roses are red
violets are blue
do i really have to
write a poem for you
to realize that
i want to *******

if karma’s a ***** then love must be a ******* *****.

spilled ink
soaks in
slowly and carelessly
stained color
stay inspired

let’s get high and
pretend everything is
alright

i would compare love to paper cuts
as it always seems to be the little things that hurt the most

let’s fall in love in this lonesome city
i know you’re afraid of heights
but i’ll hold your hand all the way to the top
let’s fall in love down by the ocean
i’m afraid of being under water
so hold my hand all the way to the bottom

daydream like you’re going
to live forever,
live like you’re going
to die tomorrow.

The words don’t flow as freely from me these days.
I stare out the opened window, the sun burns my eyes, and I wonder if Seattle and I are suffering from the same drought.

every person is a tree,
a community the forest.
striving to grow,
but trying to hold on to their roots.

even roses have thorns,
the beauty is in the irony.

subconsciously you’re always there, bleeding into my words
like you’re entitled to those as well… it’s as if the grip on my heart
was not enough for you,
so you grasped onto my brain
and made my thoughts your own.

you smoothed down
my frayed edges
then pulled me apart
from the seams

my throat swells like the ocean
tides of tears and salty sea spray
with the pressure of waves
my eyes well until filled to the brink
they leak streams of sadness
cascading down my face

slap my ***
and call me baby
throw me against the wall
and kiss me gently
**** me hard
and tell me that you love me

i like to eat my thoughts
filling my stomach so it’s full with words
until it talks and says the stuff i will not
sugar coating my feelings to make them easy to digest
but the sweetness goes away leaving a bad taste and regret

i am a wilted rose.
once beautiful and blossoming,
life was fragrant.
worn by the days past,
my petals float away.

my surroundings
match my mind
the clutter in my
room coincides
with the crap
in my brain
why clean when
you can ignore?
my mental breakdown
should arrive around
the time when
you can no longer
see my floor

on the corner of bell
i questioned who i was
in comparison to this big city
i’m an ant on the bus
trying not to get squished
i stood next to the space needle
and it felt infinite while i was momentary
i was lost like a penny
that rolled into the streets
worthless and forgotten
seattle’s a drain
and i’m going down
drowning

cold medicine and cold feet
half lidded eyes, she’s half asleep
wendy’s waiting for her peter pan
dreaming they’re together in neverland

drink it down
another laced crown
woven around your head
eyelids heavy as lead
body feather light
floating above the night
things are blurring
words are slurring
little dress alluring
no regrets
at least not yet
fading in and out
lip gloss pout
inhibitions like heels; long gone
partying until dawn

I felt my heart flutter around in my chest like a bird in a cage that has just learned it could fly

pulling apart this forget-me-not
petal by petal i say
“he loves me, he loves me not”
on the last petal i ask,
“does he love me?” he does not.

do not try
to mend his
broken heart with
your love because you
will end up the broken one

i always shy away from human contact
wondering why my skin is sensitive to the touch
but then i remember what is easily stolen is not so easily replaced
and for my mind and body that thought is too much

my mouth is a leaky faucet
it just doesn’t know when
to stop running

i should call you dope,
because i could get
addicted to you
and your pain.

i search for myself
in the words that i write
but i get lost
in thoughts
too many words, phrases,
ideas, and concepts.
the plot thickens -
i cannot see over the letters
i search for meaning
and find more questions
in this maze
called poetry

try hard
try harder
sigh
give up
save draft
go back
edit
wait
delete
he’ll never read it anyway.

when i see you
i see trees
because of all the paper
you’ve caused to be wasted
when i hear your voice
i hear the scratching of a pen
and i think of all the ink
that’s been spilled in your honor
when i think of you
i think of a ******* bin
full of notebooks
with all the poems
you’ll never read
about the first time i saw you
and i tried to capture your face on paper
about the first time i heard your voice
and i wasted ink trying to describe it
about how i think of you
and i still fill up notebooks
with poems you’ll never read.

i may have knocked
on your door with ill intentions,
but yours were much much worse
it seems we were both wolves
dressed as sheep.

wishing i could compile
all the thoughts that have ever crossed my mind
into something tangible
but my disorganized mind
has no time to stop
and correct
or make sense
because the next stream of consciousness comes along
like a full speed train with no conductor
and i’m tied to the tracks
all signs pointing to the fact i put myself there
but don’t forget who gave me the rope
bound my wrists
and left me for dead