I have gotten to that point.
The one with the feelings
that are all too familiar.

The one where I am happier
when I'm not with him.
The one where I am beginning
to feel like I'm staying for him,
not me.
The one where I miss who
I used to be,
and the mind set I had that
protected me from people,
and emotions.
The one where I feel a sense
of freedom when I'm in my
car alone.

I don't know what this means.
Or if I'm just an *******,
or not truly in love.

But I am beginning to feel like
I don't want to live like this
forever.

In case you were wondering,
there is not a person who
doesn't have to work,
who is out at 5:30 in the morning
on a Sunday in Ohio.
I drive by houses with lights
off as I'm on my way
to work,
and I am jealous,
and I wish I was
asleep or smoking a bowl
on a really comfy couch.
Pretty much,
just not doing what I'm doing.
I hate my job.

I really need to find a change.

He just sits there quietly
as I am talking away.
Suddenly,
I missed you.
Conversations were something
that just happened.
You loved my stories,
and would always chime in
with your own.
We were always talking.
I wanted to know everything
about you,
and I think you wanted to
know everything there is
about me.

I want to call him
and tell him that I wish
he was here,
to cuddle me to sleep
and tell me that everything is
going to be fine.
Tomorrow and the day after that.
I want to tell him that I can't
stop pulling out my hair,
and that my anxiety is sky rocketing.
I want to tell him that I miss him
and I love you.
But I won't.
Because I have to try to go to
sleep on my own.

The past 24 hours
have brought about so
much anxiety,
the fact that I even have
hair left is a miracle.
I'm running on almost no sleep,
hardly any food,
and my stomach has been
****** up all week.

I have a memory of him
that I love.

I came over on a sunny day
and he asked me to take
a ride with him.
Of course I said yes.

He smiled when I put on
the helmet,
and I wrapped my arms
around his waist.
Everybody used to think
I was crazy for getting
on the back of his bike,
but I wasn't afraid.
I trusted him.

And I remember that during
the ride he would let his right
hand fall,
and rest on my leg.
I knew he was doing this
on purpose because I could feel
his fingers tighten around me.

Even though my *** hurt
from sitting on the back
of his dirt bike,
I didn't want it to end.

Riding was his special thing,
and I felt such joy that he
wanted me along.

I would do anything
to be on the back of that bike
again.

I think it's sort of weird
how I've created this
character of him in my
mind.
Where he is everything I
want him to be,
and the truth.
I was thinking that maybe
I'm becoming this weird,
stalker type person,
but now I realize that he
is that place in my mind
that I can go
when I need to find happiness
or solitude.

It's nice to go there.

We finally went on that
date we had always talked about.
We met where we first met again
after 4 years.
We took his car and he told me
about his cross country road trip.
We went to a Japanese restaurant
and I tried some new food,
and we talked about
books, music, and our lives
in less than a summed up way
of what has happened in the
time we were apart.
We split the check,
and headed back.
I enjoyed hearing his voice
and looking at him,
and how comfortable I became
around him.
When we got back to my
sister's place that she shares
with her fiancé,
I left for a bit to get food
for Dan, because he's practically
crippled right now,
and a blunt for my cruise home
later that night.
When I got back he was gone.
No good bye.
No hug.
No possibility of a kiss,
that's been in the making for
years.
I don't think he had a good time.
Maybe, he realized he didn't
really like ME.
I don't know what else to say.
My feelings are hurt again
by a guy that I'm not even
with.
Story of my life huh?

I remember a feeling
I used to get.
A tightening in my chest,
anxious, and exciting.
When everyone got together
and it was time to hangout
on a Friday at Joeys.
Somehow we all knew to go
there.
I don't think we ever mutually
decided that, that is what we
would do after school on that day,
it just always happened.
Usually my sister and I would
be the first ones there,
since I was dating Joey.
We'd snag one of the few
chairs in the room,
if you struck out you had to
sit on the floor.
Anyways,
everybody would start filing in
and suddenly everything would
start to get fun.
The room got louder and then
music would be playing in
the background.
Everyone smiling,
and laughing.
Suddenly a joint or a bowl
would be presented to your
fingers and you'd puff puff
pass it along,
and everything was great.
It went like this for four
amazing years.
A group of guys and girls
who could come together without
any worries of having to impress
anyone,
and feel better when they left.

It seems like years ago now,
but sometimes,
I still get that anxious, excited
feeling.

I want a love story like
*When Harry met Sally.

