my sexuality has nothing to do with your traditional ways
my sexuality has nothing to do with your religion
my sexuality has nothing to do with your sexuality
my sexuality has nothing to do with your morals
my sexuality has nothing to do with what you think is gross
my sexuality has nothing to do with you

we so easily pluck weeds from the garden
because the look unruly and don’t go with the tulips
but in life
we don’t segregate the suicidal, emotional, and unstable
because they are that way
from the steady breathers
we are a world of dandelions
with a rare tulip

The floor is a mess,
clothes and papers scattered about.
No need to look at the rest,
please do not shout.

She's lost what mattered most,
him, her, them, they.
The shine her tousled hair, lost,
and gray clouds are her vision okay?

So please do not judge her inability to leave bed,
or her waist that's shrinking by the day.
Please just think about what you just read,
and fix her the right way.

Long nights,
Party lights,
Way to get it started.

Blurred sight,
Drinks taste alright,
Away the car parted.

Deer in the headlights,
Swerve to the right,
Many trees uncharted.

Prayers recite,
Skull and dashboard unite,
There his soul departed.

stop telling me it’s going to be okay
as if some phrase can make me feel better.
that if i use red colored fabric to cover
the holes in my heart
that it would beat the same as yours.

Your name,
has become a curse word that falls from my lips.
The picture of you in my head,
has become blurred and wants to be forgotten.
Your voice,
has become a door that lacks oil.
The way you move your body,
must be because of your deceiving bones.
Your rat like eyes,
have become the worst color of diarrhea.
I know this is not the just the “Call out a back stabbers” poem,
lets name the flaws on and in my own skin,
that just so happened,
to be pointed out by you.
As you covered my face in nine pounds of a “makeover”,
you said you couldn’t see the flaws on my skin anymore.
Flaws?
You went far enough to point the pubescent scars.
of my lips, cheeks, and chin.
The shyness I have of talking to my friends,
was pointed out because you didn’t have someone to talk to that night.
Excuse me,
but I thought the effort of the friendship was supposed to be put forth by both “friends”?
Next,
near the end of the friendship,
you often told me I was a terrible friend.
I cried.
A lot.
Later when that came up,
you told me you were just trying to make a point.
Why as a friend didn’t you just try to talk to me,
instead of trying to start insignificant bull crap?
But here I sit now,
with friends that could always be so much better than you.
I often hear your snickering words behind me a your lunch table,
and I turn around and smile at you and your “friend’.
You usually **** your head in confusion,
but really,
that's me.
The 15 year old giant ginger with a second graders personality,
stinking my pinky finger up at you to flip you off in Chinese,
and to say in a nonexistent voice,
“frick you”.

Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.

An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.

They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.

They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.

They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.

They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.

They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.

Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.

I do not know the feeling of popularity,
nor the feeling of being hated by all.

I tie my shoes a bit tighter,
in hope that,
it’ll cut off circulation to my feet.

That my limbs will become numb,
and instead of falling in love,
I’ll fall out of a 40 story window.

I wish we lived in a place
where the sun never went under the horizon
because you said you’d leave at dark
and I don’t think my eyes can adjust
I wish we lived atop a mountain
because when I told you to take a hike
I didn’t really mean it
I don’t want you to leave
I wish we lived in a tree house,
because when i told you that you were childish
it was more out of jealousy than disbelief
I wanted to be childish with you
I wish we lived in a castle
because you are always on your high horse,
not meaning that in anyway
other than you’re the one that lifts me up
I wish we lived anywhere other than here,
because here isn’t here anymore,
without you.

Bruises are supernovas under your skin,
Your lover likes to experience life to the fullest.
you don’t stop them when they get angry because they’re all you’ve got.
Scratches on your face are asteroid belts,
They hit you last week because you got home late.
You don’t say anything as you cover them with makeup and move on.
Busted lips are solar flares,
they make a mess and irritate you.  
You don’t move when their arms start flailing.
Broken bones are the time-space continuum,
In the hospital you don’t say anything,
they say that they won’t touch you like that anymore.
The drug addiction is a **** blackhole,
It’s ******* the life out of you,
They stay out late. They don’t look at you.
Cutting is the stellar nursery,
welcome to the end yet beginning of your new life.
Your parents know they’ve done something to you.
The expansion of the universe loses a star or two.
But the abuse just like the universe,
hard to imagine.

I enjoy pointing my toes,
Pushing my hands into my thighs,
And jumping into a spot in the lake,
Where it is seemingly bottomless.

It often feels like the past.
The compression on my cranium is depression.
The depletion of air in my lungs is anxiety.
The vacant water that grasps me are my thoughts.

Floating to the top,
Yearning for my hands to create a whirlpool overhead,
Whose vortex could take me to the past,
To the flaws, tween stages, and grades that didn’t matter.

To inform past me,
That she’ll be okay.
That’d be me,
Pleading to know.

But in this moment,
I seem to be the girl that just,
Involuntarily drowns,
In her own lake of metaphors and insecurities.

I’m so tired, not even pills help me sleep anymore.

I have never felt more alone then when I'm with you.