the way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine.

i carry you with me
i carry you not only in my heart but in my mind
in every time i close my eyes
every ******* love song i hear
every smile i see on someone else's face
i carry you in the stars and the moon and the dances
i carry you in a tattoo of words on my soul
i carry you with me
(i carry you in my heart)
but i carry you everywhere else too.

if we were alone, I would have
held you close,
turned you around, and kissed you,
rested you against me,
put up that armrest in between us
and sat in warm comfort together
but we were not alone
and I am absolutely parched for you

I've done and am doing
everything I can to avoid you
and save you from feeling uncomfortable
standing in line for drills, I'll give you
almost a ten-foot berth
it surprises and shocks me
when I still see your face
looking slightly disgusted
or when you and your sister make eye contact
I can't help but wonder if you've deduced it,
figured out, that though
I have no right to be jealous and hurt
I still am
and though
you do not belong to me
I love you like someone suffocating in the heat
who only occasionally gets a breath of cold air
and even then, it is just a trickle
for I am dying to stay away from you
dying when I keep you close
my heart is struggling, limply pounding
frail against my ribs, there's nothing left of me
because its all for you, I changed myself
a named bullet
or a placard on a seat at a table
saying 'here, this one's for you'
my mannerisms have changed
my dance, my walk, my voice, my sense of humor
consciously or subconsciously,
I have branded my soul
molded it into a you-shaped whole
but then
you never liked being told what to do,
did you?
so I turn away, I walk on the opposite side
I never want you to feel pressured or like you have to hide
I dance far away from you
It's not a matter of 'time to bide'
it's about you and your decisions
that you have your alone time,
despise being labeled,
your wants are completely yours,
defy my understanding;
I'll never serve them out loud to you, you'd hate that
all I can do is quietly avoid, conceal
because I'd give my life to make you happy
and fill your needs, objectively
for I've come to terms with the stark reality of love
and your plans, blueprints of what and whom you're going to be
and how they don't ever include me.

I have never loved anyone
as much
as I loved her.

with no way out, and a long way down
everybody needs someone around.

Alcohol does not agree with my system-
neither do you

I wish I could write songs-
I know exactly what I'd say.
I'd tell you that, "I wrote you a poem today.
If you're reading this, I loved you more."
And it would cut me to the core
but I'd sing it anyway. Only by myself, though-
full blast on the highway. Alone on the road.
But I can't write songs. I just sit at home
sometimes, and remember, and wonder.
We used to say things would never change but
in the end, I guess, I made you forget
or you forgot on your own.
Either way, I loved you more.
So I (or you) had to let go.

“The mass of men have been forced to be gay about the little things, but sad about the big ones. Nevertheless (I offer my last dogma defiantly) it is not native to man to be so. Man is more himself, man is more manlike, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. Melancholy should be an innocent interlude, a tender and fugitive frame of mind; praise should be the permanent pulsation of the soul. Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labour by which all things live. Yet, according to the apparent estate of man as seen by the pagan or the agnostic, this primary need of human nature can never be fulfilled. Joy ought to be expansive; but for the agnostic it must be contracted, it must cling to one corner of the world. Grief ought to be a concentration; but for the agnostic its desolation is spread through an unthinkable eternity. This is what I call being born upside down. The sceptic may truly be said to be topsy-turvy; for his feet are dancing upwards in idle ecstasies, while his brain is in the abyss. To the modern man the heavens are actually below the earth. The explanation is simple; he is standing on his head; which is a very weak pedestal to stand on. But when he has found his feet again he knows it. Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man's ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this; that by its creed joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something special and small. The vault above us is not deaf because the universe is an idiot; the silence is not the heartless silence of an endless and aimless world. Rather the silence around us is a small and pitiful stillness like the prompt stillness in a sick room. We are perhaps permitted tragedy as a sort of merciful comedy: because the frantic energy of divine things would knock us down like a drunken farce. We can take our own tears more lightly than we could take the tremendous levities of the angels. So we sit perhaps in a starry chamber of silence, while the laughter of the heavens is too loud for us to hear. And as I close this chaotic volume I open again the strange small book from which all Christianity came; and I am again haunted by a kind of confirmation. The tremendous figure which fills the Gospels towers in this respect, as in every other, above all the thinkers who ever thought themselves tall. His pathos was natural, almost casual. The Stoics, ancient and modern, were proud of concealing their tears. He never concealed His tears; He showed them plainly on His open face at any daily sight, such as the far sight of His native city. Yet He concealed something. Solemn supermen and imperial diplomatists are proud of restraining their anger. He never restrained His anger. He flung furniture down the front steps of the Temple, and asked men how they expected to escape the damnation of Hell. Yet He restrained something. I say it with reverence; there was in that shattering personality a thread that must be called shyness. There was something that He hid from all men when He went up a mountain to pray. There was something that He covered constantly by abrupt silence or impetuous isolation. There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.”

