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.

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 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.

If I wrote some words over here.

                    And then some more over here.
                                Would you realize that I

            Am trying to tell you

That
     I

Love you?

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

Well, I can try.

If only I could get a date for once.

And no, don't be an ******* and show me a calendar,

Followed by the saying, "Here's 365 of them."

Because it's probably a leap year, *******.
That would make 366.

But I need a date that's better than all the dates you could find in a calendar.

I need a date where the two of us could just be ourselves.

A date where both of us could have the time of our lives.

I need a date that could literally save my life.

With that one special lady.

I need a date with Lady Luck.

Or does she go by "Destiny" now?

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.

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.”

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.

Fight, you've got to fight.
Give it all you've got.
You've got to fight, you might just fall.
Let this fill your thoughts.
Give the oxygen masks to the children in black.
Tell them to have their fun.
Blind them with your magic tricks.
But never blind them like the sun.
Never fail to amaze.
It's your job to hold the habit.
Your pedestal holds the strength.
Oh every single bit of it.
You feed the discontented mouths with every single sound.
You're the voice of the voiceless no doubt.
Feed them words, feed them truth.
Give them the words to shout.
The chalk outlines fill the streets.
The kids fill the army.
Seven nations could never cease.
The things that those kids tell me.
They want it all.
They're tired of the wait.
Impatience would be a silly thing.
To use as their bait.
Look at them, they're so proud.
They feel they've done it all.
They live to fight, and fight to live.
But they'll never live to fall.
The kids in black love the thrill of attack.
They love to watch it unfold.
They sit back, relax, and watch the destruction.
They never do as they're told.
"Slave to the Grind, Slave to the Grind!"
They'll never have enough.
Those kids in black, with their oxygen masks.
Are the up-most kind of tough.
Their courage reaches beyond our borders.
It overpowers mankind.
Oxygen-masked kids in black shout:
"Slave to the Grind! Slave to the Grind!"

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.......

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

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.

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

Yes?


Well then,

Keep dreaming kid.

I found a penny on the ground today.
And you better believe I picked it up.

And I held that little delicate coin in my hands so tight.
That the color started to fade away.

I was holding on so tight hoping that this penny would be the answer to my questions.
I was holding on so tight trying to make my dreams come true.

I was holding on so tight that Honest Abe himself shouted:

“Hey kid, *******!”

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.

This is for all the boys and girls.
You, yes you know who you are, the ones who go through hell.
Who go through hell day after day and yet are still breathing.
How do you do it?
Well, you do what I do. You fight.
You fight until your knees give out, and then you keep fighting.
It's like we all carry first class gold memberships to Hell.
We're first on the guest list.
God, how are our feet still there after walking through Hell so many times?
How are our eyebrows not singed from the burn?
How are we not dead yet?
Why do we keep fighting for a cause we know that we won't receive?
We won't win?
We won't reach?
The cause we wake up every morning sad about because we don't have it.
The relationship we long for, the happiness we wish to attain, the imaginary world called sanity we wish to discover.
Why can't we have what we want?
Why do we suffer?
Well, I'll tell you why.
And I know from experience.
We can't win because we are the only brave and true fighters left.
If we weren't fighting, there would be no one fighting.
We'd all have what we wanted.
But that's not how the world works, the world needs to have a battle.
Which requires fighters.
Which means us.
The ones who go through Hell like it's our path to the bathroom.
We have to fight the battle.
Even though we didn't sign up in the first place.
We're the ones that wish for what we want.
We make the 11:11 wishes, we pray, we long for, heck, we even follow those stupid things on Facebook that say "Make a wish, count to one hundred, blink twenty times, and repost this and your wish will come true, but if you don't repost this you'll never get your wish."
Well, I guess I have to stop reading that, or at least start reposting.
My wishes never come true from doing that but at least I believe enough to do it.
Believing is what keeps me going.
It's what keeps us all going.
It's the pillow to lay our heads on after a long day of battle.
It's the Nutella(R) to indulge ourselves in when we feel sad, happy, lazy, or even if it's a sweatpants and t-shirt kind-of-day.
It's the last bit of gas in the tank that gets us to the next gas station instead of breaking down on the interstate.
It's the denial in some, but it's the blood in me.
Because I'm more than just a body of blood and bones, and so are you.
You're a believer too.
So fight for your goal.
Reach for it.
Shoot for it.
Repost the Facebook statuses to make it come true.
It doesn't make you a bad person.
We all have our weaknesses, we all have our flaws.
Heck, even on my best days my evil ways still show.
But I don't worry about that.
Because I leave the mystery of me open to the world's interpretation.
And you should to.
Because at the end of the day, you'll never finish the battle you wage with the world.
So never, ever give up.
Even when you're breath is gone and your blood has poured, keep going.
Because in the end, we'll get that dream car we want.
We'll get that perfect job.
The great Hercules-like body.
The relationship we try so hard for.
We'll finally receive the true meaning of what it means to believe.
And when we get that my friends.
Our battle will be over.

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 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

• College is hard.**

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

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.

If I was to go broke today,

Would you put me back together?


Or find someone else with money?

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.

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 ******.

