YOU ARE THE DAISY IN THE DESERT, PERHAPS YOU THINK YOU ARE ALONE
(if you don't count the grains of sand)
BUT SOMEONE WILL BE GLAD THEY FOUND YOU AND YOU WILL MAKE SOMEONE SMILE, PERHAPS CRY OUT WITH JOY.

YOU ARE MINISCULE BUT YOU ARE IMPORTANT.

DO NOT FORGET THAT.

i must confess,
i have never been very good at sewing.
but i will ***** my fingers
over and over
trying to fix you.

i don't think we care enough about other people as we should.
i feel like we care too much about what we're doing for the moment
that we don't realize the pain
we're causing others with this kind of neglect.

my whole life, everyone has hurt me
and forgotten me.
i'm beginning to think nobody is different.

i think that time matters.
that we all need to find someone
who will give us all the time we give them.

i'm tired of giving my love and time
to people who throw it away
and don't even give you the time of day that you gave them.

it leaves you feeling utterly alone.
it's the type of hurt
that will change the person you are.

one day, i'm not going to give my heart out.
one day, you're going to wish you hadn't left me alone.
one day, you'll end up being the one who feels neglected.

this fruit is rotting on my tongue.
and i just feel like crying.
this stress just seems to grab with with it's large meaty hands and suffocate me until i cannot focus.
i'm a morbid wallflower with no real intention on getting better at talking to people i don't know.

i sat silently
and watched the bugs crawl by.
they weren't butterflies,
or caterpillars,
or ladybugs.

i watched the flies
and the crickets
and the ants.
moving in a secret art no one bothered to take note of.

they were the friends i met in the hallway.
they were shy,
but if you looked at them long enough,
you could see the beauty no one else saw.

if you find beauty in the bugs everyone does not find beautiful,
you can find it in others.

people are like bugs,
similar, but different,
each holding their own design.

everyone  has beauty,
you just have to find it.
even if it means sitting in the hallways alone,
watching the bugs no one cares to look at.

i was a young girl,
the age of fourteen,
when my friends were paperback novels.

when the kids used to laugh at me in my face.

i wanted to disappear from the terrible world i was born into.

i found refuge in the yellowed pages,
where the story was not my own,
where their troubles related to mine.
these characters were my only friends.
they held my hand when i cried.
when i was made fun of for being so **** antisocial.

the endings made me so sad.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i was the child who read on the bus,
who stayed up too late to read the last of the old pages.

they inspired me to be free.
to live life the best i could.
they gave me hope for a happy ending.

at the age of fifteen,
i scarred my skin.
i'd forgotten the happy endings i used to read about.

i felt like a character in a book when i wilted inside.
when i took the painkillers,
hoping for an overdose.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i woke up at the first hour of the day,
unsuccessful,
but successful.

i scribbled on the blank pages of books,
i wrote my soul on the pages and it poured out on the floor like an acidic pool of experiences.

i was a damaged soul,
but daisies grew from the cracks of my heart,
and a new life was born inside an old one.

The bolt of lightening  touches the ground,
gently
quickly
sewing the world together again
with its static thread and mechanistic jut from the skies.

i think mother nature is trying to hold her pieces together,
even when everyone knows she's falling apart.

nature has become the girl with blonde hair in tight braids,
pulled back,
kept to maintain beauty and image.
but all she wants to do is rip out the ties,
and burn the ribbons in her hair.
there is no beauty in confinement.

You say all these pretty words—
That make me think I'm enough.
You say I'm what you've always wanted,
And I'm trying my best to believe it.

I don't think you know me,
And all my sad holes,
Or the things that make me cry at night,
And make me feel less whole.

There's a gold gleam on every word,
And i've been hanging on them for too long.
The paint is coming off and there's nothing but plastic,
In this, I see your wrong.

Society is killing me,
Bit by bit.
With pleading eyes and bruised wrists,
I'm watching you stand on my side.
No help is given,
You'd rather watch me as I die.

I knew there was always something different in the way you treated me.
Like i was an outsider,
Walls were miles high.

I had been grafted onto your family tree and you did not like it.
From my pale skin, to blue eyes,
I stole your spotlight:
Without even asking for it.

I befriended your brothers
And i love one.
You are angry and controlling
And where they found fighting in you,
They left it for my peace and friendship.
You did not like this either.

And so you began to grow:
Burying yourself with an envious green moss overriding your whole being.
You never learned how to bask in the joy of others.
You only ever tore it down.