"I think she has a crush on somebody from the boys
basketball team."
No. of course not the boys team.
Maybe it's me?
if her mom thinks she likes someone
related to basketball
it's gotta be me.

...please be me.

maturity is staring life straight in the face
and being willing to live it.

"I want you to meet the guy I'm dating
He's trans- don't tell mom and dad"
Well, *******.
you plan to introduce him to a man who won't call him a him
Or respect his wishes
who will behave rudely unnecessarily
and a woman who will instinctively think there is something wrong
with his personality
that he can't 'just be satisfied with what he was born with'
and will think there's something wrong, abnormal, weird, gross
I hope he's a good guy
and I hope my parents grow a couple more tolerant bones
Before they meet him
because I'm scared for you and him
and I hope it'll be alright.

it burns, but it is a heavenly kind of fire

it is of utmost importance
to not be afraid of yourself.

and if I didn't always hope for the best
and flee from the worst,
then maybe I would've been able to stay
but a half and half person can't possibly love halfway.

I am tired
of people talking to me
like I am stupid
and tired
of this condescending tone
in words and writing
and the 'I'm a parent you're a child'
attitude, and the 'just wait til you go to college'
why do I have to wait? Why is it that
righteousness is delayed,
that it is assumed I am average,
a child to be ignored,
I am  capable of making my own decisions
and I am tired of adults telling me I cannot
simply because I have not traveled the sun's orbit enough.
what is your IQ, oh wise and elder one?
please enlighten me with what politics you think will help America.
what is your opinion on the five pillars of Islam?
What about the politics of Nepal?
and is China a communist or socialist state?
oh, you don't care? why?
because you're satisfied with being ignorant
and you refuse to have your beliefs questioned by someone
younger than you
because by birthright, you have claimed
authority over all areas of life and have
taken the wishes of children until they are left beaten down
for you do not believe in them,
you only believe in yourself,
and you are wrong,
but you can't see that.

maybe we don't just want to be special, or an exception
we want to be irreplacable
yet- days and weeks and years go by
and we are replaced.

I am not obligated to approve of everything someone else does
I am not obligated to always be nice, especially when I am not treated nicely
I am not obligated to be agree with people constantly
I am not obligated to laugh at someone's jokes
I am not obligated to look at someone
I am not obligated to act kind at the price of acting with love
I am not obligated to apologize for my feelings when someone else upsets me
I am not obligated to blame myself when I am acting according to my conscience
I am not obligated to always be the one who apologizes
I am not obligated to remain in a toxic relationship
I should be loving
I should look people in the eyes
I should not be petty
I should stand up for what is right
I should express truth and justice at every opportunity
I should respect myself enough to let go of people that put no effort into our relationship
I should respect other people enough to still be friendly even after letting them go
I should respect my own feelings enough to be vocal about them
I should respect other people's feelings enough to be vocal to them
I should be discern unhealthy and negative things for myself and make the choice to change them
I should acknowledge that I can be wrong and I am often wrong
I should also acknowledge that I am not always wrong.

so many poems tell you that you have to fill
the first few lines with a lot of ******* imagery
to fill the stanzas before you hit one or two lines
that actually mean something: and by that heroic
couplet, or whatever the english teachers say these days,
the whole ******* poem is redeemed.
I don't think I should have to write sixteen stanzas
for the sake of the last line, but here I am
so I might as well elaborate a bit on the rooftops
and the moonlight on her hair and the fact
that I cannot love her as I wish I could and
I never dreamed of Paris like other women always expected me to
the smell of baking bread and the Eucharist
hurts my knees and heals my soul, thank God
for God, but it seems unfortunate that we as people can't just
ignore the existence of our Creator. Something calls us back
something hurts us in desperate moments when we've
written sixteen hundred stanzas and none of them meant anything
and we're afraid to show our faces to a priest or our mother
when I drifted away from certain shores I thought
I wanted to inhabit forever, the cross I clung to
led me through sunny and tumultuous waves
I always did like being on the water. I always did
like salt and water and earth and wine and I am
a child of the Church- my Church that tells me
there's nothing wrong with being tender
nothing wrong with having a soft heart-
you see, our God's heart bled out
and He never concealed His tears.

