"You can't fix all your sad and pathetic problems by writing another ****** poem."

Well, I can try.

Sometimes, you gotta let some ships just sail away.

Because eventually, you'll either learn to swim.

Or that ship will disappear beyond the horizon.

Either way, you won't be on-board.

And somehow, you've got to be ok with that.

I'm crazy for you.

And that's why I'm writing another poem.

Another canvas splattered with my gushy, mushy emotions.

Another fairytale romance covered in my blood, sweat, and tears.

I'm crafting a story where you're crazy for me too.

Where we can be together.

And I'm sitting here feeling my heartbeat race everytime I read your name.

And my knees go weak when I see your face.

And my eyes and ears widen when I hear your name.

I'm crazy for you.

And you'd probably call me crazy, or sweet, or generous, or a great guy, or a loser, or pathetic,

But as long as your calling, I'll keep answering.

So I hope you like this poem.
This canvas of my unstable emotions.
This fairytale romance drenched with my blood that I bleed from my fight.
The sweat that I pour from my fight.
And the tears that fall because of my fight.

I just hope you like this.
And I hope you like me, too.

But it's alright if you're not crazy about me the way I am about you.

But ****, if you were,

That'd be crazy.

It's just not fair.

And it's really ******* sad,

What you're doing to me.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

No caring for me, no cradling me, no supporting me.

But why?

Is it because I'm not good enough?
Not cool enough?
Not good looking enough?
Not confident enough?

Oh, of course it is.

My heart is like a rose, red and beautiful.
But it also has its thorns, from pain everlasting.

My mind is like a dandelion, it sprouts with the sun.
But it is also in a million pieces, since my thoughts all scream at me.

My body is like an Autumn Adonis, glowing ever so brightly.
But it is also dangerous, since I have poison in my veins.

But I am a delicate being,

I am the Flower Child.

Last night I had a hard time.
I was thinking of you before I fell asleep.

And while I was sleeping,
I was dreaming of you.

And in my dream,
We were together.

I held your hand,
You called me "Babe."

It was amazing.
It was a dream come true.

But then in my dream,
You got on an elevator.

So I followed you in,
And turned around.

And you pressed the bottom floor button,
And quickly ran out.

I was trapped in the elevator,
Plummeting to the bottom.

Just like I feared would happen

I am an abundance of lost stars.

And they've all gone supernova.

Now they're just splattered throughout space,
Throughout the darkness and the abyss.

And now they call me beautiful.

Because pain and chaos always paints the prettiest pictures.

Some people just don't win the big one.

And that's not fair.

It's not fair that some people work so hard to accomplish something, only to fail at it in the end.

It's not fair that people who like other people so much aren't liked back.

It's not ******* fair that some people feel their hearts literally break into a thousand pieces over love.

Over affection.

Over attention.

Over someone else.

It's not fair at all the way some of us have to live our lives sometimes.

Because sometimes,

Some people just don't win the big one.

And I'm one of them...

I am a castle of glass.

I've had stones cast at me.
Rocks thrown my way.
The wind has shook my walls.

I've had too many cracks to count.

But I've still got my foundation.

So I will keep standing, ever so tall.

And life will keep casting its stones, ever so painfully.

But there is no stone powerful enough,

To shatter this castle of glass.

I've never been good at coloring in between the lines.

Because I leave no space in between these lines that are made,

When the blade molests my skin.

There's been a certain darkness surrounding my life as of late.

Did I ask for it? No.

Do I deserve it? Well, that's not for me to decide.

But do I live with it? Yes.

Why? Because days are going to get better.

Someday, somehow.

There's been a certain darkness surrounding my life as of late.

And I've found there's only one thing to do with that darkness:

Shine in it.

I'm the poster child for self hatred.

My calendar's constantly booked with things like "Sit and Hate Myself" and "Live Tweet How Terrible My Life Is."

I'm an advocate for not having enough self confidence.

I'm a member of the Missed Opportunity Club.

And next week I'm the keynote speaker at the "Nothing is Going Right in My Life and it Never Will" Conference.

And the worst part about all of this is:


I have all these accolades and you still won't notice me.......

Life sure is a bitter pill.

But instead of attempting to swallow it.

I'm straight up ******* choking on it.

I’ve been told I need to be a bit more confident in my life.

