I'm here
and we simply remain on the phone
the empty dead air between us
not a word to fill it
but we simply exchange silence
and somehow it's comforting
but what twisted secrets we keep

Repost if you have a twisted secret
Please comment, I love to read interpretations of my poetry!