if you seek to avoid every pain in this life
you have some growing up to do
and sorry, hate to break it to you-
but it's going to hurt.

you're right
I am absolutely a hypocrite
I don't know why you hate those so much, honestly
because everyone is a hypocrite, we all say things
and do other things
because we think we're excluded from the rules
but that's not the point, the point is that between you and me,
I can cross the line but once I'm over I panic
and hop back to the safe side of the fence-
I don't know if the grass is greener on the other side
but the real question is if you or anyone can keep me there.

no need to make storms out of breezes,
tornadoes out of butterflies,
typhoons out of drizzles. No reason to not just
let it be sunny while it is.

I used to say "Here I am, Lord",
and now, I say "where am I, Lord?"

I like sad, quiet songs to fill my time
I do not like nail polish or lipstick
because I feel like I am in a costume-
I like men's button down shirts and baggy jean shorts
and sunny days, I like sunny days
I like sweating and laughing,
I like grass and dirt and forgetting to shower,
I like to be a person with good character,
I like to be a role model,
I like to let people be themselves-
I like campfires and bugs and sleeping under the stars
I like boxer shorts and chacos and braids and swimming in lakes
I like all these things that I have forgotten-
and I will not apologize for myself.

I write so that someone will care enough about me to read it.

the best poetry is full of joy
unashamed of its tired clichés
because tasteful, articulate things
have been weighed in the balance and found wanting
and 'good music taste' is not really good
when the music has no real melody
and doesn't get your heart pumping
the best poetry gets your heart pumping
and your soul throbbing, yearning for more.
it is not pretentious,
it does not tell itself 'you are not good enough'
even though it is fashionable to have low self-esteem
it dances and refuses to abstain from its own glory
the best poetry is shining
and does its best to polish off its tarnished spots
rather than glorifying them
the best poetry admits its own repetition
but history is not a bad thing
tradition is not bad merely because it is traditional
the best poetry breathes life into the heart of everyone who reads it
spreads light
gives air to that which had been oppressed-
the best poetry does not wallow, complain, or remain stagnant-
the best poetry is beautiful,
and the best poetry resembles
the truth of the beautiful people who wrote it.

no sound without silence
no peace without love
you must have your highs and lows
there is nothing so maddening as a flat line
to know your own composure within yourself,
you must throw yourself into different activities
only then can your soul remain whole
while the ocean around you is flat, you run the risk
of running over, of blending into the surroundings
force makes you solid and shows you who you are
inactivity, boredom, wears away and erodes at your good character
if you don't use it, you lose it.

When I was a child, I heard voices
Some would sing and some would scream
You soon find you have few choices
I learned the voices died with me
When I was a child I'd sit for hours
Staring into open flames
Something in it had a power
Could barely tear my eyes away

All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep them on a leash

When I was 16 my senses fooled me
Thought gasoline was on my clothes
I knew that something would always rule me
I knew this sin was mine alone

All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep them on a leash

When I was a man I thought it ended
Well I knew loves perfect ache
But my peace has always depended
On all the ashes in my way

All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don't you ever tame your demons
But always keep them on a leash.

I know that I want to unwrite you from my past, (or at least I should),
but when it comes down to it, I don't know if I would.

it's a little ironic
that there is something wrong with my heart
that I, this hopeless poet, has a defect
in her favorite topic, her favorite metaphor-
and that this, this, the source of her life, should fail her.

Hazy stars and steep flat roads and a steamy car nearby
while the dim red butts buzzed around us
like bees, held in our hands, stinging our souls
and it wasn't beautiful. It was very ugly, and as
greenish smoke filled my lungs, I forget
things that I try not to remember, and now looking back
now that I've cried and repented and apologized,
it wasn't beautiful. It was humanity in our brutest
forms, begging for something higher, and we sank
low, low, low into our animalistic needs,
holding each other and falling and collapsing
into a car and hiding and chewing gum and falling
asleep with pleasantly buzzing senses and
staying awake at the same time and avoiding
eye contact with my parents the next morning.
It wasn't beautiful. I don't know how else to say it.

