you hold my hand and tell me later
I just need a friend right now
which is genuinely okay because realistically we both have issues
but darling i think that you need to understand,
going around holding people’s hands,
it’ll get you in trouble one day

stop being so stubborn and listen to your mother
for once, she just wants what’s best for you
by the way, tell her we aren’t a thing
because you know
I don’t think I want a relationship

but on the other hand
oh yeah, hands
Interlocked fingers are to be saved for
the girl that you’re waiting on
she’s out there somewhere

i forget things
a lot
but i promise it's not on purpose
and if i could change it i would
it's just that my mind is kind of like the weather
it's always changing
one day it's bright and sunny
and the birds are chirping
and the kids are playing
and the next day it's a ******* hurricane
i feel as if everyone is taking shelter from me

hurricane season is one that everyone dreads
although they love the cool weather
the threat of a storm keeps everyone on edge
they run and hide at the slightest sign of rain  
in fear of a full blown storm
they board up their windows
won’t tell me what’s wrong
what did i ever do
i didn’t mean to hurt anyone

it's not a sense of rage,
but more of being scared of hurting the things around me
so please, bare with me, as i forget the little things
my brain takes over sometimes.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

the first time you said I love you was on Valentines day.
On the way back to my house, on a winding street lined with pine trees
You said it as a joke, and that's why I laughed

the second time you said I love you was when we were on your living room floor
vinyls upon vinyls with the wrapping all around us
this time I just ignored it and gave a tight smile

the third time you said I love you it was attached to a quick goodbye on the phone
I hung up before I could react and dropped to the floor right after

because how the **** could you ever love me and not know about the planet of skeletons I have in my closest?
you never seen my bad days or my worst days
you don't know the way I light up and the way I fade away
you don't know the voices in my head or the numbers on my arm dialing a phone home
hell, you don't even know what that means

you can't love me because you don't even know that I'm a planet
you can't love me because you don't know that I gave up being a human a long time ago
and you can never love me because you'll never understand why

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't