He's drinking again.
He is receding,
falling,
and lost in his
own damaged
heart,
and out of his mind.
He had a light
when I saw him
for the first time,
but it has gone out,
the rooms are dark
and he is gone again.
But I still knock
on every door and window
begging to let me in.
Because even though
he's bad for me,
he is the most real
thing in my life
and even if his
soul leaves this earth,
this connection
will never end,
and
he will never leave
my heart.

The big dream is to
one day publish a book
of my poetry.
Not for money, or fame,
but for me.
It may not be on the horizon
today,
but I have no doubt
that one day you may
be reading this,
written in ink
on a crisp white page,
with my name on the cover.
But until the day that
my little book is sitting among
the greats,
I will keep writing, practicing,
suffering, smiling,
and trying.

Sometimes,
I desperately wish
I was single again.
Although it will
never be the way it
was last time.
Until I remember what
it's really like to
be single.
Every night is
either spent alone
or as the third wheel.
I never went without
****,
I stayed up all night,
listening to music,
either
getting ******,
or developing
a habit for drinking,
writing poems
about love.
I was single for almost
a year.
I was so adapt
to being alone,
that I forgot how
to talk to people.

I destroy myself
when I'm alone,
I thrive with
some one standing
beside me.

I would do anything
to catch a glimpse.

I hope that I get
to keep trying for
the rest of my life,

to make you smile.

I leave work and come home
to his house.
"He's upstairs."
They tell me.
thanks.
I go up the small stairway,
and open the door to his room.
He turns and says,
"Hey baby. C'mere."
I smile and take off all of my work
clothes, putting on the ones I brought
for today,
and get under the sheets next to him.
And even though I've been up
for eight hours already,
I am tired again,
so comfortable just to feel
him breathe.

"I love you."
*I love you too.

The rain finally came,
and cooled everything off.
I now look forward to it
because I know that it means
I will sleep very well.
The fan blows on me,
standing beside the bed,
with the window open behind it.
Rain air.
Delicious.
Sleep is working his way
up to my eyes;
they are wanting to close.
So, I will sleep,
and it will storm.

How fascinatingly scary
the troubled mind can be.
She fell in love with one,
so quickly, she thought she
must be crazy.
He was everything she never
thought she wanted.
He was flighty, dangerous,
wreck less, and highly unpredictable.

Every day was a new adventure,
and that was what kept bringing
her back to his bed at two o' clock
in the morning,
wearing his t-shirt and her underwear.

She never got to know how
much he loved her,
or if he even did.

Turns out, she was flighty too
and she ran away,
and locked herself inside with
a bottle of wine,
peeking out the window
looking for his reflection.
After she drank her nights away
with someone else
for more than a couple of weeks,
he was gone.

And she was left to go on
with her days, as though he had
never been a part of them.
And the sad truth is,
now she is the one with the
troubled mind.

If I
didn't write
poetry,
I would
l
o
     sss
e
e

my
m i n d ..

I remember the first
time I was made aware
of what I am doing.
I was a senior in high school,
having a sleep over at my
friend's house.
She had just got done
doing my twin sister's hair.
It was really pretty.
Long, blonde, and curled.
Cam said,
I could do the same for you.
And she smiled.
So I sat in front of her,
and she started messing
with my much shorter hair.
Suddenly, she stops,
and breathes out.
Then slowly she said,
What happened to your hair?
Of course I asked her what she meant.
Then she showed me.
It was missing, gone.
I was bald.
I just sat there,
frozen by my own reflection.
What was happening?!
I tried laughing it off,
but as I laughed,
tears started colliding
onto my legs.
Was I crazy?
When did I do that?!

As soon as I got home
I googled,
why am I pulling out my hair?

What I found.

Trichotillomania.

When we're little,
we are told
over and over again
that the world isn't
fair and that people
will let you down.
Well, someone
left out the part
where your parents
end up disappointing
you as well.
They say that drugs
and alcohol ****
up your life,
but those things
can't miss your
band recital,
or tell you it's time
to get out of their house.
You can always overcome
an addiction,
but you can't always
overcome the heartbreak
left by the people you
looked up to most
as a child.

I will never feel bad for you if you think life ***** because you're SO pretty. You have no idea how much harder it is not to be.
I don't even want to hear the struggle of an 18 yr old who is just getting their first job. Welcome to the real world.
I can't stand people who don't have a job and are still better off than me.
I am not going to care if you're complaining about the significant other that you've been on and off with for EVER!
People with no money who smoke more *** than I do, because it's other people's ****, and call themselves a "stoner."
People who call themselves hippies because they smoke ***, wear sunflower headbands from Claire's and have only done acid once in their lives.
Oh and that John Green is a ******* sell out who shouldn't let anyone make Looking for Alaska into a movie because they're just going to RUIN it.