I can do it-
because I have no other option.

why is it that you always take the wrong exit
and end up in a village wasting your time
on some pretty girl
and write tons of love poems
then die slowly inside as she gets back on the highway
without you
because it's always been real for you-
you never wanted to leave,
but she couldn't wait to get away.

This is it, this is me
saying yes and letting go
of all the reasons why I ever said no
this is it- it's over now
I'm done with those chains in which my heart was bound
God, let me belong all to you
let me love nothing but you. Lord, I'm through
spending my time on people who talk behind my back
and those who loved me and don't have time for me now
Lord, I'm going to bow my soul to you.
Lord, take me as you find me
and make me new. I'm ready to lose myself
in your life and in your love. I'm ready
to leave me behind. Hold me steady.
Lord, let me spend every waking moment on you
every single thought I have directed only on your attention
Please, God, help me with my road to heaven.
I'm done with what's behind me. I give in.
I'm saying yes.
Thank you. I love you. Amen.

you're awfully pretty for someone who
seems to be in a toxic relationship with the world
and for someone who doesn't realize the toxicity,
you sure do seem not-happy

you're so used to being able to abuse whoever you want
that you've started abusing me
like you three are somehow above me
and I'm not a real person with feelings,
I'm just Maddie Foley
and I don't count or
something
and if I get mad when you treat me like ****
then 'whoa man we're just kidding'
and YOU get mad as if i dont have a right
to stand up for myself
and you think that 'that's just our sense of humor' is a good enough reason
to attack and abuse and control
and you don't even see that that's what it is
but if I get upset, I'm 'too emotionally involved'
no, you just don't want to put in the effort to fix yourselves
so you're going to keep abusing each other
and you're never going to address any issues
because you don't care enough
and emotional baggage is a huge no-no
'that's not what friends are for'
have you ever had friends?
oh, right. you've only got one, and your sister.
but I can't say anything because if I do
then there's obviously something wrong with me for not accepting and supporting your 'unique' type of friendship
because you've always wanted to be unique,
probably more than anything else,
and maybe love will fix the issue
but not if you despise the idea of love
and hate talking about it.
and maybe it DOES work for yall, but emotional unfulfillment
sure as hell doesn't work for anyone else
and unless you're willing to develop your character so you can actually
build more relationships than just one,
then you're gonna have a difficult time of it.
if you just search for people who will accept you for 100% who you are now, even at your worst personality,
and don't push you to be better, then you will find a very small percentage of friends.
Relationships need work.
they will never be instantly perfect.
but you don't want work, you just want
to hang out and not talk about issues or problems at all
you don't want to clear the air
you just want to exist, as emotionless and painless as possible
which is exactly what I don't want.
so I tread on and let it continue.

"The reality, I realize, is that I am not the only member unworthy of Cross and Canoe. None of us are worthy. Cross and Canoe is an impossible standard. I live and work among amazing people in the summer, but not a one of us is perfect. I see their flaws as well as their great virtues.

The paint, the disguise, if you will, is an outward sign that we march as symbols of an ideal, not as that ideal ourselves. We represent something that our bare skin and usual attire, our true selves, are not worthy of. For the brief duration of the fire, we will symbolize something that we are not. Something that we can only aspire to."

how would I film us together?
without making it sappy, ridiculous
because you hate that,
I would make it honest.
I would film
you alone
me alone
a shot of you falling off the bars at track
and me almost catching you
then a shot of us laughing in the car
a shot of me taking your ball
a shot of slapping your ****
a shot of laughing again
a shot of us cuddling together and falling asleep on the couch
a shot of you mumbling into your pillow about our hearts
a shot of you showing me the song
a shot of me learning to play it for you
a shot of it going all wrong
a shot of us dancing together
a shot of me glancing towards you
a shot of us dancing with other people
a shot of your face forlorn
a shot of me breaking my expression
a shot of me dancing alone
a shot of you alone
a shot of me playing the song
someone trying to sing along
and me putting up the ukelele.

I believe in selfishness.
But not really- I believe in doing what makes you happy-

and that's easy for me

normally, what makes me happy is what
'they' say I should do.
Easy for me to say, right?