There was a 30 year old man with two daughters.
You pretended to love him because you wanted to feel special.
You stayed because someone once told you both that it was ironic that your names were fighting countries.
Although, Syria and Israel never did get along.
You broke apart
And instead of being happy because others were happy:
You demanded the separation of your brother and i.
In which your mother replied:
"no."
You did not like this either.

To make matters worse,
We became countries at war.
I had never asked for it:
You thought building a berlin wall between your brother and i would change everything.
Even how you felt about yourself.
I am here to tell you it didn't.

I almost lost hope.
You almost won.
But i saw you through the curtains.
I saw the strings on your hands and the puppets of your family dangling from them.
You cannot control them anymore.
They are souls with a divine purpose that does not include you designing their destiny.

I know how to fight my battles.
I have fought with things much more dark and difficult than you and your leaf greens.
I have seen death and I am not afraid.
You think you have the reins of the horse,
You think you're winning this battle.
Unless you have danced with death, you will not have known victory.

you've sold yourself to the women on the movie screens,
and i am just a limp body on your bed.
i'm just waiting for you to touch me,
or kiss me,
or hold me.
but you touch your screen,
and you wish you were hers.
i know you think it.
"i'm not good enough," i tell you,
but you tell me differently and turn back to the screen and press your
hands on the glass tightly enough that you think you're touching her.
i turn to my side and i pour the contents of my soul out on the bed.
but you never noticed.
you were too busy looking at your movie screen.

*this was created to free the bad thoughts in my mind and i'm not sorry if it doesn't please you -mm

Today is the day,
where if I'd known nothing
of death and hell,
this day would be my last.

Today would be a good day,
to send away goodbyes in the mail,
and dig DEEP to find my soul,
and let it go.

Today would be good,
but tomorrow brings a better day,
full of hope.
Opportunities.

Today could be the end,
the end of it all.
Tomorrow could be the start
of a new way of life.

Today could,
but tomorrow can.

Black velvety water ripples,
carrying diamonds on its back.
I'm afraid of the dark.
Although,
You are the only monster
In this figure of the ocean.

We travel amongst the stars,
It feels like we're dying
Reuniting with the universe:
Our dear old mother,
Who gave birth to our fluttering souls.

I always dreamt of drowning.
Through the dark oceans of life,
You were the raft that tugged me back to shore.

You may have been the oceans once,
And the water in my lungs,
But you were the lifeboat
As well as the lighthouse:
Guiding me home to you.
Guiding me home

to you.

you have planted your kisses
and they have spread to my heart.
i can feel the roots hug my beating bruised muscle.
you will always be with me,
your roots will never leave.
you have planted your love in me.
my heart is your garden.

I want to find words
to write about you
in the friendliest way possible.

I've never cared this much.
You're like my brother.
All i want to do is see you happy
and listen to your problems
as the pitter-pattering of rain
taps on the metal of your truck.

It all makes sense now:
you are my spirit brother.
I have taken up the task as sister.
Counselor.

My heart doesn't squirm for you
in nervousness.
Your last minute poem was a pep talk-
one i never got from my brother.

I care about you in a funny way
that i've never cared about anyone before.

There is an odd sense of healing
listening to the groans of your truck
and hearing your voice.
Inquiring about my problems
with a curiousness i have never known.

i don't write in a journal anymore.
you are my journal.
i speak my thoughts aloud to you,
like a confession.

i tell you all my sad thoughts,
my dying wishes,
my hopes,
and my dreams.
you don't speak in return.
you just hold my hand quietly next to me.

silently we sit in my sins,
pooling to the ground like blood from an open wound.

i want you to imagine:
waking up with heavy appendages,
not loving yourself,
crying until there are no tears left,
and feeling your heart being broken in two.

i want you to imagine:
waking up even though you feel awful,
getting dressed and getting out the door.
waiting by the bus stop with negativity on your mind,
but you don't cry and all you do is smile.
you choke on your tears and you fight them,
you carry on eating,
even though people tell you you're fat,
and your thoughts bring you down.
you keep living,
you keep doing what you need to.

you are strong for being alive when all you feel like doing is dying.

the charcoaled branches freeze in pain,
stiffened from the reddest flame.
the green glisten that hung before,
was nonexistent and no more.
the wild fire was meant to tame.

the tall oaks that stood years of life,
now crumbled from agony and strife.
their whispers are no longer found,
they shut their mouths and make no sound.
they begin to crawl out of their life.

their life is an endless cycle,
of life and birth, error and trial.
they shoot up from the dust of death,
with open lungs and exhausted breath.

their lives have started anew,
with the hope that we will too.
the lesson learned is sweet but short,
all life goes on through pain and hurt.

