I met a man
with a bike
but he seemed to want
to hike
The road too dangerous to ride
the bike stayed by his side
The very sociable man
couldn't carry on with his plan

Thoughts racing, heart chasing.
You're mad, I'm sad.
Can't stop shaking, there's no faking
When I see you in the halls,
I stall, hide behind a pillar, a friend, anything
Just to avoid the awkward eye contact.
I'm not good at confrontations, at the mere thought of it I flee..
You might think I'm crazy or immature,
But when you told me to stop talking to you my mind went a blur..
My friends say you're overreacting, over something so small.
I fear you'll dump me, leaving me lonely..
I'm so sorry.. Please forgive me?

I need a break from reality.
Headphones in, music blasting... Block out the world..
For a little while. It doesn't have to be forever.
Though I wouldn't mind if it was, you seem happy.
Or at least content.. I'll always want the best for you even if that means with out me.

Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.

The hardest part about writing poetry is the boundaries you create for yourself.
You think of ideas to put onto paper, but you feel like those thoughts are mundane and probably previously overused.
The hardest part about writing for me, is pushing past those thoughts and convincing myself to write about it anyways.
I need to understand that I have my own twist on similar ideas as others.
I need to trust my mind and let it do the talking.

"I realize there is really nothing to lose. We're all apart of life and that makes us something. It makes me believe I'm apart of something bigger"

"I want to believe I have a purpose but sometimes I forget that I have one"

"Alone at night when the sun is setting lay in the grass and focus on how the grass feels between your fingers and toes, and how beautiful the sky looks. Appreciate the worlds beauty, and in return it will appreciate you. Notice the universe and the universe will notice you"

You say to me
Baby I miss you  
Well I miss me too
The way I walked with a bounce in my step
A smile plastered on my face,
I gave you my heart, but now I've been replaced.

You're just a bullet to my brain
Lodging it in, so I feel okay.
Cause since you shot me
I've seen nothing but snipers,
Where a photographer should be.
Baby take a picture, you've killed me.

Some want to be remembered
for their touchdown record.
Some want to be remembered
for their body count.
Some want to be remembered
for their brilliance.
But I want to be remembered
for my kindness.
I will admit, I look back and remember the boy who always scored the touchdowns that always made our student section roar and fill with happiness.
I will admit, I look back and remember the girls who told funny, yet repulsive stories about their adventures of sleeping with random guys.
I will admit, I look back and remember the brainiacs and how they could make something as minuscule as a piece of gum a deep conversation starter.
But I will also admit, that looking back they have no significance to me.
Looking back, I remember the people who were kind above all else, I think of those people more frequently and hope they are doing well.
I remember those people and admire them for staying positive in a world so hopeless and full of hate and negativity.
I remember those people and feel a little less alone and know that they would be there if I called.
I wonder if those people are out in the world right now, spreading even more positivity and making others feel a little less insignificant.
I aspire to be remembered by kindness.

Old enough to know better but young enough not to care,

I hold onto you like water clings to rose petals

a heavy due

in the morning, we take coffee with cigarettes

we exhale, eyes watering

two smoke rings blending then disappearing into the

ether

a missed opportunity, passes

we are joined at the hip, hip bones grinding against each

other

and in these shattered bones we build

a fire, a house

a home