I play back certain memories
Like movies in my head
To remind me of the times
When I felt alive and not so dead

Silly me, sitting in a new class,
feeling like a social disaster.
At the front, there's no one
to hide behind,
no one who'll turn around
to ask for a pen.
That first interaction-
a distraction from reclusive habits.
There is a bag and jacket
sitting in the seat behind me.
My writing is all that dares
to converse with me.
It's quiet company
amongst the chatter of my peers
the voices I wish I didn't hear.
When teacher asks our names,
and I stutter to respond
there are whispers in my ears.
Am I the only one?
Who doesn't know a soul-
who couldn't say hello,
when that girl's smile showed?
It's not a place I'd call home,
so I keep my nose in the chicken-scratch-
reading the syllabus
silly me, in a new class,
whispering social disaster out loud.

There is a lump in my throat
It stops everything I need to say
It is the stopper for all of my bottled emotions
Like a tumor it grows but it won't have the decency to **** me

It makes my thoughts race in my mind to mach the rhythm of my pacing feet.
It's as if I'm running from my myself, my skeleton trying to leave my skin
My heart needs a exodus from my body.
It can turn my legs into cement bricks and a mixture of saliva and feelings into a tide to smash the back of my teeth . My almost useless tounge into a noose for a lanky neck. I always have a lump in my throat.

I hate it
when
I try to
fight with
myself
because
I know
that I will
always
lose

I hate the fact that I can come up with stories for people who never lived,
Or a poem about things that happened when I was a kid,
But I can't figure out how to remember the quadratic equation,
And nothing good comes out of my power of persuasion.

I have no idea what comes out of having a creative mind,
But not being able to do complicated math in record time.

I hate that I would rather spend hours coming up with a metaphor to describe the panic I feel,
Than learn things that are supposed to help me make enough money to pay for even one daily meal.

I spent more time trying to write this,
Than I ever would trying to understand functions and statistics.

But writing ****** poetry isn't going to help me,
When I don't even have the slightest idea what I want to be.

I have lung made of paper bags
                                                            ­                      and a spine made of glass.
I spend my life walking on thin ice,
                                                            ­                 knowing that if I slip I will break.
I can't walk with great posture,
                                                        ­                because the weight on my shoulders.
My mind is full of cliche metaphors
                                                       ­                 and clouded with the stress of living.
The more I panic and my breathing increases,
                                                   the­ more my paper bags start to strain and crinkle.
The more I walk around with the weight I try to carry,
                                                          ­       the risk of shattering my glass spine rises.
My eyes are closed,
                                                 and my hands are ***** from trying to dig myself up.
To stop my lungs from straining,
                                                                    I stop myself from breathing.
To lessen the risk of my spine breaking,
                                                               I lay in bed and never move around.

The sea sings a song
Of silence
While the waves wash
Away my worries
And I know I’m
Not alone
For there are many
Men just like me
Captains of ships
Inside bottles
The only escape is to
Sink to the bottom

A day, like any other at the start,
but then you called, filling up my heart
with happiness too big for my body,
so I went on a walk to let it free,
my smile too wide for my set of teeth,
I shared it with strangers on the street,
as I skipped and danced, laughing at nothing
because you are everything
I never let myself wish for out loud,
you were too impossible to be allowed
yet against the odds, you’re alive,
and because you are, so am I.