Turn the channel but it’s still static
So far away that you can’t hear the panic
And maybe I am a touch dramatic
But that doesn’t mean that I’m not problematic.
Not saying that my whole life is tragic
But having you in it was a little traumatic.
Despite all the times it felt like magic
Looking back now pushes me into a havoc.

I know, I know, I know,
We both made mistakes, and
I know, I know, I know,
We never meant for it to be this way.
I wish, I wish, I wish,
We had told more truths and not buried them,
I wish, I wish, I wish,
we would’ve had more of a grey area.

Extra, extra
Read all about it!
Your daily dose of depression on the front cover—
Or maybe some celebrities just become lovers—
But whatever it is, you know you want to know about it.
All publishers as my witness,
All news is good business.

She wanted to love her
but didn’t know how.
The static in her head was too loud,
crowded commotion that could crack open her cranium countless times,
but when the clocks count soundless in your mind,
What’s the difference?
The clocks turn carnivorous,
and break down the barriers you bound around them,
destroying your defenses and leaving you defenseless as they detonate the little love you keep for yourself.
Then, there’s nothing left.

When I was fourteen, I learned “no” doesn’t mean anything to certain people.
They take that word and twist it, carve it, shape it and play with it until it mushes into “yes”. They do the same with
“Not today.”
“I want to wait.”
“We’re too young.”
“This isn’t fun.”
All they need to do is drag you to a point along the road that you give up, and then “I guess” is what they run with.
“No” is just a sign to try harder, right?
If you can’t get them to “I guess” or “yes”, you haven’t tried hard enough.
And once you’ve done it, you think it’s okay to do it again and again,
On multiple occasions,
Without so much as even asking.
It only takes 1 “I guess”,
Then all the hear is “yes”.

It’s for real this time,
I say.
But if it’s for real this time,
Why do I have to convince myself of that every day?
If it’s for real this time,
Why do I get pushed away?
If it’s for real this time,
Why do they never stay?

You used to eat all the blue M&Ms in the package last.
Now I eat all the blue ones first to convince myself I’m over you,
Yet every time I do
I only think of you.

I'm the poet.
You're the puppet. I
    control
                       where
                                                       your
                                                      eyes
l­ead,
when and where you

                                  read my words
with my spaces and p
                                      auses,
drive you crazy with nonsense clauses
that don't always rhyme.
But they do some of the time.
Or I use alliteration around absently,
leaving you wondering what my next word will be.
And by making it to the end of this poem,
you have proven how poets manipulate your thinking through the use of poetry puppetry.