people say I'm lucky to be seventeen.
because back then they were all young and lean.
people say at the ripe age of seventeen.
well they felt like they had everything.
all was good.
because things just should.
but do you remember being seventeen?
it feels like a movie scene.
we laugh, we cry.
sometimes we just want to die.
we want room to breathe.
but everybody wants to make us seethe.
it gets really tough.
so we try to act rough.
oh seventeen.
stop acting mature, stop being so keen.
seventeen.

as the sun rises, a california poppy blooms...

awake, face-to-face, in a dream haze i  see you.
blue body, your body is blue.
still, i can see your body still.
waiting for the final release, we both broke free.
chains, chains that held us both onto each other.
there's nothing like a bond between daughter and mother.
when, when we found your body pale and blue.
prayed we did, in hopes that we would still get to see you.
pumping into lifeless veins, so little oxygen remained.
cold, still, and dead you were.
the only conclusion is that you were gone, it was what was left to concur.

but,
i still see you, hear you, and breathe you.

because,

as the sun rises, a california poppy blooms...

they remind me of you mom,
i can hear the petals rustle softly and know you're with me,
i can exchange oxygen with it, in hopes that it won't lose the battle of life this time around.

often more times than not, i question if i have a knack for writing poems.
truth be told, i cannot discern the answer.
i attempt to make something roll off the tongue.
but, it's hard to do so when you don't know how to start.
so, a poet like me will have trials and tribulations that weigh heaviness on themselves.
it's the soul-crushing kind that feels similar to a heart aching.
because you want to be one of the best, but the reality is that you don't have the means to become better.

sad poetry,
that's what my mind says to me.
let it all all out,
vent and then try and pout.
because newpoetica, if you are honest with who you really are,
you can get yourself feeling up to par.
keep a healthy mind set,
because that's the least you can actually get.
the world is spinning,
your light is dimming.
and it's okay, my mind tells me,
but it's not okay to not live, because there is still so much more beauty for you to see.

today i woke up to see you next to me
softly, your life breathed out
...
and then back in

your hair was a mess,
sticking out in random places
looking at you like that made me want to leave marks on you
the kind that only you and i could remember and see

the sun hits your face,
as my fingers reach your face,
my lips brush the top of your head
and i'm at peace

it's been three months that together, we've been through
and by some chance, somehow, i still want to keep waking up everyday and choose you.
maybe it's because you make me a little more brave
or maybe because when i'm with you i don't feel like a damsel in distress you have to save.
yes, i still struggle with my irrational and pointless insecurity
but being with, and loving you has become my priority.
i'm no longer afraid of falling, as i was before
because being in love with you and who i'm getting to know, has never been a bore.

i'm awful and rotting,
i'm good for nothing.
i'm so far from being even a decent daughter.
in fact, i should be charged with a soul slaughter.
she's my own mom,
she has always made me so calm.
yet here i am breaking her,
making what little confidence she has left deter.
i don't know how to apologize,
when what i said to her was far from lies.
yet i took it too far,
i made her feel like she isn't up to par.
it was one hair color, but i know,
that she took it to heart, like an arrow from a bow.
what i wish she knew is that despite this mistake, i love her,
this is the only statement that i can say for sure.

i think we sometimes tend to forget
that sometimes the things that go, we let
maybe if we all tried a little harder to fight
these ghosts of the ones we loved would still be in sight
it's sad that things are sometimes this way
because at the end of the day, our happiness is the price we pay

you tell me to call
my head instead,
hits a wall
the fear of losing you,
it's killing me too
the fact that this could mean goodbye
if this life is your love,
then without your love, i will surely die

mom, what can i do?
i desperately want to be there for you.
but you bring your lips to the bottle,
and it makes your head spin in full throttle,
you don't want the help from your family,
so someday you'll change your mind for yourself, hopefully.

i don't want to romanticize it,
but i swore that when we were together, something fit
was it that on our first date,
we had such a great time that i actually stayed up late
or was it that after one month you promised me
that every indefinite sunday morning you loved me, you would brew tea
perhaps it was when i revealed everything about my past
you told me that despite my broken pieces, our love would always last
you never made me feel less when we were together
even when you bought that one jacket, when you know how i feel about non-vegan leather
throughout our small-matter fights,
we still came together to make love on those special nights
but, i don't want to romanticize it,
because i swore when we were together something just fit

you shaped me, so thank you. i'm glad that i got the pleasure to love you.

the tears rush out along with heavy heaving
i hate that you didn't tell me you were leaving
i'm getting tired of this entire process of grieving

there's something so beautiful about you being broken,
you're still kind, honest, and open
you, my love, are yourself and unapologetic,
so as i attempt to string along these descriptions into something poetic
remember how much i adore you
there is nothing that i've felt to be more true
because even as you are struggling to move on
you still wake up each day to see the dawn

lift me up higher,

to a place where i can touch the heavens

if not the heavens, then at least the stars

if not the stars, then the clouds could do

if not the clouds, then you should not

you should not lift me up,

instead put me down,

if you should choose to put me down darling,

all i ask is that you do so,

you should do so gently.

sometimes i look at you across the room and feel.
i cannot quite pinpoint what it is.
my heart thumps around wildly, skipping beats.
my brain feels numb in a daze.
my soul, it's singing about your eyes.
something about this feeling isn't a typical kind of love.
it's much, much more than that.
it's passion, fire, and our end.
i often think it's because i love you that i don't pursue you.
but it's actually fear.
it's that i'm afraid you'll love me too much and my lust will end.
i cannot break something as beautiful as you.
i cannot help you rebuild after i burn the home your soul resides in.
for it is not our home.
it's your home and i'm just the pillow on the left side of your bed, the sappy things in your drawer, the five photos on your fireplace, the one note in your wallet.
it can never be us, because it is you and me.
i won't treasure you, i'll throw you away just like you'll throw away my things once i leave.
so as i look at you across the room and feel something, look away.
because i am your future.
i am your heartbreak.
i feel what you feel even though i don't feel the same way.
i feel your heartache.
and am selfish for wanting you while seeing the future
i know it
and for that,
i am sorry

give me a sign,
that you are mine,
so i can say the line,
despite the short time,
that love is not a crime.