paper rules our lives,
from the money we use to buy the things to help us live comfortably,
to the paper with our own name,
printed across the page.
telling us that we are bound to a number that is supposed to define our whole existence.
but the paper isn't what's wrong with the world.
it's the hands that it's been in.
and throughout the years we've been persecuting trees like it's their fault that such inanimate things can control us.
we don't bother to realize that it's our own personal will and mind that traps us.

maybe i missed you.
i missed the way you could turn wordless moments into something meaningful.
the way you could touch me and i could feel electricity running down my veins.
you were like the summer,
i was waiting and hoping for the sun while in winter.
you grew flowers in my brain and taught me how to speak like the birds:
chirping melodic songs with the breeze.
you taught me to be beautiful.
i can feel your absence.
maybe i missed you.

funny how we'll look back at this moment in time,
and think,
"wow how quickly time passes,"
with children in our hands.

the last of your hand holding mine,
and feeling the familiar roughness,
for two years.

i'll write you letters
and i'll send you poetry.
i'll try my best to enjoy this while you're gone.

two years is a small amount of time.
all at once, it feels like a wave choking the words in my throat.

you haven't left yet,
i know that.

but that isn't going to stop me from missing you.
knowing we're creeping towards your departure,
your two years of service,
scares me.

i already feel so alone tonight.
it's almost like you've already left.

i know this isn't forever,
and our forever only starts after these three years of patience,
but i don't want to say goodbye.
i don't want to stop looking into your brown eyes one last time.

i didn't think i'd fall in love with you,
i didn't think i'd have to say goodbye so soon.

this preparation of separation,
is something i'm not used to.

you're only in north dakota.
and i am slowly slipping into the harsh shadows this sunshiny state creates.
help me. help me.
you're the electric pads in the hospital
that shock me back to life in moments of drought.
kiss me, shock me,
make me feel more alive.
i am disappearing, fading
without you here.
i need you, help me
i'm fading so quickly and i'm so afraid
to be nothing again.

i feel disgusting.
i feel the worst i have felt in a very long time.
i don't write in journals,
for i fear my minds self-destruction.

i feel pathetic.
more and more each day.
when i realize that i am the one who cannot stand to be without you.

maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.
making me think that you think that i don't matter.

it's just really hard only having one person you want to talk to all the time.
****. what the hell am i even saying.

We created the universe together,
Dancing through the sky like stars.
There was a music in your soul
That sang to me.

Love is a duet and only true harmony occurs when you find the one.

There is good in every goodbye
that travels from your lips to mine.
An indirect kiss,
Telling me through the cracks
That everything will be alright
to hold on tight to the delicate memories and never let them go.

I can feel your presence with me.
You aren't dead, but you are absent.
You are a living memory in the back of my brain
reminding me
That an ending is the start of a new beginning
and there is good to be found in every goodbye.

i am the worst person alive today.
i can't express myself either;
and that's really all i have.
without that i am nothing.
i am a blank sheet of school paper,
without lines,
without holes.
serving no purpose.

there is a fire burning inside of me,
creating a hole inside my chest;
full of disappointment,
sadness,
loneliness.

She was the better me.
And I knew it.
No one could distinguish the difference.
No one cared to.

As a shy daydreamer in my early years,
I was transformed into a quiet machine.
Finding it even more difficult
To branch out to others,
And make friends.

I was never confident in myself before,
And i wasn't even when i was medicated.
She was better than me, but not in everything.

Although,
She is quick to tempt me
As i recede from this medication that has made me into the robot that my teachers praise me for,
The lack of confidence rises.
She ****** and prods me and convinces me that every word i say,
Is unimportant.

"These are only ramblings." she tells me.
"Nobody is listening to what you say anyways."

I swear to you,
I believe every darned word that she seeps into my skull.
The medication me has always been the **** job of my brain.
The better, more popular version of me.

And although I continue to pass my classes with outstanding grades,
Without my medication,
It doesn't feel the same.
She knows.
And i know.

But I have been her for eight years.
And i am ready to say goodbye.
She lingers still,
Waiting for the return
That i will not give her.

as I roll into these sheets,
the arms of my lover
invisibly extend
to hold my tired bones
in an embrace
that will hold
until you return.

you dug your hands into my heart,
to plant your tiny seeds,
they blossomed beautifully.
the soil in my heart was washed away with a flood of tears,
and the plants you buried inside of me suffocated my soul and choked me.

there's blood
between my teeth
and kisses
on my bruises—
the bruises you gave me.

you swore
you'd never touch another girl
the way you touched me.
the way your dad
bruised your mom
because "he loved her."

you saw the devil in me
and you tried to save me
beat her out
of my fragile frame—

i saw the devil in you
with each blow
our demons
our devils
swirled and danced around
the room:

like smoke
from your cigarettes.

say goodbye
through the letters
i wrote to you
on water-logged paper.

fill them with your poetry
written for her.
let me pretend
you wrote them for me.

i'll tell you
i wish i'd kissed you
before i left.

i can't tell
if loving you
has been a delusion.
if loving you
has only been a lie to myself.

miss me.
please.

if i'm to die
before my journey is through,
just know
that i have always
always
always
loved parts of you.

