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.

my target
is penetrating your heart
and craving in and to hold on tight.
so i stand ready holding still in the bow
launching myself
against walls
and the floor
missing.
i crash and burn
it hurts
but i get up again
try again
despite the bruises
despite the hurt.
it's supposed to be hard
so i go the distance
and fall again.
sometimes i cry
but it's difficult
just let me in
i'm not a parasite.

i haven't talked
to you today
and
i'm depressed.
the ideas
keep hurting me
what if you don't
notice
that i wanted to see
what would happen.
it's pathetic
i know but
do i really brighten your day?
i'm scrambled
i'm sorry
this poem makes little sense
and later i'll look back
and see my unhappiness.

i'm starting to see you
in every young man,
everywhere.
and each time
it hurts me
just a little bit more.
because i catch myself staring,
at young men who weren't you.
so far three days with no words,
has me seeing you everywhere.

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.

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.

i feel all emotions towards you
and i try not to because it's not fair.
you don't know.
and when i'm angry
or sad
and it's caused because of you
you don't know
and that's not fair
to you or to me.
i'm the one keeping things
in the dark

it may be hard to believe
but after the storm,
the clouds do clear.
it may be hard to believe,
but after the storm,
after the clouds do clear,
the blue sky comes back.
it may be hard to believe
and it is.
because sometimes
even i don't believe.
and sometimes
even i am stuck
in an internal and eternal storm.

it may seem like
my poems come quickly
like some factory
turning out enough product
every year.
but poems don't have
to be written
painstakingly slow.
poems can take minutes or days.
to each their own.

and i come back to the moment
full circle
where i remember that
i like you.
i remember again
and i won't stray.

i remember the haunted house
and the hard significantly named "dentist" chair i had to sit in
that the arm of the chair fell off on my foot
and with fake blood smeared across my mouth.
i remember being so nauseated
from the fake blood
and the flashing lights
and the screaming.
but i remember the pounding
you'd be doing on the walls
you crazy gorilla
and even if it did give me a headache
i knew that you were nearby
and between groups
i remember that you would come into our room
and i would reach out my hand to you
and occasionally you would grab
and hold my hand
even if it was only a few seconds.
and that crisp october
before the long winter
and remembering those moments
have brought tears to my eyes.

people are stunned
into silence
with some of my poems
and that's because
i show them the good ones
the ones i'm proud of
not the simple one
i wrote to feel lighter,
to remove that heavy
ice block
from my chest.
i show the good ones.
ones i have spent
forever
forming the words
and the emotion.

you told me
i didn't have
to apologize
you told me
to breathe.
i'm trying
it's hard
i worry all the time
and you understand.
you told me
i was a great person
and that i don't have to be scared
of you
that you won't
harm me,
and honestly
that made me
melt
and i fell a little bit
i stumbled
for you.

it's been cold for the long time
and today the sun came out
and started melting the snow.
and it was warm, and cold
and for the first time
in a long time
i felt something
that represented that warmth
i think it's hope.

the acid is bubbling
thick sludge running through my veins
a feeling has resulted in the pit of my stomach,
you.

you
are the cause for this burning sensation.
it is not fire, it is not passion,
it is acid.
and you scorch me with your words and actions
you are not my prince of fire,
no you aren't even close.
stay away from me.
stay away from him.
stay away from others.
you are poison.
envious
angry
and dangerous.

i stood outside today,
to get away from you.
winter isn't over.
it continues to snow.
you came to me,
not out of choice,
but to return something.
and i looked into the sky
i refused to acknowledge you
with my eyes.
i didn't want
to change my mind.

i wanted
to become one
with the sky,
away from you.
so you'd see the snow
in resemblance
to how my heart is reacting
to your bipolar climates
of personality.
so you woudln't
see the hollowing look
within my eyes.
i'm tired of this weather.

i told you
something that hadn't been sitting right.
i wanted to throw the words
into your ears.
i wanted to scream them.
so you weren't mistaken.

i told you
words that are meant for you
i don't know if they will change you
i don't expect them to at all.

but i told you
that i was done trying to be your friend,
in a voice hardly above a whisper
as if my own body
was shutting itself down
muting the words into silence.
i let them be spoken.

i told you
i meant it.

you told me
you didn't hear me.
but your eyes across the room
told me otherwise.

i tread on spikes
whenever you're near.
the memories of you and me
i don't care to remember.
if i were honest
i would tell you:
my memories of
us
makes me cringe.
to put it out of my mind
i imagine the memory of you in a box
and then light it up.
i imagine shooting you to outer space
never to be seen again.
but they come back.
i'm treading on spikes.
stop
plaguing me.
please.
i'm sorry.

