A person like you should never have to go through what you have
No one deserves it, but especially someone like you.

I talked to you for 15 minutes and by the 8th minute I had tears rolling down my cheeks and my heart pulsated so sharply I thought I could see it through my shirt

God, why.
Mom. Cancer. Rehab. Chain. *******. Smoker.
Depression. Anxiety. Body dysmorphia. God, I am so sorry.  

All the cliches in the entire world could not amount to the things I wish I could say to you, and one day make you believe.
All the times you saved me from my worst self, only to realize that while you had saved me, it was your own self that was delving deeper and deeper into its own defeat.
God.
Every time you would come up and give me a hug even when I barely knew you.
When I had no idea what you would mean to me, and how much your life would impact mine.
I am so sorry.
Sorry that your parent's were **** to you. That you didn't get the family you deserve, but made yourself such a strong, completely marvelous person.
I'm not romanticising any of the things you went through because I would never shed a good light on things that caused you so much suffering.
No, that's not it at all.
All the stories you told me tonight seemed too unbearable to be real.
But those stories are your harsh realities and I would trade everything I owned, all the money in my bank account, for you to stop what you do to yourself and the undo the numbness you've trained yourself to feel
you are NOT sad personified
you are NOT just *** appeal and sweet heartbreaker
you even know that my heart breaks, literally I can feel it, when you tell me, show me, paint ******* pictures for me of all the things you've dragged yourself through
I can't pick your feet up and carry you through, though.
God, how I wish I could.
You have to do it on your own, I know you can.
But I just ******* hope you'll follow through in your terrifying, mystifyingly horrible promise of, "Maybe I'll stick around until then"
.
.
.

i am ******.
and that is my poem.

what is our relationship?
are we best friends? friends?
we hang out on weekends sometimes, are constantly around each other during the school day, and  have similar experiences and feelings about important things.
and yet, i still don't really know you.
the story of your life still remains a shrouded cloud of mystery that has yet to clear.
we are both "understand"ers
I understand a lot about you. Feel the things you feel and let unspoken things be said through a look. You understand a lot about me. You tell me things that I need to hear and offer me comfort unlike any friend because you recognize a lost but searching soul.
I remember when we first started really talking.
I don't know if I made this up, but I swear to God... every time we would talk, your eyes would light up and I would smile, because we both knew each other without really knowing
That glimmer would literally cause me to smile so big, and cause something inside me to grow a little bit each time it happened. It was a rare thing and I cherished it.
We both thought the other was exciting and it was like we shared a thousand unknown secrets just waiting to be told.
I still see that spark sometimes. It's not there in the way it used to be, but it's there. If I tell you something brave I did the previous weekend, or you talk about music or something you love, I see it come back. But when we talk about C, M, or H,  the flame is dull. I hate that; I wish it didn't have to be put out like that.
So what is this?
Sometimes I feel like whatever spark you thought you saw in me, isn't as exciting or secretive as you thought.
I hope that isn't true, because just as I don't truly know your life story, you don't know mine.
I didn't know you freshman year, or most of sophomore. Junior year, who can even say what happened. But I hope that during this summer, even if I'm not in your life as much, that flame will grow. I really hope it does, because the small glimpse of it that I was lucky enough to witness was one of the greatest, purest, most extraordinary things I have ever seen.
I didn't want to tell you about my depression, or the years I went to therapy..."counseling".
Or when I thought I had anorexia and later tried to make myself a bulimic.
When you told me on the bridge that you had tried to make yourself throw up, I understood. So much.  But I couldn't say that and make it about me.
I didn't want you to worry that I would become like her . And I know that's awful to say, but when you talk about her, and I hear the pain in your voice, and didn't want to be another cause of that.
Now I feel like I should tell you because unlike a few months or weeks ago, I'm okay with myself. I wasn't then,  but I am now.
So there's a little more about me, but this isn't what this is about.
This is a long *** who-knows-what-whatever about I don't even know.
U Rock

Paint a picture of my silhouette
With your exhalation i was taken elsewhere
I can't stay the night
But I'll wait 'til tomorrow
Come for more,  
I dare you to ask for more
You could stand in the street all day and everything would change but you.
Come and find me and I'll show you my world
My places, my favorites, my firsts
The alleyways and back streets have our names written in gold
Black soot streaks our cheeks but we're smiling
Here is a place we could call our own
if you'd take down the shaky facade
Let the rain drenched sidewalk be your foundation
it's yours if you want it

it's funny how people can capture you.
the lines around their eyes when they smile can invite you towards them,
or the fleeting look they give when they think no one's watching.
i'm interested in people's confidence, but also their nongregariousness.
the giving, the receiving, ebb and flow that makes sense but so little sense.
promise and brokenness, blame and responsibility.
strong regard interests me; inform me of the weather, or why that tea reminds you of that person, and why that makes you close your eyes and wonder.