And boy, ain’t that the gospel ******* truth?

My whole life I’ve been afraid of pretty much everything.

Doctor’s offices, monsters, the dark, strangers, death, sickness, spiders,
Basically everything.

But, alas, I’ve been told I need to be more confident.

Is it really that easy?

Is it really that easy to look at myself in the mirror and not hate the image looking back?
Is it really easy to live a healthy life and not be afraid of diseases or death?
Is it really easy to tell the girl I like that I like her and not be afraid of her response?

Of course it is.

But all I need is a little more confidence.
Because in my life, I have none.

I’m overweight.
I don’t particularly like the way I look.
And I’ve never had a girl.
But why am I writing about all of this instead of saying it to everyone’s faces?

Well, because I always feel most confident when I am writing.

There are some people out there that have wanted to **** themselves for some time now.
And there are some who have bled blood from their bodies to drown out the tears.

There are some people out there who were once the brave ones.
The cool kids.
The strong warriors.

These people, they were once dreamers.
Who are now haunted by nightmares.

These people, they were once believers.
Who are now wearing the handprint of life bitchslapping them in the face.

These people, they were once fearless.
And now fear is the only thing they want less of.

But these people, they haven’t given up yet.

These people fight every day to better themselves.
They fight to be strong once again.

These people haven’t ended it all, even though they feel like the world is pushing them to.
They haven’t given up.
They haven’ killed themselves.

But that’s not something you can brag about at fancy parties.

I either write when I'm in love or in pain.

So call me the constant writer.

But be not afraid when you see my poems drenched in blood,

For they are all like that.

Because I only write when I'm in love or in pain,

And for me those are the same.

Have you ever had those days that just ******?
Those days that were just terrible and you have no idea why.
Why they are bad, why it's happening to you and why does it keep getting worse?
You just constantly ask: why?

Why do we have bad days?
Are bad days a type of requirement to living?
Do we have to experience bad days?

And why the hell do I experience them day after **** day?

For the past few months I've had bad days.
My days are like, real bad.
As bad as criminals locked away in the world's deepest prisons.
As bad as lying in court, or swearing in church, or sleeping with your neigbor.
Well, maybe not the last part, because if that was what I was comparing my bad days too, at least I'd be getting lucky in some sort of way.

My days are terrible.
I have chronic anxiety, top that with separation from my loving family, add in being a freshman in college, make sure you include dealing with the death of my mother, and top it all off with just a general sense of feeling alone.
This is what my bad days are like.

My bad days are horrible.
They make me feel sad.
And lonely.
And depressed.
And at times I think my heart actually hurts.
I can feel the physical pain in my chest.
It's like no matter where I turn or what I do, I can't find anything to help me.
From kids laughing, to girls being in a relationship with someone else,
(Like seriously, every girl is with someone),
All the way to knowing I lost my best friend when my mother passed away.

What can I do to get away from these bad days?

I go home, exhausted after each day of bad.
I breathe heavy not only from the long walks of this college campus, but the burden that surrounds my heart.
I just cry now.
It just escapes my eyes and my soul.

I eventually end up all alone, like usual.

And all I do is think to myself:

"Man, I've had a bad day."

And then I just say to myself:

*"Man, I've had a bad life."

I'm afraid the only time you and I, my dear, will ever be together,

Is right here in this poem.

And if that doesn't make me want to bleed blood from my wrists all over this paper instead of words from my mouth,

I don't know what will.

I guess I'm just one of those "lovesick, pathetic, try-too-hard's."

The one who uses their prayers to pray for you.

The one who uses their 11:11 wishes to wish for you.

The one who picks eyelashes from their crying eyes to hope and beg for you.

I guess I'm just one of those lovesick, pathetic, try-too-hard's.

Just hoping to be with you.

But having to face the harsh reality that people like me only end up with people like you,

In poems like this.

