I live my life on the phone, listening to the never ending ringing and a prerecorded voicemail asking me to leave a message.
it's not even your voice, which is all I've been longing for
the twang in it, the way you say your name, the way you say mine, I miss you, I love you.
my body craves your touch but my soul craves your sound and the way it makes me feel.
five years ago it started and since then I've spent it waiting, always waiting,
waiting for you to love me like I have always loved you.

being a poet is not
sentimental. it’s not
pretty. there’s nothing romantic about diving off a
bridge just to hear the water reverberate the sound of your ex lover’s
name. rain sounds like nothing but
falling blood and you’re always angry that it ruins your
shoes but is never enough to really
**** you. being a poet is a degenerative
brain disease, i heard
once. there’s some things doctors can’t
fix. there’s other things doctors can’t
name. all medicine starts to sound like it’s named after
a god. words never say what you actually
mean. you’re bleeding stanzas at the
mouth and everyone files past
you like you’re a waste of
time. when people tell you you say pretty
words you erupt like the earthquake in los
angeles this morning because the words might sound
pretty but what you’re saying
isn’t. everything weighs so *******
heavy on your shoulders and you hold the names of your ex
lovers names on your
tongue until they melt into
blood. i don’t know where your
hands are, nobody
does. the wolves are the only things that even have a
hint of what your thriving heart is shouting. you’re bound to feel too
much and at the funeral service of a man you’ve never
met you’re going to be crying in the
corner while everyone wonders who you
are and why you even
care. your words save so many lives but they’re bound to miss a
few, especially
yours.

Society wasn't meant to handle us
be able to understand us;
and so we cannot understand ourselves.
They don't know what it is like to feel and see everything so deeply and vibrantly
that you begin to feel and see no more.

Instead they diagnose us and they “treat” us.
Say it with me:
“I AM THE MEDICATED YOUTH.”

But I will not be ashamed. I stand proud
Because while the drugs may dull and fix the pain on the surface,
I remain an anomaly, something so rare and unique ––
Something so misunderstood they're afraid and don't know what to do.
uncontrollable, unrestrainable,
free.

whispering to nobody
I say my last goodbye
will somebody
notice the pain
that rained
down on my soul?
it stole
the hope
and I left a note
I wrote
for anyone who cared
or dared
to read my last words
and I hope they hurt like swords
because everyone's words
hurt me like swords
and left an eternal wound
but soon
you will all try
but I will no longer cry
and maybe
happiness will come



—j.m.

because loving you is my favorite thing
and i could spend all day and night
just staring into your eyes,
even if it's through a computer screen,
with 89 miles between us,
but i'd walk that distance if i had to
just to be held in your arms
because falling asleep next to you
brings me joy that i can't comprehend
and hearing your voice say my name
brings me to peace and makes it okay.
because of you i have learned how to love
old scars from the past have vanished,
and i know how to guard myself from you
but doing that would not be to my advantage
because falling for you is inevitable
and all i can do is pray you'll catch me
whisper to me softly
and tell me you'll stay here always.