I can't be honest
I wrote you a letter
I'll never send

I can't show you myself
for who I really am

I'm a pretty cloud
floating away

You loved me
when I was deep in
deep waters
I was drowning

I've never talked back
I let my words cut me deep inside

I've got a lot on my mind

so please call 9 1 1
if you don't hear from me

call me
9 1 1

I'm not feeling well
you're a liar

I can't be honest
with people who never change

you're the loneliest man alive
now I'm your
Ms. Lonely

I can't do this anymore.
What kind of life is this?

I'm a secret.
A ***** disgusting
Pointless secret.

Who cares if I whisper this mess
In their ear.
To cup my hands 'round the side of their face
And expose myself to them.

No one wants to hear about the hamster wheel spinning round and round in my head.
The tap tap tap of anxious could be's and angry could have been's.
Disappointment chain smokes out my arteries and throws the simmering cigarette butts into the pit of my stomach.
Hoping to start a flame.
To burn me up.
Inside out.

That's not a pretty story.
Not a fairy tale.
People want happy poems or depressing fables.
Ones that they don't have to look in the eyes afterward.

I have no interest in sharing doubts that gnaw away at my fingertips or the fears that grind my teeth.

Everything is fine
Is fine
Just
Like
This.
Just leave it.
Leave it alone.

It will go away
Or it will **** me yet.

you write beautiful words

you always amaze

the way your mind
forms each intricate phrase
to put on paper
for my eyes to gaze

some of your poems
are well thought out
others are thrown together
simply, without any doubt

you write beautiful words
they expose you
every little detail
exposes the reader too

you write differently
than I ever could
you speak honestly in I way
that I never would

your words are as beautiful as your mind

i’m used to rainy days.
and it’s okay,
because i’ve always loved the rain,
loved the smell of it
and feel of it
and taste of it, as an earthy drop
lands on my lips.
i know that there are
unexplained rainy days,
where nobody could predict it
but the storm hit so
hard & heavy
that it couldn’t help but drown the one,
unlucky girl standing under the rain cloud.
but i also know that
these days are supposed to be
few & far between, at least
where i’m from.
but lately,
(does the last two years still count as “lately?”)
the rain clouds keep showing up,
pounding me again & again
before i get the chance to breathe
like an unrelenting ocean.
i honestly can’t remember
what the sun feels like,
and that scares me
because the girl once filled with it
is now soaked,
waterlogged—
rain streaming out of every pore.
too much of anything can
make you hate it—
i can now confidently say that
i hate the rain.
-a.c.b