I think that if I keep writing,

I will one day write you and I back together.

We'll dance across these fairy tale pages,
Stumbling over the "I missed you's"
And the "I love you's."

It's hard to finish a book with no sequel.
It's hard to resuscitate a life that has died.

But if there's any chance that I can rewind the clock,
To breathe air into us one more time,
To make a second chance,

I'll just keep writing.

I just want to go back in time.

And live in all the places I felt like dying.

Because fearing death and meeting it are two completely different shindigs.

I want to go back to the places I lived,
The people I loved,

And meet them all over again.

I’ve never moved into a new house,
But I’d like to think it’s as simple as saying “hello” after years of saying “hey.”

Love is a quick train,

And if you don’t hear it coming,
You’ll miss it on a dime.

I just hope you’ll come back around one day.

They say if you love something,
Then leave it.

It will return in time.

But with all these messages,
All the empty conversations,
All these thoughts and feelings,

I’d kick myself for leaving something so valuable behind in an old house.

Sunsets and violent car crashes are known to be thieves of our attention,

Yet mine tends to veer off the beaten path.

It gets distracted by poems and the way words make love to each other.
It gets distracted by lips and how well I can remember how they set my soul on fire.
It gets distracted by pictures and how the thousand words scream at me of what I’m missing.
It’s like it’s mocking me.

I daydream of one day owning a nice house,
And all the memories I wish to place within it.

If I could take the past,
And move it to the future,
I would.

Uproot it from what at the time seemed like a hell hole,
And put some pearly gates around it.

I just wish I could have the things I once had back.
And I wish the things I had wanted me back, too.

It’s hard to live in a future that you so desperately want to escape.

I lived a part of my life where I didn’t actually do much living.
And now,
I’m dying to go back.

The past is always prime real estate for a kid who can’t even make it out of the neighborhood.

I must have super strength.

Because I’m carrying around these
     mountains on my shoulders,

When I know I should be climbing them instead.

But for some reason,

I’ve always been better at carrying pain,
     Than overcoming it.

I guess I just don’t have the strength for that.

Love is like trying to catch a train,
All while standing on the tracks.
You are fascinated with how fast everything is moving,
But also, how slow it is moving all the same.
Everyone is yelling things at you.
So many people are telling you what to do.
You want to move,
You want to jump out of the way,
But nobody ever wants to miss their train.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.

I get to watch events unfolding in front of me on my computer.
I can imagine how something will play out.
My imagination can run wild while viewing it.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something to enjoy on my screen.
Something to give me a thrill.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something I like to dabble in alone.
Something I fill my phone and laptop with.
Something I consider intimate.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.
I like to imagine myself in a small part of both.

But in both situations,

I'm getting ******.

“Reach out to people.”
“Talk to them first.”

I do. Then they leave after like 3 texts.
Or they quickly change the subject.
I hate that.
People don’t wanna recognize or talk about the real stuff out here.

The hurt, the pain.

They just don’t wanna talk about it.

But unfortunately, that’s all I am.

I can’t find the words that I want to say to you.
Every time I try to speak,
I choke on the dirt and grass that cover graves.
I choke on the insects that infest bodies post-exodus.
I choke on the last little breaths I have left in this hole.

I’m drowning in this dirt.

I’m dying in this grave of unspoken words.

Here we are again. A place I’m all too familiar with. My bedroom. Late at night. I’m sitting here upset at something I saw on the Internet again. Or something someone said again. Here I am laying in my own sadness and depression, laying here in my own disappointment. Why is it like this every single ******* time?

I lay here and just try to fall asleep, but instead I want to fall off a cliff. But instead, I try to fall into a song. I fall face first into some deep-**** lyrics, and heart first into a melody that can move tears down cheeks and mountains both at the same time. I keep hoping that the music will take me away from here. Take me away from this information that makes me want to scream and shout and cry and ***** all at the same time in some weird, guttural image that would put Picasso out on street corners begging for eyes to gaze upon his art. But is it too much to beg for eyes to gaze upon a heart?

Maybe my heart is just lonely and needs attention. I’ve never been sure if I give it enough myself. But there’s only so much one person can do for something until it needs a second pair of eyes, a second pair of hands, a second opinion, a second dose of love. Maybe my twin size bed is keeping that second pair of eyes, that second dose of love from having any room to squeeze into my heart. Or maybe I’ve just never been good at sharing. I always eat more cookies then I should. I want the whole pizza to myself. And don’t even get me started on music selection.