The world is only as big as it reaches.
And yes, my children, it reaches pretty far.
It's filled with millions and millions of faces just wishing to attain fame.
They want more and more of it and they need it now.
But then there are those who don't know their purpose.
They feel like they can't fit in in this far reaching world.
They are the sould dressed in black, not because they are sad.
But because they are absent.
They feel like day after day after **** day they are going down like the Titanic.
But at least the Titanic drew money.
These souls, they are left to suffer under shadows of vultures.
They don't own a mirror because they don't want to look at themselves in it anyway.
Because they're afraid if they do, they'll see what they look like.
They'll see what people see.
The disgust, the patheticness, the nerd, the goth, the dork, the ****,
The in pain.
The insane.
The mental game.
They are all taking their tolls.
But where are these people to go?
How are they to know?
How were they to know that a disorder known as bipolar would result in bringing a blade to their wrists or a noose to their throats?
Their screams can't be heard because they're being cut off by the noose.
They try so hard to escape from this far reaching world.
But they can never escape this lie we're living in.
They scratch and claw at the door like a cat wanting milk.
Because that cat had a bad day at cat school and he just wants to come back to his cat home and drink his cat milk.
And then cry himself to sleep.
And as the cat sleeps he'll have his cat dreams.
He'll dream of one day becoming top cat,  sly cat, papa cat, and even the cat's pajamas.
He'll dream of one day when he can stroll down to the corner trashcan without being harassed by the big dog names Spike from down the street.
He'll dream of mice and how things aren't nice and about his dinner, rice.
But then his dreams turn into nightmares.
Like a 50 year old losing his hair.
Or like your spouse declaring they just don't care.
They've given up.
But suddenly you awaken hearing your cat crying in the night.
And you run to him and pick him up, assuring him that he is not alone.
And it is then that you catch yourself in the hallway mirror.
You see who you are for the first time.
You see yourself, and also a dark cloud.
It's that dark cloud of denial hanging over your head.
But you also see your cat in your arms.
And you are suddenly reminded that you are not alone in this far reaching world.
This far reaching world would be alone without you.
So my children, my black wearing souls.
Pour yourself some milk and cry yourself to sleep.
But when you awaken, remember your dreams.
Put them in a file and label it "Hope."

And when you feel that you are alone at the end of this far reaching world, remember,

You're the cat's pajamas.

You are a beautiful angel.
Flying ever so high.
And you don't want to soar too close to the ground,
For soon you will have to fly away,

Just like all the other angels.

And it's a miserable reality that I am here on the ground.
Way down here at the bottom.

And all I want is to be desperately saved.

I am a nothing man.
Just wanting to be a nothing King.
And sit high upon my throne,
Built from all these bad feelings.

To realize I overcame.
Everything I faced.
I overcame my biggest enemy.
The evil ***** know as "Heartbreak."

But for now I'm just a nothing man.
Just wanting to be a nothing King.
I have nothing left to lose,
They've taken everything.

But when you break a nothing man down so much,
Sooner or later, he will rise as the Nothing King.

I could never figure out why I never fit in.
Or why every girl I liked never liked me back.
Or why my dad never loved me.
Or why my mom had to be taken away from me at 17 years old.

There's a lot of things I never understood.

But now, I don't understand why these things are happening to me.
Why do I sit here every day hating myself while everyone else is having the time of their lives?
Why do I sit here every ******* day surrounded by sadness and every one else has happy days like it's the ******* TV show all over again?
Why do I sit here and suffer through so much **** all the while no one bats a ******* eye to it?

All these questions and I'm still hopelessly searching for answers.

But all I need is a savior.
A miracle.

I just need something.

I can't keep being the ugly fat-*** that no girl will ever like.
I can't keep being the manic depressive 19 year old who is paranoid over every little thing.
I can't keep being the shy and awkward guy that has no friends because  he's too afraid, too ashamed, and too much of a loser.
I can't keep watching girl after girl that I have feelings for fall in love with another guy.
I can't keep sitting in my dorm all alone and depressed waiting for something to happen.

Please, please, please.
Just let something good happen for once after a whole 1 year, 3 months, and 16 days of bad.
Of worrying.
Of crying.
Of crippling depression.
Or being alone.

I just need some help.

I just need some answers.

She is beautiful.
Her smile can light up a room.
Her drive is unmatched by any other.
Her laugh is precious.
Her voice is as sweet as sugar.
Everything she does is magical.

I am battle-tested.
My smile can light up my paper.
My drive is unmatched by any other.
My laugh is required.
My voice is used to write these words.
Everything I do is poetic.

But, alas, we can never be together.

Because the poison she emits from her soul to touch me,
Mixed with the blood I bleed on this paper for my art,

Will never be a good combination.