At least what makes me happy isn't like,
killing,
Or something.

It's easy for me to pursue
happiness
And chase it, when
my happiness is caused by something
that it's 'supposed' to be.

At least, most of it.
sometimes I want to sin.

Is that because I'm human?
Should I aspire to be more?

I've been fourteen for a year now.
Accomplished a bit. Gained some virtue,
smoked some ***, (only once! I swear!)
Kissed a boy, got drunk (thrice),
moved on from being in love with, wait for it,
three
different
people.

Maybe that's not what 'they' say I'm supposed to be doing.
But I'm happy.
And fulfilled.
I'm not sad like 'they' say I'm supposed to be
I'm not lost
I'm not searching for the answer.
Well, I might be.

But the primary point is that I'm okay,
and I'm happy,
and I think 'they' are lying to a certain point,
and I think I am the one who knows what makes me happy.
I don't believe in selfishness to the point of
DISREGARDING them

I believe in selfishness to the point of
REGARDING yourself.

she may contain the urge to run away
but hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks
cetirizine your fever's gripped me again
never kisses—all you ever send are full stops

do you know where the wild things go?

I don't know what this is.
I don't know if it's love or if I'm gonna
ever be brave enough to give or get a kiss
I don't know if I wanna
step aside for the changing tides
I'm just reaching for the stars
within my semi-open mind
and the stars are just too far
for me to grasp in time.
I do know you're perfect
but maybe not perfect for me
and I think I love you desperately far more than is wise
there's really nothing else I can make myself be
than a foolish romantic with ice-colored eyes
maybe through those I'll eventually see
what I mean to you
and what you mean to me.

"The Balkan Peninsula is surrounded by the Adriatic Sea, Aegean Sea, and Black Sea..."
Looking around, I wonder which of you
have problems with your family
and who's kissed a girl
or a boy
and who has nights they barely remember
when they were broken beyond repair,
And who's skipped through a field, and batted their eyelashes
and cried on someone's shoulder
because I know we're all alive and we're together
here, and I'm not alone, I have to believe I'm not alone
you must've done stuff like this too
why hasn't it been communicated?
Why do I, like you, hide behind these uniforms in this class
because the wounds are too raw to display to even
others who have the same wounds?
Why am I scared to tell you and to communicate who I am
and these polite little lies cover up everything I say
we're too scared to offend or hurt those around us
and keep a bottle of feelings in the bed next to us,
not-to-be-shared with any but one who is inside the bottle.
Why do I write all these poems instead of paying attention in class?
Because there's something unhealthy in that
I can't say these things out loud
and everyone is sitting writing their own poems
privately, the cuts on their heart are more painful
than the ones clearly visible.
I can heal you. Show me.

when you use all of your water on one plant,
you drown it.

to someone who has thought of themselves as a genius
their whole life long
there is nothing worse than knowing your own mediocrity

can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
can I handle the seasons of my life?

He wakes up in the morning
Does his teeth bite to eat and he's rolling
Never changes a thing
The week ends the week begins
She thinks, we look at each other
Wondering what the other is thinking
But we never say a thing
These crimes between us grow deeper

Take these chances
Place them in a box until a quieter time
Lights down, you up and die

Goes to visit his mommy
She feeds him well his concerns
He forgets them
And remembers being small
Playing under the table and dreaming

Take these chances
Place them in a box until a quieter time
Lights down, you up and die

Driving in on this highway
All these cars and upon the sidewalk
People in every direction
No words exchanged
No time to exchange

And all the little ants are marching
Red and black antennas waving
They all do it the same
They all do it the same way

Candyman tempting the thoughts of a
Sweet tooth tortured by the weight loss
Program cutting the corners
Loose end, loose end, cut, cut
On the fence, could not to offend
Cut, cut, cut, cut

Take these chances
Place them in a box until a quieter time
Lights down, you up and die

Lights down, you up and die.

"Get a little rock and roll on the radio and go toward all the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand. All the rest is darkness."

"So the universe is not quite as you thought it was.
You’d better rearrange your beliefs, then. Because you certainly can’t rearrange the universe."
-Isaac Asimov

the light at the end of the tunnel is constantly being chased
maybe it's not the light that matters, but who you become
while you're running.

"Only tears can bring a dreamer back down to earth."