and you would never believe
the way i look at you
my dear, i wish you knew
how my eyes and heart soften
and how my heart
threatens to melt
whenever you smile.
even if it's not for me.
i like seeing you genuinely happy
than the hard stare i usually gain.
so i keep fighting to make you smile.

it's been a long time
since this nervous feeling
that coiled about my stomach
in excitement.
my head stretches to the sky,
now in the clouds
but my stomach remains earthbound
a field of flowers
butterflies fluttering.
i can't wait to see you.

maybe i'm the only one that can see them
five or so lines across my left arm
maybe i'm the only.
it's not like i flaunt them
it's quite the opposite

but are most people blind
to suffering?
that is my main question
or am i the only one who can see?

you pulled me in your arms
and i wanted to melt
but i threw up guards
thick sheets of ice
quickly i wanted to
remove you from me.
quickly before i cry.
i don't want to cry
not at school and not with you
i'm fine, i'm fine, i'm fine
cliché as if stuck on repeat
or as if to sway myself
into believing.
so i turn away
and walk away
ice coating
my retreating back.

i sit
restless
i'm supposed
to be doing something pertaining to school
but i can't bring myself to cross the room
and lug over the heavy book
to read.
i have no patience
i try it but it leaves me
mocks me and runs
what am i supposed to say to my parents?
i no longer like school
because i no longer like myself.
i have lines of woes on my arms
my thighs
and my soul
now what was i supposed to be doing
oh yeah
homework.
not drowning in my thoughts.

i have died
and i feel myself sinking
i cannot detach myself from where i lie
where i sit
where i stand
because moving is too hard
and i'm tired again.
this may be a never ending winter
in minnesota
days where it's too cold to go to school
too dangerous to go outside
but i get up and stare through my window,
let the snow blind me
maybe if i don't see
anything
or myself i could manage to be happier
as if that would help
i'm sure the blackness
or the fog would be worse
and after being able to see
i would for sure die.

speaking of bruises
my dear
when you remembered
you had given me a few
you ducked your head
as if embarrassed
or ashamed.
and i told you it was okay
because it is okay.
i don't mind
our sword fighting
having strength tests.
my dear, i don't mind
if i did
i would of been mad
or walked away crying.
as i have done before.

you don't remember
but i do.
i tried to pick something up that fell
and you
threw me
away.
it wasn't my job,
is what you said.
oh i remember.
i had already had a bad day
a bad week.
and you
threw me.
i left.
it was cold, and had been snowing off and on
and i walked outside ready to leave.
i broke down.
and i cried.
you don't remember
but i do.
maybe
you don't even know.

what are the consequences
if i lean towards you
in the car tonight.
just a slight lean
a moment
of deafening silence
your music blown away
by the intensity of our stares.

if i leaned in
signifying i would want a kiss
what would that mean?
i guess you would found out then
but what's the problem
people keep telling me to tell you anyway
but there are distant forevers
and i'm not a forever.
i'm just a present
two or three weeks
kind of gal.

i've looked in the mirror
and more than once
and i've wanted to smash it
break it into pieces
and use the shards
to carve my skin
make me beautiful.
maybe i could be
placed on a pedestal
with a plaque next to me
describing what art form i am
i'm the art form of sadness
of complete lack of happiness and confidence.
people will take pictures of the art
people will write papers
post me on their blogs
and i will travel from museum
to museum
not spreading my misery
but my concept
and my awareness
that people live like this.

the sadness has surpassed
and now i am angry.
what on earth happened
i shouldn't
be angry
i shouldn't be sad
i don't know the whole story
but i have a small right
all due respect
to feel awful.
maybe tomorrow i'll talk to you.
maybe not.

today i remembered i like you.

my dear
it sure has been awhile.
i don't see you very often
but i still bring you apples at lunch
i still fix your hair,
i still steal a stare at you
across the hall
but pretend to be too busy reading
or homework, or drawing.

when really i should give you a smile.

today
you gave me a hug
out of no where
i didn't even have to ask.
and i just waned...
i just wanted to bury my face there
and inhale your scent and relax
because i'm so stressed.

my dear
thank you for the hug
i should of said thank you
but i proceeded to tell E.
that you hated me
and i don't know why.
E. replied that you love her
and i must of had some look on my face
and she added you two are good friends.
that's odd because i didn't tell her
i like you.
well you don't act that way with me
was my response,
i've had bruises,
i know this
i hear it but i do not tell her
and it isn't abuse
it was sword fighting.

he's tougher with me
rougher with me
someone once told me
you know he's not the same with you
perhaps he's shy?
perhaps he does like you?
and i couldn't believe
and i dismissed the thought until now
because i don't want to get my hopes up.

my dear,
you claim to not hate me.
but some days i just cry
because that seems to be a lie.
some days you swat me away,
or tell me to go away
your eyes get stormy
your complexion dark
and i can't help but to feel sorry
for what i did
if i did do something.
and i sit here crying
writing this poem for you
that you'll never read.

i don't understand
and you looked genuinely sorry
i told you, you had told me
"one day i'll be your friend
the next i'll knock you down a peg."
my dear,
you looked shocked,
your eyes widened
in a reaction i haven't
figured out yet.
you looked...sorry.
possibly even guilty.
and those brown and green eyes
were wide
and again
i'm not used to
having your full attention.

my dear,
you told me you were sorry.
and it was my turn to be shocked.