We are taught to do a lot of things in life.

We’re taught how to eat.
How to talk.
How to move.
How to behave.

But why aren’t we taught other important things?

Like how to love?
How to live?
How to fall apart?

Because aren’t those the most valuable lessons anyways?

This whole thing is one big typo.

It’s supposed to tell you how much I love you.

But instead it’s just another boring poem.

How lame.

I had everything that I ever wanted.
But suddenly, everything changed.
My whole world was turned upside down like a sunken ship.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable puppy dog.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable *******.
My world was broken like a shattered window.
Left in pieces like this puzzle, once you got tired of playing with it.
Left in pieces like my heart, once you got tired of playing with it.
I wake up every morning having already lost this game called “Life,”
Man, I had everything that I ever wanted.

And lost it all.

If I came by and kicked you in the ******* face as hard as I could,

Would you be ******* at me?

Or try to figure out what kind of shoe I am wearing?

Do you ever wake up some mornings and think, "Man, this *****, I'm a huge loser?"

Yes?


Well then,

Keep dreaming kid.

I’m moving much too fast,
I can’t check the scenic views.
I feel too far gone,
So far away from you.
You are my release,
My Heaven sent down to this Hell.
You are my escape,
You bring me joy so well.

I feel at times I’m looking,
Too hard for some hope.
I feel like I’m playing hand grenades,
In a world playing jump rope.
I have to keep producing,
That’s what all good artists do.
But maybe, just maybe,
It’s the way we go about it that’s the clue.

My music is my soul.
And not just the genre.
I want you to feel my music.
It’s about life, not drama.
I bleed my heart on that mic.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll hear it.
My music goes beyond every beat,
It goes beyond every lyric.

My poetry is my savior.
It keeps me hanging on.
I can craft these amazing stories,
My poetry keeps me from being too far gone.
I bleed my heart on those pages.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll read it.
My poetry goes beyond every stanza,
It goes beyond all the rhetoric.

We bleed our hearts out for this art.
We live for our words.
You can call us fighters,
Cause we’ll die by our swords.
And my swords, we mean pens,
Which we use to write down our hearts.
To write down our lives,
You’ll see them in every part.

So the money, will start printing.
And we, will start winning.
Because in the end, we’re just brothers from humble beginnings.

Sometimes, when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the side-view mirror.

And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the side-view?”

And other times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the visor mirror.

And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the visor?”

But most times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the rear-view.

And I say:
“Man, that stud is never going to get anywhere if he keeps living in the past.”

You used to tell me “The way you’re living is bad.”
“The way you’re living is terrible.”

You used to point out every little intricate mistake that I was making and every little small detail of my life that ****** you off.

But when I asked you “What I could do to change everything?”

You kept spewing your garbage at me.
So all I did was look at you and say:

“When are you going to realize that you have nothing left to say that I want to hear?”

*“And sooner or later, you’re going to have nothing left to say at all.”

Sometimes you're the table and sometimes you're its legs.

Either way, you've gotta carry some weight.

Many people rip on me for my “not-so-great” luck with Women.
But, jokes on them.

I’ve had some ***** before.

Until I had to get rid of them after I discovered I was allergic to felines.

If this was a poem,
Would you read it?

And if this was a song,
Would you sing it?

And if this was a paper map showing you how to get to Rancho Cucamonga, California,
Would you be inspired by it?

Or just put your joint down already?

• College is hard.**

And that’s the list of things they don’t tell you in College.

Cinderella had her slipper, which was made of glass.
Something so small, yet, so delicate.

And I, much like Cinderella, have something made of glass.
Something so small, yet, oh so delicate.

It’s my heart.

And I think the clock just struck Midnight.
But only one of us can get our happily-ever-after.

And here’s a spoiler:

*It’s the broad with the wacky footwear.

If I was to go broke today,

Would you put me back together?


Or find someone else with money?

Does a wish even mean anything anymore?

It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.

But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.

I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.

It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.

Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.

We wish, we wish, we wish.

In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.

We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”

I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.

Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.

Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.

Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.

And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.

And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.

Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.

I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.

I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.

I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,

But sadly, it’s now 11:12.

I looked in the mirror the other day.

And I was surprised to see the reflection looking back at me.

I was even more surprised when it said *“Hey kid. Guess I’m the better looking one.”