Notice those smiles.
Happiness and joy filling their faces.
Notice them run.
Run toward freedom and prosperity.
Notice the grass.
How it's greener only where you water it.
Notice the sun.
And how it always shines when I see you smile.
Notice the rain.
And how it falls to wash our troubles away.
Notice me.
Noticing you.
For once, my darling angel.

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.

It was all a dream that I knew was a dream but I didn’t want to admit it as a dream.
And my dream, oh my dream, was a dream come true.
It was a dream depicting me spending my time with you.
This dream I was dreaming was only a mere dream.
I knew this dream wasn’t real.
But what was real in my dream was that our time together was standing still.
You were there in my dream, clear as day.
A dream angel in the flesh.
I was staring right at you, dream dumbfounded at best.
Unfortunately, I knew what this dream of mine entailed.
This dream scene behind my closed eyes is not what it seems.
But I will see you again, my beautiful mother, in my dream that is all but a dream.

We all stood outside as the building burned away.

Everyone was watching the flames shoot toward the heavens like rockets.

Everyone was watching the bricks crack into pieces, the metal starting to melt, and the windows starting to shatter.

Everyone was watching the building turn to ash.

And I was just watching everyone.

And thinking, "Man, out of all these people, I don't know anyone."

It can get lonely in this world.

Especially when everyone around you is watching a building burn away.

All the while you're burning away on the inside.

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 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.

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?

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."

On these blank pages is where I write my story.
It has some sad moments, but my story is a happy story.
I grew up without a father figure there to guide me.
No man to say "Good job son" or play catch with me on Sundays.
I grew up large, literally.
I've always been a bit on the heavy side.
I like to think of it as: "God had too many ingredients to include when making me, so he threw them all in anyways."
But I think he included too many tablespoons of self-disappointment.
I lack self-confidence in myself to accomplish even the littlest task.
I've always felt embarrassed in situations around "cool" people that I always fumble and botch what I'm doing.
I've never been with a woman.
I think they all were just made to avoid me but I know that's not the case.
As much as I may "avoid" them I hate it.
I desperately want to talk to a girl, but I lack the words to say.
And even when I find the words to say, they all come flying back at me eventually.
"Women" is something I think I'll never understand fully or even get, unless I pretend to be a Christian on Christian Mingle.
Or Farmer on Farmer's Only.
But I digress.
Even though I consider myself to be a nice guy, people still hate me.
I have no idea why, but they do.
It spreads like wildfire around me.
People snicker here and people snicker there.
It drives me insane.
Life drives me insane.
My lack of confidence drives me insane.
I just want to stand and flip this table onto the ground.
And sometimes I want to shout "*******" and "this is hell."
I just want to stand and start a revolution.
Tell people how I really am.
Kiss the girl I like.
Say "**** it" to the rest of the world.
Become someone who matters.
I just want to stand and scream, but I don't.
I just sit back down at this table, typing on this computer.
I'm surrounded by friends and tables.
I look around the room at all these people going about their lives and their days.
I just refocus back on this blank page, where I write my story.
It has some sad moments,
But my story is a happy story.

Competition is a dangerous game.
People of all different sizes and all different colors compete daily with one another.
In sports, school, television, life.
Competition tends to drive our society.
People wake up every day ready to compete against someone.
When will we learn that in the end, every grave looks the same?
Because competition is deadly.

If 7 billion people are competing for the same spot on the mountain top,
That better be a **** big mountain.

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."

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.

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.

So this is where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar.
If only scars could tell stories-
Mine would write a ******* novel.
The bottle and this broken heart are one in the same.
They both had a label on the front trying to convince the world that they were something different,
But you used them up so quickly it's no wonder you couldn't taste.
You put me to waste and did so with such haste.
I hope you paced yourself, because now I'm out the door.
And it's weird-
There's a world out here-
With people, and cars, birds and trees- more than you and me.
I never knew there was a world outside of your touch,
Your embrace,
Your eyes.
But this world is cold and dark;
This world is strange.
Now I know that one thing's clear-
It's darker an colder in your arms than it is right here.
Here, my dear, is quiet and weird.
It is baffling to see the clouds so white
Or the sky so blue.
It's weird to see the world not revolving around... you.
So I've got this broken bottle-
I'll take it to this scar.
I want to see inside.
I want to see what I broken heart looks like- more than just a feeling,
Like how I saw the outside world for the first time just today.
I want blood to pour from this scar, no, this souvenir-
To fill another empty bottle,
So I can drink my sweet poison once again.
Drink my sweet poison once again!
AGAIN!
I swear I've lived this scene before.
Is my life a revolving door?
Is there no way out?
Or is there no way in-
No door for a savior to run through;
No savior to bare a cape,
No savior to sport a flashy name or spew lies to ****** ears.
Oh wait, I meant victim, not ******.
Victim.
It's not the first time around, remember?
Now that's a label I could wear!
You took my innocence in every way possible,
But is it possible
That I'll end up back for more?
This deja vu, this loopty loop-
Is this the first or the last of my being through with you?
Whichever it is, I know how it will end,
Because this is just where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar...
Except this time, they all belong to you.

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.