I want to be able to miss you until my heart aches. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to reassure myself that the walls I’ve built around myself have not affected my ability to love–especially loving someone that deserves the mountains and all the dandelions that have managed to not just grow, but dance, on the summits.

For every second I spend weepin',
Father Time he comes a-sweepin'.
To put things in order, things in place,
To wipe the tears right off my face.

If only you could trust the time,
You would accept my choice of crime.
My selfish choice: To put first- Me,
Above all else, just simply free.

Though I'm no longer yours for keepin',
In my heart, it still lay creepin',
My only regret: The certain haste,
Out of my Mind, my Heart has chased.

Fear not, however, you live in rhyme.
Like blissful days far past their prime.

You talked in touch when all I really wanted was to hear the sound of your voice. When the only words we spoke were in between sighs I knew you could never feel the same. You stained my lips with empty words and a hope so strong I eventually broke. The worst part isn’t the promises I thought I saw in your eyes but that I actually believed any of them. My fingertips long for the touch of your skin, to be glued to the inside of your palm where they felt like they belonged. An absence unexplainable because you weren’t even mine to begin with. I felt at home when you wrapped your arms around me so tight I couldn’t breathe, in the best possible way. You taught me what it’s like to miss something so much it hurts, and I’m still here trying to figure out if that’s a bad thing.

You never appreciated such

until he touched you and told you that if you were in a room full of people, you would be too delicate to take pictures of. He rubbed your arms like you were an oil painting. He kissed your cheeked and it felt like a brush swiping a canvas. But you forgot that you were the painting hanging on the wall. You took pictures of him every chance you got, and he never returned. You looked at him like he wasn't for sale. You saw him as priceless, something hanging in France. You lost your worth. The museum closed on you and the only thing you could feel was black splattering through your life. But you're still a prize, he left but you're still worth more than a few sweet words. You lost yourself in white paint and now you feel like a grey blotch. The lights are off and you're still hanging in the Louvre. The museum may close and the people may leave, but a masterpiece is a masterpiece even when nobody's looking. Hes a sketch, an idea, a rough draft. You, you are a work of art.

a bear
growls loud
a gun

You're my colorful sky
in a world of gray.
You're my shining moon
in a galaxy of stars.
You're my beautiful flower
in a field of weeds.
You're my brightest smile
in a stream of tears.
You are mine.

The written word of someone’s life performed on stage
The dialog you will be amazed
The story of a young boy who was bullied and who wanted to commit suicide
But the inner emotion from within in being reside
My life is in shambles
I grew up to only be beat up
People thought I was gay
At least that was discussions way
Word got out from here to there astray
Discussions remained strong
I tried as I may to get along

My Parents even thought so as well
It wasn’t hard as I could tell
But that is not the whole story
I often get strange stares
Yet it wasn’t really crystal clear
I was called names beyond my own
I am you have heard of and they are known

I feel I am not worthy to live
I want to take my life and never again think twice
How should I commit suicide?
Take pills, hang myself or stab myself with a knife into my heart
My life has no meaning
I have no creed to proceed
People want me dead for what they think I have become
Their focus is next to none
I don’t even have my Parents to look upon

My tomorrow has become today
Perhaps I will be better off dead
Then I will never have to hear instead being misled
My eyes are beginning to close, and darkness being the overcast
That second came quick
I am no more.