I love the rain
It's so calming
Watching it fall
Watching it pour
I could sit there for hours
Wanting nothing more

I love the rain
It's so peaceful
The sound of the droplets
Hit the pavement
And you watch it
Wash away the dirt

I love the rain
It's so cleansing
All the water comes down
Drowning out the sorrow
Alleviating your tomorrow
Giving you hope

I love the rain
It's healing to witness
The way it's free
The way it reveals all honesty
Makes me take a nap
To unwind and unwrap

I love the rain
It reminds me of better times
Of times past
Spent huddled around a fire
During autumn days
Surrounded by family
It makes me think quietly
I reflect and I'm grateful
Suddenly
Life doesn't seem that painful

Welcome home to me, my love
In this autumn gilded bright
The summer's lonely skies above
Are flecked with fresh and flaming light.

I'm glad to see you safe, my dear
The unspoken words still true
I'm glad to see our friendship here
Revived from across the ocean blue.

It's sad to see you torn apart,
It's good to see you home again.
I hope to spare your battered heart
From an ounce of unshared pain.

I cannot always walk with you
You cannot always lean on me.
But I know somehow you'll make it through
To become what I cannot be.

Sometimes I get so enlightened at
night
that the light in my head is so bright
and so intense
that it outshines the darkness around
me
and then it's morning
and the light is gone
and I wish it would've stayed

Writing is all I do.
It is who I am, the dialogue
Spinning through my mind
Every moment of every day.
It is all I see.
My life in words.
But I have to write about things.
Stories, always stories.
That’s what you’re supposed to write
That’s what people read.
But why?
So much noise in a story.
The colors and the worlds
And the loud, loud people
That aren’t people, they’re just a waste
Of ink and paper and hope and love
And the stupid, stupid readers fall for it
And believe it’s somehow true
And it’s just so much noise.
My poems are my soul
What I really think
Said plainly,
No mouthpieces
No wasted love on those stupid things
The imposter people.
This is me.
Black and white.
Insecure.
Unsure and imperfect
But honest, always true.
Look.
Read.
Know, this is what I do, what I am
Born to write
And do it badly
Knowing no one cares.

A week of reality is gone in just seconds
As my life comes back to the reality
that lacks truth and acceptance
Not everyone can be an actor he said
but not everyone can tell the truth.

So I'm back to where I remain in the back of any group gathering photo

including my family's.

I have never held a hand
I have never kissed anyone.
I have never gone on a date
Or hugged someone
Not because they were my friend
(Or an eccentric great-aunt)
But because I wanted to.

I'm not ugly (I'd like to think)
I'm old enough to drive
And read Edmund Spenser
And apply for college.
Is something wrong with me?

To never be invited to share the world
Of teenager's deepest hopes and dreams
Never know that absolute sorrow
Alluded to by others
Never know that thrilling joy
Of being wanted.

I am independent.
Pure.
Alone.

And the saddest part is that it's
all
in
my
*head.

**** up my body
and sell my soul,
I'm addicted to the night
and all it holds