I breathed in red,
but let out blue,
the crowded room still empty.

Cold and bitter no matter what
while their nearby fires burn.

Isolated all the way,
until I reach the bottom,
because I know nothing more
than a world that’s full of sorrow.

And as your hands still reach for me
I’ll push and push you further,
until you see that I am barren,
that I’m just an outstretched winter.

And though your summer tries to warm me
I fly, I am a bird,
but fly away from your good weather,
and straight into the storm.

As the sunsets you turn away
like all the others have,
I feel regret inside my soul, but still emotions masked.

If we fully embraced
that with each day
each tragedy
each heartbreak
each bad taste
each mistake
made us a new person
think of who we'd be..

is there ignorance in bliss?
or is there bliss in not letting
one define the other

Tonight, I'm gonna do it.
     I'm gonna call you.
Tonight, I'm gonna tell you why I never wear my hair
     In a ponytail anymore, no matter how hot it gets.
     I'm gonna tell you about the time you grabbed my hot tea  
          And threw it in my face.
I'm gonna tell you that, these days, I don't bother with
Makeup anymore , and though I (somehow) get complements
          I'll never quite believe them.
I'm gonna tell you about the time you made my mom cry
     And how much she feared you after that.
     I'm gonna tell you what it's like to be
          The only one...
To be in constant fear, yet forbidden to tell another soul
All at the same time.
     You're gonna tell me why you kissed my boyfriend
And lied,
So I'll finally understand.
     I gonna tell you about all the things I wish I was
          And the things I strive to be
(All 89 of them).
     I'm gonna tell you why I had to leave.
I'm gonna finally tell you that not only did you suppress my appetite and worth,
     But also my passion.
          And that was the worst of them all.
          I'm gonna tell you about each and every pound I am
          Away from perfect.
I'm gonna tell you about the time I almost gave in,
And finally,
               About the day I told the truth. . .
And you're gonna listen.

Morning
Tastes like coffee,
The aftertaste of a childhood
Back when we paced ourselves
When a day was a day, not a complaint,
We picked up any old shell and said
‘Listen, the ocean!’
Now that we’ve grown up we know that
Its only our own hearts echoing in our ears,
Reminding us that we still have a pulse
And if you think about it,
Does it mean that we are just waves?

So I wake up thinking about how
We call it daylight savings time but the only thing we are saving is ourselves,
Preserving our subconscious in all the words we never wanted--
We erased them, but the words we do our best to make disappear
Are the ones sheltered in eraser shavings,
Brushed to the floor and tracked everywhere
On the shoes we wear from place to place,
Haunting us with the very things we are running to escape.
But pushing the clock forward an hour
Will do nothing to make you run faster
Will not hold the tide in place for you to catch
Only invalidate the time you have taken to progress

And the thirty foot jump off the pier in pitch black is worth it
For the bioluminescence that swells up around us--
Is that the daylight we misplaced
When we tried to save it?
Is it the waves or your heartbeat you hear
Trapped in the bubbles of cool night air
that we take with us as we plunge home into the ocean

And I suppose that it is funny,
in a macabre sort of way
how we all forget the tale of Prometheus.
He who thought to bring gods level with men,
with a simple gift.
Yet his gift was one with no equal.
He gave mankind fire, that in turn gave us life,
and with life comes love, compassion, humanity.
But what did he recieve in return?
Thanks to his act of love
for his adopted progeny,
Prometheus was chained to a rock, destined
to die once every day.
His instestines,
set to be disgested by an eagle once a day.
His pain unrivaled,
for his original sin shed
light on our existence.
And for this, we write no songs,
we hold dear no poems,
we hallow no ground.
His flames gave birth to us,
and here we are,
choking on our own arrogance and hate.
So I suppose, that
in a sense Prometheus was the first nice guy,
who finished last.
Because being the Prometheus,
means there shall be no songs sung of you,
no poems written for you,
and you will be eclipsed by others.
Your deeds will go unloved,
your accolades will go unnoticed.
The world is a mean place,
and however cruel it is,
sometimes being and doing right
gets you nowhere.

I can tell where this is going.
Me, denying that I am in love with you,
You, flirting with those other girls,
Me, believing how I felt was new,
You, looking like an angel
Me, falling for your smile,
You, telling me it'll be okay,
Me, stuck in denial,
You, and your laugh,
Me and my hopelessness,
You, bringing me closer
Me, loving your wholesomeness,
And how you are generally good for me,
I feel like the dead sea.