It's a thank you. I have never felt like I was good at anything until I began writing poetry about 2 years ago. I found this website and I visited every single day. Over time, with encouragement and practice, I feel like I have finally become the writer I want to be. Sadly I deleted my old account, but I couldn't leave. If you like the poems I write, have ever liked one of them, or shared it, thank you thank you thank you. My big dream is to one day publish the poems I write here. So it feels incredible to know that real people have super positive feed back.
Again, thank you for helping me fulfill my dream, and my heart.
~peace~

How come it's always
time to wake up,
go to work.
Pay bills,
fix the car,
and do laundry.
It's never time to
go to bed,
clock out,
smoke a cigarette,
light a joint.

There is never enough time
for the things you enjoy.

I remember why I used
to come here every day
after class when I went to College.
It's quiet.
The kind of quiet where even
breathing makes too much noise
compared.
But today I am here
because I have nowhere else to be.
I'm sitting in my car writing this,
and a skinny man in white shorts
jogs past.
I know he's here for the same reason
I am.
Just a little time off.

I really want to talk
to you,
but I don't know what
to say.
I can't just say hi,
it's been too long.
But I also don't want to
dump a year's worth of
feelings in the first message.
If only I could think
up the right words to say.

Sometimes I
really think I
have anger issues.
I freak out too often,
and don't know
where to put
my rage even
when the problem is
solved.
Maybe that's why
I pull my hair out
and chain smoke
like I'm in some
mafia movie.
I'm crazy and
I'm sure of that.
I just wish I could
control it.

My eye ***** can't stop
watering.
I feel like I could cry
for days.
It's not all because of
my car dying tonight,
it also has a lot to do with
my whole day and
my whole life.
None of it is going right.
I'm tired of trying.
Of fighting.
I just don't want to do it
anymore.

Isn't it absurd
that even as I sit here
at the beginning of a poem,
I just pulled out a hair.
I looked at it between my
fingers and then dropped it
onto the bed to be lost forever,
among the rest.

I sit here on my bed,
in my hot room,
with a 1.5 liter bottle of wine
beside me.
Im going to drink the rest,
in hopes of sleep,
and because the bottle is cold
against my legs.
Here I am.
In my natural habitat,
surrounded by uncomfortable
feelings and anger.
Charles Bukowski lays open
in front of me,
but I've already read it.
Besides I am supposed to be
asleep right now.
I won't even tell you how early
I have to be awake.
It just sounds pathetic.

I'm not depressed, just over it.
And I'm okay with that.

I feel even more alone
in this,
people know so little
that they thought it was an STD.
Honestly,
I worry that no one
will ever know or care
about something that
really plagues people's lives.
Something that takes over mine.
Some days I feel so
self conscious about the lack
of hair on my head that I
won't go out in public.
I can feel the unspoken stares,
and the amount of ignorance
when someone says,
Just stop
You really don't know how
much I wish it was that easy.

I sit here in discomfort,
and read poetry out loud to
no one,
just because it feels like talking,
to someone.
And I am eating my dinner
of chicken nuggets made in
the convection oven.
Everything is a mess,
he got no help from the hospital,
which was to be expected.
Those doctors in their white coats,
and pink scrubs,
who wear even whiter shoes,
don't care about your pain,
even if you have the money
to waste eight hours of your life
in their useless rooms.
And I am sitting between a rock
and a hard place,
because making life decisions are
going to be the death of me.
Maybe it's because change has
always been the root of everything
that's made me unhappy:
although I know it's unavoidable.
Life changes every day,
even if it's just the weather,
or the length of your hair.
If only someone could teach me
to not be afraid of the one thing
I can't run from in life.

I have always
been able to get along
with people that
others can't.
The outcasts,
the freaks,
the losers,
the *******.
I have always been
able to see what
ordinary people don't.
Who they really are.
Everybody is a good person.
Some just have a hard
time expressing it.
Actually,
I fall in love with
those who are different.
And I love them for
the rest of my life.
Maybe it's because
I have always been
the weird one.
So I know what it
looks like inside
the soul of a person
that nobody understands.

I dream about you every night
as though I'm trying to
make up for what should've been,
even if it was only for a little while.
I made the wrong choice way
back then.
There is no way of going back
and changing my own mind now,
but a girl can dream.

Funny that a quote that
describes us perfectly
was written on his status.
The only breaking up
we do is.
is when we're breaking up
*the ****.