it's 11:11 again
and i find myself staying up night after night
to manage to make that one wish
simply: let me be closer to you,
open up to me
don't fight me
except when we fake sword fight
that's ok

it's just common sense to me.
having self worth is an unattainable peace.
the beauty and the beast.
because really if you think
about it, no one should really care
but confidence is always lacking.
few know the true peace,
of the true complete content and happiness
of having the self worth.
and envy swarms around us.
we can't see through all the dark
we're driven by that envy.
we end up even worse.

i see criss-cross
applesauce
cross hash marks
in your skin
as if you tried to draw into yourself
the pain and sorrow
and i see it
the drawing you've etched
it brings tears to my eyes
and a cold hand about my heart
because i understand.
i've drawn too.

there's only two people
i want to see today,
and i know
neither of them are here
let me check myself out
on loneliness
and a good read
of my thoughts
i could just really stand
to see your smiles and
hear your voices.

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.

it's nearing on three
and i find myself
sitting in this room
longing for you.

i wonder
if you think of me.

i feel pathetic
longing for you
as i do.
i'm sorry
that i do.

i find myself
thinking of you
often.

i wonder
if you think of me.

i guess this next week
won't be spring break
but winter break part two
and this next week
i won't see you.
and part of me aches
to see you in the morning
with wet hair
and sleepy eyes
attempting to finish the homework
you didn't the night before.
and part of me aches
to see you at lunch
with dry hair
and awake eyes
eating apple after apple
your friends and i give you.
so this next week
i will be apart from you
i'll still see you in the morning
but at lunch is a different story
i won't be bringing you apples.

i watched you dance with her.
and i watched you lift her up.
too many things,
too many girls.
i watched you twirl...
i won't ever be winning.

i would learn german
to tell you two things
one would be
ich glaube an dich
i believe in you
the other:
ich liebe dich
i love you.

there are certain things--
mostly your smile..
that i want to capture
in a jar.
use it to light up
those dark nights
where i'm up with the stars, crying.
where a rift has started
within the fibers of my being
threatening to slowly tear
myself apart.
piece by piece
i'll give away
to those i think deserve.
i'd save my heart for you.
but i'm not sure you'd want it.
it's darkened over the years,
and it's cracked
and broken
with quick fix
compromises and repairs
with faulty glue
band aids
and cheap tape.

i want to capture your smile
and use it to light up those nights
so i'll have more time
to repair my heart
for you.

we walked down the hall
laughing
honestly i couldn't of been
more happier
or more content
if being with you
causes this much happiness
let happiness ensue
i want to be with you.

i got the best advice today.
i told them my heart was already racing.
their response:
"let it race."
i figured it out.
i need to do this.
so let it race.
let it speak.
let it show the anxiety
the nervousness
and the excitement.
when i talk to you
my dear,
tomorrow morning
i will let it show in my eyes.

I've been hurt and mad and angry at you
but I keep returning don't I?
all smiles and joy
saved throughout the day
just for you
I hide my face when the other emotions come
because darling let me be
your sunshine
don't hide behind your curtains and shut me out

love
isn't a new concept
it is as old as rage
and sadness
so why do people
treat me like i don't know
i know i'm young
but let me love

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.

the way you
wrapped your arm
around my shoulders
and asked how i was
made me sigh with
contentedness
and i fell just a bit more
for you.
and listening to you sing,
that's a treat
you're blooming
like a flower
in spring,
but you close off,
and wither quickly
dear flower don't do that
or else i wither with you.
but instead how about
us daises,
turn into bleeding hearts.
hanging in green bushes
side by side and sing
we could have a duet of life
stringing together our hardships and stories
into a song.

i think
the best idea for me
is to release you.
like and unlike
a magician
there is and isn't
something up my sleeve.
the love is there
the dove is there.
i'm going let you fly
and it may take me more
than these
three months
to release you
but i will
eventually.
and after
best of luck
my dove.

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.

the thought of losing
or displacing
one of my poems
does two things.
one is sadness
i lost my poem
i can't write another like it.
the other
or two
is fear.
i'm afraid
what if people find them?
fear is worse.

i really don't want to
but here i go again with reading
love stories, which will make me
think of possibilities
and hope
and you.

if the way
weekends **** me
are two days
in which i worry.
i can't imagine summer.
and even now
i don't see you at all really
not until afters school.
and even then,
time is limited.
i no longer get to
bring you an apple
at lunch,
place it on the table beside you
my arm brushing past yours
or perhaps my hand
squeezing your shoulder.
i guess in my dreams
i'll still be bringing you apples
in lunch period four.

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.

maybe
we could
leave
hand-in-hand
walk to the edge
of the universe
maybe
we would become
stars
locked in the night sky
you'd always be brighter
by the way.