There are people
who don't know what it means
to be sensitive.

They make fun
of the fact that you feel
more deeply than they do.

I'm not a wimp.
I'm not a baby.
I'm not crying because someone
took my toy
and it's the second grade
all over again.

To tell someone
I don't feel anything
To pretend
That i'm okay
is to lie.

"Go run to your room
like always."
Avoiding conversation
because words boil in your mind
and you know
if you stay around
it's going to overflow.

Tell me something
more than insults.
Do more
than shove knives
down my throat.

my ghosts,
they turn to me in the night
they hold my hand when i am alone
they know my secrets
i cannot go on knowing my ghosts will forever hurt me

i need to separate myself from them
but they have become a part of my soul

hair cut short
bandages around her small
strong
hands.

blisters wear the battle
she fought
she's been fighting—

watch out:
she'll show you
what it takes
to survive in a ring
with your demons.

Often it is said,
That we must keep moving from the pain and the hurt.
But i do not know
If you are more pain and hurt,
Or somewhere safe to hide.

i would do anything for you.
you are my soul, my love, my only.
i would help you at any hour but i don't get any of this same care in return.
you tell me this is not true,
but i see it in your actions.
actions do not speak lies.

all of the things i wrote
i could never say to your face.
the way you make me feel
so freely numb.
so beautifully crystalized.

a million shattering pieces
filling up the space,
rattling in the silence,
as you feel its embrace.

spurts.
of.
the.
words.
i.
want.
to.
say.
draw quickly from my mouth
in  c h o p p e d  up sentences.
the truth in its smallest form.

i love you.
i'm sorry.
i'll do better.
i'll be the best.
i'm an idiot.
losing you is not worth it.

You are the books you read, the films you watch, the music you listen to, the people you meet, the conversations you engage in.
You are what you take from these.
You are the sound of the ocean.
The fresh breath of air, the brightest light and the darkest corner.
You are a collective of every experience you have had in your life. You are every single second of every day.

So drown yourself in a sea of knowledge and existence.
Let the words run through your veins and let the colors fill your mind.

sensitive is the subject,
when we talk about the moments i could've died.
the moments i wouldn't have spent
next to your side.

you would not have been my
safe haven.
i would never know what it feels like to be burned by your touch
and forever marked by the love you have shown.

i would never understand how to love you even when things get hard.
you would have only remembered me as the shy girl you liked that never said much.

i am so glad
that you have hurt me and loved me
and brought me two years of
indescribable love.

two years of some of the worst pain
and the greatest joy.
they have all been worth it
and i'm glad God gave me a reason to live.
i'm glad you were the reason
i am still here.
even if i didn't know it yet.

there are pieces of my heart missing,
but i can't find them.
i think you hid them from me.
you don't keep them by your bed like you used to.
you've burned my soul,
and i'm dying in the flames.
i want to be saved,
but you're not here for saving.
your purpose is purely for destruction.
i fight my own battles and i fight for a piece of mind.
you fight for nothing and stay inside.

I love being naked.
Not in a nudist type of way,
But being bare with you.
In soul and body.

To be honest,
And to be completely true.
As well as the bareness of one's body
That allows one to be accepting of it.

I love the way your skin feels,
With all its imperfections and scars.

Now I know it's going to be a while
Until I feel your fingertips on my skin again,
But the wait is going to be worth
every
single
minute.

She wrote her words with her blood,
all her scars were fixed points
in the night sky,
waiting to be solved.
Her deepening desire to free her mind
Drove her quite insane.
the things she kept hidden in the brain
were none she could find answers.
The night often prolonged,
And words grew heavy in her mouth.
The hand never had so much exhaustion
When given the chance to write a page.

She buried herself in work
To forget her own existence and problems.
But long were the nights that pain caught her by the shoulders and shook her.
Long were the nights wet with tears and blood.
It was long since she'd felt herself,
But even longer since she felt content.

and so the pain,
long gone as you had concluded,
was never gone at all.

it was only waiting
for the perfect moment
to tear you down.
again.