"what about the beach?", the grandpa asked the grandson
the small boy with wide eyes looked up at this man, his eyes clearer than the elder had seen in years
the grandson had asked the grandpa to take him to the beach that day, just a few miles from the house, so he could watch the thing he loved most at that courageous, carefree age
"not today, im sorry. maybe next time you come and visit. the birds will still be there, then", he said, tirelessly
and so the little boy scooted off his lap and the grandpa sat in his chair, long after the little boy had gone to bed
he asked himself the question he had just asked
and found no reply

my eyes burned when I read your poems
when I  saw the most real and amazing parts of you that you keep hidden at all times
I often look at the people you surround yourself with and wonder how they can't see the beauty,
the beauty that is so obviously there
but it's okay. it will be because through everything, all the pain that is there, lying just beneath surface
I see it
I'm not much for words or life changing advice but I hope that with my presence or a strawberry lemonade slushie,
you will know that I see it.
Others see it too, just please believe me.
When I told you that all you can do is just 'be you'
I didn't mean it in the cliche way that it sounds...
I meant it from the deepest most genuine parts of my being,
because if you were to do that, just 'be you'
I can't even begin to explain how amazing that would be.
Because you are.
And you are worth so much more than you realize.

nostalgia is a mysterious thing;
it intoxicates you with it's smells and sights until you dip your feet  into the sea of childhood and then it pulls you deep into it's water because it knows you won't fight the current.
everyone else seems like they break the surface,
but i'm still here, under the surface refusing to gasp for air

i have yet to write about the sad look on your face
and the milky emerald swirl i catch in your eye
quite simply,
the gold from your fingertips scares
me
your untouchable phrases and the touches mesmerize me
i feel like i am reading my favorite book and rediscovering it's clairvoyance all over again
the sounds that escape your mouth create an essence of grayish light that bring out the flecks of honey in your eyes

someone called me dynamite today.
if you've never been called that, i'd like to tell you, then, that
you are dynamite.
so
explode.
fizzle.
light up.
be put out.
light up again.
trigger a spark in someone's eyes they didn't know was there
fog someone's vison if just for a moment. taint their perception and blur their minds
dazzle ignite crackle sparkle
be an ember red, hot, strong, passionate, warming, deep orange
use your flame how you want and
be
dynamite

I’m simply saddened by the thought i could’ve written thousands of love poems if you would’ve let me look at you longer

Congratulations!
You are now the proud owner of a girl...
You have successfully made her into the mechanical, fun- loving, intelligent, perfect, only spoken when spoken to, gracefu, lovi, wonde, beau, bri, fa, a,
p
     e            
                r
                         f
                                  e  
                          ­                  c
                                                       t
daughter.

a thick blanket of smoke surrounded me,
that came from inside my lungs?
the smoke enveloped my thoughts and shrouded my discernment    
it creeped around, its fingers beckoning me towards it.
it entered my lungs before i could say no, even though i had already said yes.  
why am i saying yes to so many poisonous things, and no to things that should matter
i wanted to do it, to prove myself; not  to him or her, but to myself.
if i don't act tough, that translates into vulnerability, and vulnerability is more dangerous than most risks taken
one more than her
a deeper hit
I guess I'm more competitive than I thought.
*but when do i draw the line

the monday was, as any mondays are, unexpected and unenthused with the weekend past
i had begun talking to a girl whom i met through mutual friends who frequent our neighborhood coffee shop
we decided to meet at a hookah place notoriously named after our cities zip code; it seemed our small but mighty home was trying to make a name for itself
i had not given her much thought for doing so would cause my knees to weaken and my stomach to churn
but we sat down, ordered our concoction of tobacco and talked about the things we always talked about
amidst a mixture of light conversation laced with slight boredom and tobacco poisoning, she arrived, nonchalantly
towards the end of our visit to hookah 402 I grew weary of another night spent in a mediocre way
it never made sense to me how such interesting people could find so little to do
maybe it was laziness, i don't know
she asked us where we want our night to go and how we wanted it to go
two questions i have asked my friends but have never been able to reach a conclusion or a satisfying end result
furthermore, we got into kaylas car, our first destination was a coffee shop, as it usually is
we got our coffee and decided to use my fake id and get alcohol from a liquor store in north omaha
while i may not have been nervous on the way there, our conversations distracting me from the possibility of receiving a felony, my heart picked up speed when i handed the cashier my fake
we got the alcohol and drove to the nearest gas station for a chaser
while she was in the gas station an elderly man approached our car, immediately putting his shoulders to his jawline in defense
he told us his name, even showed us where it was tatted on his arm, and asked us to drive him to his sister, whose car had just broke down
i guarantee that if she had not been with us, we would have said no, apologetically but fearful of saying yes
however, she was with us,
and with her attitude of all-encompassing love, we said yes and he got in the car
almost automatically the stranger and her began singing a beautiful duet

