It's truly a shame there are so many beautiful faces, but not very many beautiful minds. A pretty face can get your attention but it's the thoughts and the complex levels of a woman that make you stay.

And when you tell me you love me,
Each time I believe you.
Because each time I am hoping that you'll believe yourself too.
I love you.

When you're trapped inside the pitch black tunnels of you're mine you're scared and lost. You don't know what direction to run, you're surrounded by the terrors of your thoughts. Any positivity that enters is quickly drown out by the deafening cacophony of "You're never going to be good enough"
"You are only wasting your time"
"They never did like you"
All your insecurities and fears suffocate you and you pray that you will eventually see the light and escape.


I just want to feel appreciated, like I'm actually good enough for someone or something. I put everything I have into it and beg but am always left feeling empty and destroyed. I just want something to let me know all my efforts are seen and mean something rather than to just constantly put pushed aside.

There is no haunted house scarier than the place I speak of.
No creepy woods late at night compares.
The scariest place a human can be, a place no one is safe from.
To be alone with your thoughts can be the most devastating place anyone could be.
You are trapped with only thoughts and feelings and nothing can save you but yourself.
Some people are easily able to evade the thoughts and move on to other things, but some of us aren't that lucky.
For those of us who are trapped inside the tunnels of our minds we constantly are interrupted by overwhelming thoughts and nothing can stop them.
It's easy for people on the outside to think we can just turn off these bad thoughts but for us trapped there is no escaping this horrifying place. It's a constant battle of worry and misconceived ideas that we aren't good enough, that everything we do isn't enough for someone.
But never give up the internal battle with the demons that hide in your tunnel. You are good enough.

Lonely thoughts on sleepless nights
are slowly killing every bit of hope
left in a loveless mind.

And suddenly all she wanted to do was die. No one knew why she was just a little more broken than others. She was begging me to let her go but I just couldn't.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

You make me feel alive. Like nothing ever has before. I can't even put into words the way I feel. I crave to be with you. You're all I ever think about. Every tweet, every song, every thing I see reminds me of you and there you are creeping into my thoughts. I want to be the one you want, the one who makes you happy. It's like an addiction and I can never get enough. Sitting next to you puts me in a state of bliss, a nirvana of happiness that nothing else compares to. You're all that I could ever want. You are my everything. I will never ever give up on you. Through amazing times or our lowest points in life I will be there to hold your hand. I will do all the things the others guys never did because to me, you're so much more than a pretty face or someone who is nice and sweet. You are perfection in every single way and I want you to be mine.

while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty

*you know
i never echoed until you died