Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

I know a boy, he holds in a lot
He tells me he's fine, but i know he’s not
He says he’s okay, and hides behind a smile
But i know whats wrong, and it's been going on for a while

Once he opened up, told it all to me
We were both still awake, when the clock turned three
Here on the earth, he doesn’t want to live
But i tell him no, he has so much to give

It kills me inside, to know why he hurts,
He’s always neglected, and left in the dirt
The reason he hurts, is not what you think
He’s in pain all the time, his feelings on brink

On brink of explosion, to hurt him for good
I tell him to stop, but he thinks that he should
Should hurt himself, do something he’ll regret
And if the day comes, i'll never forget

Never forget the boy who holds in a lot,
Who tells me he's fine, but i know he's not
Nothing to be ashamed of, just a chemical imbalance
And it really shouldn't stop him, from expressing his talents

All the horrible thoughts, swarming in his head
He can't get them out, so he ignores it instead
Shuts out all the thoughts, the people, the feelings
And it doesn't do much, just stops him from healing

Then one night when we lay under the same stars
He rolled up his sleeves, and showed me his scars
I didn't know what to say, no idea what to do
So i rolled up my sleeves and showed him mine too

but why did you ruin, such a beautiful boy
why did you put him here, if all you do to him is destroy
destroy his feelings, control his thoughts and his mind
take everything and leave nothing behind

hes not the same as he was, and he never will be
you’ve ruined him for everyone, and he can never truly be free
he was so kind before, would never hurt a soul
but now he’s bitter, and it's because of your control

why do you ruin, the most promising ones,
the ones who can't overcome you, do you do it for fun
depression. why did you do this to him
i hate you so much, i don't know where to begin

so i know a boy, but hes not the same anymore
he still tells me hes okay, just like before
the only difference from then, is i don't know what to do
i truly don't think i can help him, but someone has to.

don't cry, darling
things will get better
chin up
trust me.

no.
you know what?
cry.

let it out.
cry.
i know you've been hiding for too long.
i know you've been abandoned.
i see you.
you're beautiful.
you're perfect.
you're amazing.
if you ever wonder if you're a bad person? bad people don't worry about being better.
go ahead and cry.

let your tears water the ground.
let the seeds of despair and hurt grow
let the graves of dreams and lost friends have gardens
un-clench your hands and you'll find seeds falling out
every bad thing is now a seed
the bad things will become beautiful things,
just to spite everyone who said
"no you can't."
"it's not possible."
"you're stupid/ugly"/any other mean word

those will be the most beautiful flowers of all.

so let your tears flow.
they'll water the ground beneath your feet.
it'll be a garden of spite and inspiration.

The leaves fell gently, golden
on the first day
of our autumn,

while the past crackled
beneath our feet,
swept away, forgotten.

Your camera stored our moments,
caught the snowflakes,
froze us in time.

And when they were nearly frostbit,
your hands found home
entwined with mine.

But just when spring returned
my fear formed clouds
of acid rain -

I only knew how
much I'd lost when
silence fell again.

Clear as the summer sky,
I knew that we would
have to part,

so I pressed your final flower
into the notebook
of my heart.

-

The forest clearing
of our autumn
holds nothing at all

but a whispered wish
in golden winds
as the leaves gently fall.

Elegance
em(b)odied
by natur(e)
(a)stonishes
the so(u)l
of every
s(t)anding
e(y)e