I’m rambling again, but I think I’m just distracting myself from what I saw again. Or what I heard again. I’m trying to distract my mind because it doesn’t know how to process what it’s just seen, what it’s just heard.  I don’t know how to cope with being let down. I don’t know why, because I’ve been let down so much you think I’d have chosen a final resting place by now.

It’s too dark in here to see what I can do about this. So, I just do what I always do. After listening to my music, pity *******, and crying trying not to be heard, I lay down and try to rest.

Maybe I’ll fall asleep, and in the morning, it’ll all be better.

Or maybe I’ll fall asleep, and in the morning, it’ll all be over.

I’m not sure which thought is gonna help me get to sleep.

It is said that the mighty don’t kneel for any **** body.
I am not mighty, but if you strip me bare,
I have got two things left:
My ***** and my word,
And I don’t break them for any **** body.
At the end of the day,
All I am is who I am,
Which gives me all the power in the World,
To be so much more.
Because I ain’t just any **** body.

I was going to write this poem
To say how much I still love you
Even though you don't love me
But that's not true anymore
I'm writing this poem
To say how much I love myself
Even though you don't love me

Last words are for weddings and for funerals,

But in a weird and cruel way,

Love can be both.

I’m like a rubber band.

I’m forced to bounce back from many things.
I am painfully stretched to my limits,
And recoil back into myself daily.

I’m like a rubber band.

But stretch me out for too long,
Or wear me down for too long,

And in the wrong hands,
I’ll break every time.

Human beings need help.
They can’t do it completely on their own.

That’s why we spend some time calling out to people.
But it just ***** when you keep calling out to those,

Who have already hung up the phone.

You've read thousands of words,

Even thousands more from me.

I can't make you read them to the tune of how I feel,

But I can't help but keep trying.

I've never been good at straying from my heart.

Because it beats too loudly.
Beats too strongly.
It beats too much.

And these words are proof.

They're all I've got.
So I'll keep giving until I have nothing left.

I don't know what else to do.

I started with nothing.

No father.
No rich life.
No fancy car.
No perfect body.

All I had was love.
All I knew was love.

And love was enough.

But now, I've lost most of that love.

People I loved that I'll never get back.
Opportunities I've wasted that I'll never get back.
Relationships I foolishly past by that I feel like I'll never get back.
People I've met that I'll never see again.
Things I've done that I'll never do again.

Everything I loved I've let ruin itself or ruined it myself.
Or worse,

I stood by and did nothing while the worst things took place.

And I have no one to blame but myself.
And I feel like I have no love left.

Because I just stood by like a fool,
And did nothing.

And now nothing is all I deserve...

I'm not just someone who time-after-time ***** things up.
I honestly believe I wrote the book on it.

And my book is filled with stories of how I, no one else, single-handedly messed up everything I could have had.
I've messed a whole lot of things up in my life.
And I regret it all.

And lately, I've been thinking,
About all that I've done wrong.

It's been weighing on my mind like an anvil.
And also on my heart.

I've done myself wrong,
I've done school wrong,
But most importantly,
I've done others wrong.

I've neglected outreached hands that could have been my lifelines.
I've missed opportunities that could have been my successes.
I've thrown away friends that could have been my family.
But above all else, I've missed the chances to have the things I want most in my life, and I have no one to blame but myself.

And honestly, I have no idea why.
I've had everything that I have ever wanted right in the palm of my hand.
Everything I ever wanted was reaching its hand out to me...

And I ****** it up.

And now, here I am writing another poem about the things I could've had,
Instead of enjoying them myself.

If I could just have one wish in life,
One more opportunity,

I would want to go back and fix it all,

Go back to those moments,
Go back to those days,
Go back to the hospitals,
Go back to the parks,
Go back to the rehab centers,
Go back to those precious moments,
And not **** things up.

Because if only I could just go back,

Maybe I'd have better stories to tell.

I'm just a spoke on the wheel.

And the journey I've been on,
Has been tiresome and painful.

But I keep turning,
Hoping that I will soon reach my beautiful destination.

I look up to you everyday.

Both metaphorically,
And now unfortunately,
Literally.

But I'll never stop looking.

The darkness can consume me,
The pain blind my eye.
The turmoil blur my vision.
The weight force my eyelids close.

You were the first thing I layed my eyes on.

And I still haven't seen anything as beautiful since.

And even though it saddens me that I can't physically see your face anymore,

I'll never stop looking.

I always say that I let it slip away.