people say that from up above you can hear,
but what if all i want and need is for you to be near.
so i can get angry and upset one last time,
so that i can hold onto you and write you one last rhyme.
if you're not around in my life anymore,
how can i heal from the pain that's in my heart at its core.
how can i talk to someone who isn't there,
if you won't answer and i only see those lifeless eyes stare.
you're in an abyss, a place unknown,
and god only knows if you're trying to find your way back home.
i know, i know, you won't be coming back,
but the feeling of having no mother is starting to make my heart crack.

when will i have my first kiss, i can't help but wonder.
an old willow tree is a potential place where it could happen under?
the older i get, the more that i crave it.
it's not the type of feeling that you can just wait around and sit.
my raging hormones are begging for a set of soft and slightly chapped lips.
meanwhile, most of my classmates have moved faster and farther through their hips.
is it too much for a teenage girl to ask for?
i'm continually growing older and my heart as of lately, has been growing sore.
this is how it feels to be so wrapped up in an excessive, obsessive train of thought.
the simple truth is that i constantly think about our lips colliding, a lot.

getting number day by day,
i don't know what i can say,
please mom, stay...
don't fade away,

i need you.

are you okay...
i'm walking down the long hall, after a long day
a girl quite a few inches taller than me,
hears my voice and turns to see
she looks to be about my age,
but something in her eyes doesn't want to engage
she looks empty and hurt,
like a voice battling to let it all out in a blurt
the tears down her face,
i can't help but wonder where their origins trace
so i go to the step and sit down,
so maybe, despite there being no water, she won't drown

it's not fully heartbreak,
but because of this whole mess my heart now has an ache.
i want to feel like you love me still,
but what if what happened is like our relationship's seal.
i love you more than you know,
please tell me we aren't at the end, and at an all time low.

it's four in the morning,
and the man you left is sitting on the barstool still in mourning.
he's trying to understand how you feel,
but it's really difficult to do since when  it comes to shots he's had his fill.
he wonders what he did wrong in the your relationship that from his perspective is "ours,"
and what you don't see as you walk away is that he feels remorse so he'll continue this cycle for hours.

and maybe it's all the little things...
all the words you've said,
all the times we've laid together in bed,
all the ways you show you care,
all the times you're with me when life is hard to bear,
not because i can't do it on my own like i have before,
but because i think you actually care and are a person that in turn, i care for.
in all these little things that i've grown to see,
i hope i can become a better woman, one that you might need me to be,
i want to comfort you if you need it most,
be the first girl there to be proud of your accomplishments and raise a toast,
i never want to hurt you,
but i want to always apologize if i ever do.
in all the little things one thing is clear to me,
you're the only man for however long we may be a 'we', that i want to see,
in all honesty i was afraid of trusting you with my heart,
but now i see that you've slowly just become a main part,
you're everything that i've ever hoped for,
and i hope you know that you mean all of these things above and more.

what do you really know about me as a woman.
after all, we are two different halves for you are a man.

tell me what i can do with my body, i dare you to do so.
trust me, you will feel a hard blow.

because it is not just me that you are trying to control.
there are many women and we are not willing to be chained to a pole.

we as a collective group will not stand in silence.
but we will not also take a hand in the thing you expect, violence.

despite it all, it's not about what you want us to do, to act with poise.
for the ultimate fact is that we have the upper hand of choice.

i write most of these poems when i'm hurt or upset.
but also when i feel like i went wrong or have something i said that i regret.
it's to clear my thoughts and imagination.
to give myself time to think with very little hesitation.
it's never that i don't want you as the person in my life.
but rather me handling any fear i've felt and my inner strife.

i was touched.

countless times, i was touched.

in between my thin legs, i was touched.

you...

you...

you...

you... you touched me.

did it make you feel good?

to do that to an eight year old?

grandpa?

no you...

you don't deserve that title...

fred?

did it make you feel good?

why?

and was that a good enough reason?

to touch me...

your own granddaughter...

you touched in between my thin legs.

did it make you feel good?

to touch me in such a ****** way...

you touched me countless times,

i, your grandaughter, was touched.

i was touched by you.

what i long for are those lips,
to take long, slow, and passionate sips.
to caress your rough, worn face.
as you play around with lace,
both our legs intertwine under the covers,
as you and i mold into one another as lovers

hearing the screams
my ears pound and beat to the hellish vibrations
eyes closed as they are in all dreams
but these are nightmares and childhood has dissippated from its stations

will it get better?
because it'll only get worse or so it seems
will it get better?
because tearing is happening at the seams

her cracked lips and silent guilt
everything she now has, had to be built
to be strong, to be brave
he was the only person that she couldn't save
but the struggle wasn't her own to carry
because not all things in life are meant to be merry
she'll relearn to survive
to get out of this forsaken city, alive

why do we all suffer and live crying
why do we all sometimes contemplate dying
why do we all go through life hiding how we truly feel by lying
why do we all feel lonely but continue complaining online and alone whilst sighing
why do we turn away when we see others crying
why do we have to experience loved ones dying
why do we continue hurting others by lying
why do we not hear our world collectively sighing