I love you
that in itself
is poetry

I fell hard
and my bones shattered like glass.

As I watched my pieces scatter,
I realized that my mistake was
trusting you.

I didn't fall.
You dropped me.

my life is sadness

As if you didn't already know that,
I'm a teenager after all

But this isn't a poem about a sad wasted life

It's a bland poem about a sad artist

Nothing I can ever do will make it meaningful

There's no point to it

I can create,

Write some profound or empty poetry

Make some genius or contrived music

Paint some ugly or beautiful pictures

gentrify my sadness,

make it pretty
make it art

It doesn't make it anything more than a black hole

a black hole that throws out a portrait of a boy with a million eyes that can't see anything

I realise now
that sadness

no matter how much I dress it up

Is sadness

And even if it's pretty or artistic

it's never going to be more than that

No matter how much the
Sun loves the Moon,
No matter how honestly,
   gently and genuine,
Half of the Moon shall always be
Hidden from the face of the Sun.

once the people taste freedom they wont return to chains.

Some make plans to escape
Some just watch it burn

Don't tell people things that
They have already heard of