I didn’t plan on dying at your feet tonight,
but here I am bleeding out
without a breath to spare.
Was I ever anything more than this to you,
a badly worded promise
failing its own intentions?
am i worth an answer?

When I’m full of anxiety,
and can no longer sit still.
When I feel the need to flee,
because reality becomes too real.
I’m not that way everyday,
but the days that I am,
I feel myself start to fray
like no one can understand.
I may not be or act the way
that some might think I should,
but almost every day,
I just feel misunderstood,
I can’t help my own mind;
it darkens and it races.
Sometimes this head isn't kind;
it's not something one embraces.
I just want to find someone;
someone who will understand;
make me not want to run
but stay hand in hand.
Love me for my imperfect ways,
and be my voice of clarity.
And for the rest of my days
please just set me free.
Love me when I don’t love myself,
and help me grow and blossom.
Help me become like yourself,
a shining beacon, the sweetest plum.
I just need
someone who’ll understand.

Sometimes I write
about women who
might not even exist.
“She” is a figment of my imagination
and “she” is perfect in all the ways
that I can’t comprehend,
but I sure as hell try
to write it down.
I sure hope that one day
I will meet her.

Still, the sun has not yet
made her appearance in my day.
If you feel this way,
sometimes that’s okay.
She will shed her light
when it’s her time
to shine.

Well, I guess it's
just one of those nights
when I don't care if my batteries die
and I don’t switch on  
tomorrow.

With eyes like that,
you could rule the world, baby.
Irises that gleam like
beautiful brown pearls
in between those eyelashes
clams could only dream
of becoming.

These hands reach for warmth
in these dreary months of bitter cold.
Some of us don’t want companionship,
we just someone warm to lie next to
until the thaw.

Today, I’m tired.
Work was dreadful.
Now I am home, it's almost comforting.
Yet, my body is in pain.
Other days, I feel awake.
Alert.
Even beautiful.
But today, I’m tired.

The city is alive
with its aging streets
and their flashing neon lights.
The hungry inhabitants shed no tear;
the gutters are already overflowing
with broken bottles and promises
and liquid dreams as old as the palace.
This city holds excitement for us all.
But no joy.

She put stars into her soup
with a pinch of hope
and a touch of
glitter dust.

Some prisons use steel bars;
others merely use
flesh and bone.

The distant lights
in your eyes were a beacon
on nights long ago
I would’ve spent alone.

I saw you,
daydreaming yourself into a world
that is kinder than the one we live in.
Good for you,
that kind of peace
is hard to find.

She asked if I
wanted to dance in the ocean
I said 'only if
you promise we won't drown'.

she was forever
the withered petals
of a beautiful sunflower
that never learned to bloom.

I hope wherever you wander,
you find a piece of me
just like wherever I wander,
I find a piece of you.

You’re in a weird place right now;
you feel like you don’t know which way is up
and which way is down,
and you know everyone
says to just follow your heart,
but you don’t know where it is.
Maybe you left it in another country,
or underneath your bed.
Maybe it’s in the summer air.
Or in a love you haven’t touched.
Maybe it's in a song you heard,
Or a book you haven’t read.
You’ll find it again,
you will,
just please,
don’t stop looking.

She owned two cats
and a heart full of sunflowers.
we listened to the Wombats
and talked for seven hours.
She lived across the sea,
in a life unfulfilled.
I hope she does agree
that we have much to rebuild.

And
in silence,
I take my leave.

Self love is
that sip of tea
keeping you company
like liquid glee.
Self loathing is
that bottle of ***,
your only friend
to turn you numb.
Self love is
watching the clock
strike ten forty-five
and sleep like a rock
Self loathing is
3am coming violently
as your brain screams
ever so silently.
Self love is
putting down the pen
saving that next line
for who knows when.
Self loathing is
stabbing the pen
through the paper
again and again.
Self love is
waiting out the storm
taking a deep breath
and keeping warm.
Self loathing is
hating every raindrop
and begging for
this storm to stop.

look them in the eye,
and kiss them deeply
until all of their rage is gone.
swallow their pain and fury whole,
become the storm yourself,
learn to survive yourself

Look in the mirror.
If you still see something there,
then nothing else matters.
Other’s blindness to your worth
is a “them” problem,
not a “you” problem.

There is a park bench
where lovers sit -
where we could have sat;
I pass it every day.
There is a hotel
in Monaco
where lovers go -
where we could go,
I dream it every night.
There is a beach in town
with sun and joy abound,
where lovers lie -
where we could lie.
There is a bed
In a room, in a home
where lovers live,
where we could have lived
happily ever after.

I’d crawl
back to love
even if
it was waiting
to destroy me,
again.

Somewhere tonight
there’s a girl writing a song
between working two jobs,
ignoring the voices that
tell her to give up.
I hope she never does.
I hope her future
is a bright one.