Every evening I look forward to sleep, thinking I might meet you in my dream
Every morning I wake up with a tinge of hope you'll be there when I wake up
Every twilight holds the promise of your hand to envelop mine
and every passer by trundles their own loves,
hopeful,
hurt,
stuck in the electrifying cycle.
The lines in my forehead are deeper
but so are laugh lines near the corners of my mouth.
I'll throw a party and hope to see you down the hall,
I won't come and talk to you because I know you'll be waiting for me outside.
Hand extended,
smirk positioned,
jeans the color of peeling paint;
Time to wake up

did you tell her about me?
of the pain i caused you?
of my problems that you no longer wanted to fix?
or of the ******* heart of yours i broke.
did you tell her how i TRANSFERED for YOU left all MY friends to please YOU
or  did you tell her about the call at 4 A.M. because I had a nightmare and needed to talk to someone, to hear my best friend's voice tell me "it's okay olivia, it was just a dream"
or how i asked you to send me sad things so that i would force myself to cry, because i hadn't cried in months and wanted to feel SOMETHING other than numb
or how we stayed up until 3 A.M. in Germany trying to solve this unsolvable mess, and you cried and i cried. everything was so ****** up
or all the red mango's i put on your doorstep as a peace offering.

you knew me, but you didnt
and that's something i still can't figure out
you knew how to manipulate me into thinking it was the best choice for US.
you loved using "us"
but you never ******* encouraged me or made me feel PROUD
I showed you my ****** poetry and you just "hmph-ed" you ******* HMPH-ED
Awhile ago I felt like I was drowing.
And I didn't want to come up and show my face to you, to my mom, to anyone who mattered
you mattered to me, c.
you mattered.
but now,
my priorities lie in
gaining back everything you put away in a box
that tiny little box you labeled
branded
with your name

i think i understand why i look in the mirror so often.
not to check my appearance
well no, that's a lie
but i think the less superficial part of looking in the mirror begins with people looking for  someone different.
when i look in the mirror i think im looking for someone different
and those who avoid the mirror, their reflection,  might be afraid of what they'll see if they gaze long enough
i look in the mirror in hopes to find myself,
because as of right now
i have no idea of who i am

if i became an expanse of sea

would you find my coast a cool place to dip your sorrows, as you     would your toes in insufferable heat

would you thirstily jump to my refreshing depth, looking to soothe and   attend some unbeknownst desire

would you wade to the shallow depth
and fill your cup with my summery libation

would you cast nearby tropical flowers in my tide
watching them swirl with contempt and longing as my waves carry    them aimlessly but gleefully
  
would you flood me with boundless questions,
submerging your mind with my saturating sapience

would you compose timeless billets-doux,
forming the cursive lines from the foam atop my waves

or would you extinguish your cigarette in my lurking , subfuscous waves,
as you shrunk rapidly from my sandy shoreside

would you toss fragments in my whitecaps, getting rid of the things you no longer cared for

or would the swirl of my water dizzy your mind, murkily shrouding your ability to think lucidly

if the wind leads you towards land
or where the deep color of the sky harmonize’s with my iridescence,
try to find slumber in the vespertide

allow the viridescent vapor to ease you in my
thalassic cavern

if you sought other sea’s to soak your searching soul in,
know my desire would not diminish,
but wade in its wishful want

love is an art form and our technique was lost in the brush strokes
the calming blue and fiery red melded into a sleepy gray on an altered canvas
our melded color wheels spun together defying gravity and the stars around it
the secret images in our minds danced across our eyelids as we slept in a blanket of white comfort
our dreams did not cease when our slumber did, but awakened themselves through the next visit to the big tree in the field
the dilapidated branches grasped our waists,
taking us as high as we wanted to go.
overcast clouds eased our minds and stirred something so deep from within, that only  a light breeze could evoke it's depths

it's that feeling when you first walk into a concert,
you know what i'm talking about.