But that's not really true.

Because unfortunately,
To have let something slip away.

Means I would have had it in my grasp to begin with.

Sometimes I sit here,
Wanting to cry.

But I can't.

And sometimes,
I sit here,
And the tears sneak up on me from out of nowhere.

And there's no way that I,

A small paper sailboat, floating aimlessly in my own sorrow,

Can survive the force of the typhoon coming from my eyes.

Pain can be so loud sometimes.

And while I'm over here screaming,
Does anyone say anything?

No.
Of course they don't.

They only speak up to tell me I'm making too much noise.

I've found the true love that I was always looking for.

Right inside my own heart.

Every palpation, a symphony.

Playing my life along.

You always fancied our extravagant dinner parties.
The ones where you wanted to be a saint at the door at the start,
But a ***** at the table in the middle.

You welcomed all our guests into this home,
But didn’t tell them what it was built off of.

The years of love, flirting, and dates.
Those were just the bricks on which the foundation was laid.

Then came the pillars of this home,
Which were filled with late night star-gazing, all day text messaging, and random cheap gifts on doorsteps.

The walls went up next, the ones maintained with long conversations.
Talks about marriage, children, and the future.

Our ceremony was the roof,
Proving that we would always shelther and protect the other.

But then came the paint, which was mixed in with fighting and anger.
Decorative furniture picked out of spite and defeat.
Bedding covering nights of tossing and turning bodies and minds.

Then the windows were framed with lashing out and hurtful words,
And the doors out of painful comments and hurting slaps.

And with that, we had really made a home out of this.
A home we were both trapped in.

And now I just sit here and choke on all of this food,
At this extravagant dinner party.

Which I never fancied anyways.

Can someone show me the verse in the bible where it says type "amen" and God will bless you?

Because I'm pounding the hell out of my laptop keys,

But yet, I'm still here staring blankly at my screen.

And I'm still sitting here suffering.

I'm still here day after day drawing the short end of the stick.

I'm still losing.
I'm still hurting.
I'm still trying.

But no matter what I'm going through,

I'm still, for some reason or another,

Typing "amen."

Pass me a torch,

And watch me set the world on fire.

Because I am a whole body full of gasoline.

A human being made of fuel, just searching for love.

A desperate lover with fire burning within, looking for a companion.

A hopeless romantic filled to brim, hoping for someone to burn forever with.

Because I am a whole body full of gasoline.

And I'm just waiting for the perfect "match."

It's just another sleepless night,
Of me thinking of you.

And the things I want to do with you.
Do to you.
Do together.

The things I want to show you.

The things I want to give you.

But I've got my hands tied on this one.
My back against a wall.

This is not my dream to come true.

Because I can't even sleep,

With these thoughts of you.

There has been a lot of pain in my life.

Heartache,
Loss,
Injury,
Defeat.

But no matter the label, the pain still shows.

It covers my body like a cloak.
It hides my body like a shield.
It encompasses my body like an ocean.

But I'm smiling under all this pain.

I'm beautiful under all this pain.

I house thunder inside of these bones.
I contain lightning inside my heart.
I contain raindrops in my veins.

I am the storm.

But, do not worry dear plebeians, I do not strike on dark days of gray,
Only on dark days of pain.

I pour down on the suffering, to wash away all of their troubles.
And I'd rather have a lifetime of saving rain than a constantly-glowing sun.

Because the Sun is just too dim compared to the fire that burns inside of me.

Tell me my poetry won't get me anywhere.

Tell me my talent won't help me succeed.

Tell me my poems can't change someone's life.

Tell me that I'm not on the verge of something great.

Tell me my words don't mean a **** thing.

But just watch as I prove every single one of you wrong.

I need me more than I need anyone else.

Because when I needed everyone else,

No one needed me.

And you know what, it's ok.

Because I don't need them, anyways.

I used to have it all.

My throne that I sat high upon was my whole world.

I ruled my golden kingdom with such extravagance unseen by most living beings.

I ruled with my bloodline,

So close.
So strong.
Everlasting.

And one day, it was all taken from me.
Everything I had, gone.

I was defeated,
Despaired.
And left for dead.

And now, someone else sits fixated on my throne.

He wears my crown that I worked so hard to craft.

My crown I crafted from blood, sweat, tears, and pain.

To me, it's the crown jewel.
To him, it's nothing more than a dunce cap.

He is a nothing king trying to be everything I was.

But he needs to realize,

Thrones were only ever built for one.