i guess
what hurts the most
is the fact
when i talk to you
i feel something
and i feel like you don't.
maybe you brought her up
to see what i'd say
maybe you continue to bring her up
to see what i'll do.
i like you.
and i can
scream it into my pillow
type it on worn out computer keys.
i like you.
i like you.
i like you.
repetitive motions
and sounds.
i can scream until i'm blue in the face
or until my keys no longer work.
i like you.
i like you.
but if i were to ever come face to face
and actually tell you
i would suffocate on the words
and my fingers would fall still.
i like you.
but those three words,
could ruin me.

i wonder
if either of you
think of me.
or anybody for that matter.
am i thought about softly?
am i put way high into the air
and held like
an opera singer
sings her final note.
i hope so
and it would mean
a lot if i was in
your thoughts,
but i'm not a
mind reader
so i guess
i'll just have to hope.

i think
the most important
gift
i can give you
is my ears,
my words
and my presence.
because i will listen
i will give you advice
to my best capability
and i can just be there.
on rainy days,
cold days,
sunny days.
i'll just be here.
and possibly all three.

i couldn't even ask for a hug
when i really needed one.
my courage lacks
in areas like so
and i can't seem to
bribe the words
to leave my mouth
so my dear
i won't ask for hugs no longer
even though i usually need one.

we're done
let go of me,
we're done,
let go of me
you weren't the one.
we're done,
let go of me.
we're done.

at first i thought
that you could of
been the one.
one i could always depend on
i guess the feeling has run.
you still give me glances
in hallways and class
i won't give you a chance.
but let me say
we're done

but you keep looking
and you even have the nerve
to approach me online
you miss me you messed up
everything and anything.
we've gone from
friends
to stay away from,.
i didn't fall for that.
two times were enough.
i tried to be friends.
but that drew the line.
i've cut you from me
i've moved on.
so **** your ultimatums,
**** your apologies.
it was your fault
and i'm fishing again.

we're done.

|m.s.

when i crawl into bed
i get a feeling
of intense longing
for you to be beside me
and four pillows
and six blankets
doesn't make up
for the heat
your body
could provide
next to mine.

i'm calling
the time of death
3 March 2014
9:25:30.
my poems
are going to be
much darker
very soon.
i can sense
the depression
bubbling,
tar fingers
reaching
grasping
dragging
and i will fall.
i see no way
to get around it
i accept it
i will fall
and just like the other times
i don't know if i'll get up.
i can only just hope
that things
will get better.
again.

my dear
i'm sure you're fire.
because when my fingertips
actually brush your skin.
you're hot.

my dear
i'm sure you're fire
because almost every time
where we actually touch
i could burn up
and die.

my dear
i'm sure you're fire
because you've left permanent
scars on this world.
and i couldn't think
of a world without a fire
or without passion.
or worse, without
you.

and even though,
despite my ideas
of setting you free
and the knowledge
i'm not eligible for being yours.
there's the constant
"i know why"
i get from seeing you.
i know why i fell
i know why.
but having fallen,
and knowing why
won't change anything.

tonight
i feel on edge
both figuratively
and literally.
honestly
i can't even stand
as i lie, arms reach
to the oblivion below
those call hell.
i call it freedom
because anywhere
where the sun shines
seems to go sour at some point.
it's as if the sun itself
and life itself
are set against me

the overwhelming
reminder
that i like you
has hit me head on.
like a car.
i had no time
to look in the headlights.
or perhaps i did.
perhaps the headlights,
were your eyes
and the car was your hug,
your arms the force
around me.
you and i are the car wreck
my dear.
and honestly, i don't think
i want it any other way.

i'm worried
with the speed of which
i write my poems at.
but i need to write,
i might as well use the fire
as it's burning
but my fear is of
eventual smoldering
and then smoke
as i attempt to
string words together
into poems
at a loss
when the smoke is gone
and the fire is dead.
what will i do then?
i'll be at a loss of words
and at a loss of expressing myself
but that doesn't mean i'm stopping out of fear.
no way
it just means
i'll go until it's out
hopefully life keeps
feeding the fire.

hopes and dreams go
almost as fast as a balloon pops
releasing air
a deadly sigh
before it's thrown away.
i know i can't blame you
but,
the hope swelling in my chest
"popped"
when you said you liked her.

i know it's strange
but i couldn't look at you again today
because it's strange.
to have your complete attention.
your eyes are beautiful.
wide and open.
and at those moments
i did glance into them
your eyes,
that image,
will forever be burned within my head
and honestly
i was flustered
to have your complete
and utter attention.
next time you look at me like that
please smile.
by the way
they are too green
not all brown.

and today i'll fight you again
even with my already
bruised ankle and
bruised wrist
from yesterday.
today i will pick up
our swords
and tell you to teach me
if you refuse i'll persist
you'll tell me you're not
a good teacher
or a good fighter
my dear that's a lie
so try please
at least try
i want to learn
try for me

i may be smiles
and laughs
in the morning and
through the afternoon
but as day stretches into night
i stretch along with it.
and by the time the sun
finally disappears
under the horizonal blanket
i lie in bed awake
and dark.

and i guess
what i regret most
was my bitterness.
i missed out
on two years of possible chances
on two years of getting to knows
on two years of actually belonging.
i missed out
on two years.
and now i'm paying for it.
"i'm just the painter"
i keep saying.
"i'm just the painter"
and it remains true and true.
painting is fun,
for so long.
i want to be part
of the stage.