when you see the red, green, and blue spot lights.
illuminating our eyes
once again, igniting the spark they try to put out

everywhere you look people are pulsing to the beat, as it unites the crowd in ways you didn't even know existed

standing there, you are allowed to forget
forget the bad math grade, the ****** week, the relationship that you will probably never be able to fix with your mother

I wish that one could feel like this all the time.
but then, that might ruin the specialness of it

If I could feel like this all the time, then maybe I wouldn't feel so lost all the time

That's the beauty of concerts. You let the music find you.
You may be in a crowd with a thousand other people, but that song, those lyrics, that beat is meant for you
Let it crawl into you. Starting from your toes until it climbs up to your head.
Allowing you to take down the walls, brick by brick, song by song...
Giving you the best high you've ever had.

I hope you stand next to someone you love.
But  if you dont, love them anyway because you are at a concert and nothing,
nothing
is better than that

I want to take on the world.
I want to be so in love with the world, myself, and possibly another human- I can't see straight.
I want to touch every corner with a fierce passion.
I want to look in my lovers eyes and see the world.
To look in their eyes when were 80 and gray and see the gleam I fell in love with as a kid.
To gaze in their eyes and remember the world we took on as our own.
I want to experience every emotion a thousand times and feel heartache when I have to.
I want to lay down somewhere next to the people I love…
and not give two ***** about the next day.
I want whomever I lay next to, to know I care about them…
whether I take them in my arms and kiss them with every part of my being,
or simply hold their hand and make them feel safe.
I want to feel the extent of loving someone and never knowing the limits.
I want to be alive for as long as I live.

explain it to me , im silently begging
how can you look at the seven letters on the page and think that explains who i am
you dont know the first thing about me, you truly dont
and i cant fathom that
PLEASE
when was the last time you looked at me.

really looked

do you know that i want to paint my room plum and turquoise?
or my favorite song?  or how happy funnel cake makes me?

i'd bet my life you don't remember what color my eyes are

your own ******* kid's eyes.

they're blue gray.

just so you know, just in case you ever wanted to ******* know.

I didn't expect this from you
ironically, it seems I say that a lot about you
I didn't expect for our veins to disconnect
I really didn't want to feel that
I did not foresee the change that would summon
new feelings with other people and diminish mine towards you
I never imagined my arm pulling away when it gently touched yours
I don't have experience in love... except, that word comes with so much and so little meaning im not sure how to define it
What I did have experience in, however, was wishing, every day, every evening
that something would come of it
that I would be okay to really feel what I felt towards you

The little that amounted meant so much and yet so little

And now I feel like that poet who drones on about that unrequited love, and phrases it in ways he or she believes to be original

Pessimistic much?
Possibly.

But before I end this poem I would like to say that I love  you and I loved you and a part of me is relieved that I stopped

walk with me
that's all i ask.

walk with me as the sand cushions our feet,
and we waver between the shallow water and the warm dry sand

walk with me,
and when you see something greater in the distance,
ill let you go

ill walk alone

just know that if you ever decide to come back

ill be here,
because you walked with me even when the beach ran out

There are two things in this world i would consider factors of my imminent happiness.
I use the word imminent because it's usual connotation refers to death; something often looming and ever-present.
Fear and Love.
I am fearful of a lot of things specific to past experiences, dreams, and my current situation.
I Love being alone, so I can't say I fear that.
Don't  people fear the things they love the most?
Because, by investing that love into something they are more susceptible to be broken by it.

My truly being happy isn't going to come with less fears, but with letting someone love through those fears.
And by doing so, I have to love back fearlessly, as well.
Even if it turns out exactly how I said it might….
at least I can say I ******* tried

I used to think the words "beautifully imperfect" were cliche
then i experienced what it was to seeing something so beautifully imperfect
We may never travel the same road again,
or look out the same airplane windows to a world so vast and unknown below,
but that take off, that landing, was enough.

I keep dreaming I'm somewhere else.
I suppose we all do that.
Lost in the idea that somewhere else is better than here.
I try to neatly gather my thoughts into a pool of understanding,
but am left an empty concrete pit.

I no longer drone about the beach.
Nor about your absence when the sand ran out or the loneliness I experienced when the waves enveloped my toes.
I see the water has evaporated.
I walk a new line with new horizons.
Unaccustomed to this unfamiliar  scenery I walk with one hand in my pocket and the other reaching for something I have yet to uncover.