I guess I should have known better
than to let you in again, right?
I guess not.
No matter how many times
you leave a hole in my chest
leaving me to pick up the pieces
I always find my heart crawling back
to you to give you another chance
that you don’t deserve.
My heart, the fool, thinks that maybe
this time you’ve changed for the better.
Maybe this time, you really mean it.
Maybe this time, you will not repeat.
*******.

Maybe we met too young.
Maybe at that time,
we didn’t know how to love each other right.
Do you think if we met years from now,
we would be right for each other?
If five years from now,
you decide that you miss me,
there’s a strong chance I’d take you back.

I wonder how much pain,
that all-too-real pain,
I’m enduring on a daily basis.
I’m used to feeling like the weight of the world
is balancing on my heart
whenever I open that door
or a tidal wave of dread
plowing into my chest
every time I open my mouth,
but I wonder how much pain
I truly endure.
Each day seems to take a different toll.
Yes, some are better than others,
yet when I recall
how much I have endured,
I wonder if I should be amazed or ashamed;
I haven’t figured that out yet.

You can’t be replaced,
it’s an impossible feat
so carry on, stranger.
It took me too long to realize
that we aren’t toys, tools,
or parts of some machine;
we exist for ourselves.
what did you come here for,
comfort or a poem?

There was never any love,
no harm in letting go.
The pain came from grasping the thorns
attached to the beautiful ones.
There’s no regret planted here,
only trambled hopes and withered dreams.
No bad memories can bloom
in a garden that rejects salting,
but for the slower, grey days,
find a mirror and love the image
until the tears stop.

Just keep climbing
until you become the sky
Just keep climbing
until you become the heavens
Just keep climbing
until you become the future
We’ve climbed these mountains
with bare hands and heavy minds
screaming at our upward battles
so just keep climbing
until you become what you seek

Yes,
I am selfish;
I want to see you every night
Until the darkness is no more.
My nights can never be too full
of the stars that you are.

I have not been whole
in quite some time.
Too many nights spent
pouring my soul into songs
in hopes to fill those holes
you all left in me long ago;
words, chords and harmonies
that will never bring you back,
nor will it undo the past
or take me back in time.
And yet at this very hour,
these songs are stuck in my head
and I have no resistance
to their siren call.

Sometimes we never know
what to say at times like these;
just hollow thoughts
roaring through a hollow body
that didn’t want the awkward silences
to be their legacy.

Sometimes,
the knives in our backs
are the only things
keeping us upright;
Who'd have thought
betrayal could be our
greatest asset?
How ironic.

I used to ask myself:
is it better to have loved and lost
than to have never loved at all?
But lately, I wonder how much
one has to love before they start
to loathe every inch of skin
that no one else seems
to love enough
to touch.

When you are miles away from each other,
and all you can do is smile
hoping that one of these days
all of those memories will come alive.

There was always
distance between us;
we both acknowledged this.
But now, it burns too hot -
it's already summer
yet we're still cold.

Are 'alone' and 'lonely' the same thing?
Are you as alone in a crowd
as you are by yourself?
Is your loneliness the mist
floating on the water
or the lurking creatures
beneath the sea?

You didn't recoil from my touch,
you didn't run from my soul,
you just didn't want me
the way I wanted you.

I'm not a good person,
I'm just a somebody that
does good things.
All of my sins can be
swept under the rug
in exchange for hollow gestures
and empty kindness for those
who do not mean me harm.
I am not a good person,
but it's easier to get away
with more when you wear the mask.

I am no doctor,
but this love you are describing,
may be in your heart.
Find her, or you could die.
Or maybe this love is a poison
leaving your body.
Withdrawal *****, I know,
but then again, I'm no doctor,
I am but a stranger.
Your story has been told,
a billion times over.
Do you have a pen?
Do you have a heart?

All at once,
it hits me that it’s been you
this whole time.
Like wine in a heart-shaped glass,
this love fills my heart
filling all the holes
others left behind.

Awake and thinking about you
and all things we didn't say.
On nights like this I find myself
wishing you were still in my reach
We both still live in the same big city
but it’s not the place we knew.

I feel you slip away
your grip loosens by the second
I'm stretching out my hand
but you don't look up
no, you only stare down
into the abyss below.
I don't know why
you gave up on me
or why I couldn't save you.
I gave it my all
and you still let go.

I know a girl
on the other side of the world
she's my flesh and blood
my heart and soul
but I'm stuck with the blues
the baby blues now

You are the poem
I will never stop trying
to write.

Sure, I am just a passenger
in this story of your life
but each ride exhilarates me;
it rocks me to my core
and leaves me wanting more.
I always leave with a smile,
like we drove to the top of the world;
the perfect stop to drop me off
and let loose the butterflies
I collected along the way.

I fall in love a little bit more
each time we are together.
The sun warms up,
the moon glistens brighter,
as does your smile,
whenever I'm with you.

I was reading over your poetry,
again.
Like somehow, if I repeat it
enough times
you would come back
and I would find myself
in your words
again.