I thought I was getting better
Months flew by that only felt like days
and I don't cry when I think of you anymore
I told myself not to waste my tears on people who aren't worth it
But my grandfather died last night
And I still haven't cried
And now I think I understand why those months went by so fast

"I wonder if guardian angels cry when they see it all play out;
and as they stand with their hands tied,
do they cry out loud?"**

I wonder if they ached,
when I fell in love with you the first time.
Did they shout, "Stop! You've chosen the wrong one!
Go back, this is your warning sign!"

Or if they begged God
to let them step in
when I was 16 and took too much
of my mother's prescription medicine.

Or if they stared down at me in resentment,
when I ignored the voice in the back of my head
that told me to walk on the main roads
instead of taking that back alley instead.

I wonder if they stand around my bed
when I lay empty and unloved,
wanting to reach out and hold me
but being held back by the realms above.

I wonder if they want to apologize
for my life that didn't go as planned.
And to tell me that their intentions were good,
but interfered with by the evil of man.

I wonder if they would apologize,
for not being loud enough when I made the wrong choice.
And I wonder how many times they've broken the rules of Heaven,
just to make sure that I could hear their voice.

Or if they'd tell me that they've always been watching,
but sometimes human desires overpower their will.
Would they tell me that these things my fault?
Do my guardian angels care, still?

Because the world keeps spinning faster,
and it seems everyone is only out for themselves...
but I wonder if our guardian angels live in regret
because of the times they couldn't save us from ourselves.

Stop replaying that night when you drank too much and said the wrong things and kissed the wrong person.

Stop wishing you could take back the words you said in the fight that ended things for good.

Stop wishing you had gotten better grades in high school instead of taking up a habit that you still haven't broken 5 years later.

Stop wishing you had taken more pictures last Christmas because you didn't know it would be the last Christmas you would spend with your father.

Stop wondering if your best friend took what you said that one time the wrong way.

Stop hating yourself for staying quiet that one time you saw something you knew was wrong, but turned a blind eye.

We are all ****** up people.
We are all flawed.
We have all hurt someone we love, we have all broken things that can never be repaired.
But regret gets exhausting,
and eventually,
if you let it,
it will bleed you dry.


Forgive yourself.

I see lovers
holding hands and giving each other the look that can only be described as
"the look"
because only those who are out of love are bitterly aware of the sickeningly admiring gaze that one partner gives to the other when they speak  
and only those who are in love are oblivious to the fact that they are giving the look

And I see friends,
friends in love with friendship
friends in love with being with each other
in love with the adventure and the memories
and the comfort and familiarity that comes with knowing each other like the back of your hand

I see individuals
completely, and utterly in love with themselves
the kind of arrogance that is almost admirable
in love with their passion,  their ambition
with their goals and their futures
in love with the potential they know they have and in love with the hope that maybe one day,
they'll be an All-Star
or a politician
or a beautiful poet
or a parent

I see all of these people who are in love and I wonder, are these people really as in love as they claim to be?

And if so, when is it my turn to be in love?

Grass, beauty, Easter and art;
the kind of grey skies that don't hurt your heart,
the kind of rain that signals a new start -
Spring is allowing your soul and your darkness to part.

Remembering childhood memories you didn't know you forgot,
Pastel coloured sweets that will make your teeth rot,
Lovers going at it like bunnies without fear of getting caught,
Spring is bringing clarity and serenity to your thoughts.

Windows that crack open just enough to leak fresh air,
with lilac blossom candles leaving a light scent that's barely there
and there's something about the way you started wearing your hair...
Spring is finally replenishing what winter left bare.

"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

Before it's too late,


                                                         ­  because nothing's worse than
                                                            ­                                                  too
                                                                ­                                                     late.

Once angelic, now sounds like nails screeching against a chalkboard.

Knowing is always better than not knowing.
                                                        ­                                               Every
                                                           ­                                                      single
                                                          ­                                                                 time.

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
But you spend a lot of time drinking,
leaving your morals and reasoning behind.

I spend a lot of time reading,
because I crave the escape of a fictional fantasy life.
But you spend a lot of time bleeding,
because you crave an escape only found through a knife.

I spend a lot of time worrying,
because I fear you'll never make it out of this town alive.
But you spend a lot of time hurrying;
dismissing everything that matters to stay busy,
just to survive.

I spend a lot of time laundering
your ***** clothes with stains of blood
that just won't seem wash out.
But you spend a lot of time wandering;
always searching,
but never finding what love is really about.

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
You can carry on your drinking,
I've decided it's time to leave you behind.

Everything is changing,
but your haircut still looks the same.

I've never really loved the look of "perfect" on a person.

But I've loved crooked teeth
and chapped lips
and the rips in his sweater
and calloused palms
and acne scars along his jawbone
and eyes that are slightly slanted upward
and pant legs that are too short
and watches worn with the time set two minutes early
and hair that always looks the same
and loud voices in libraries
and quiet whispers at crowded parties
and twisted ****** expressions
and dilated pupils
and the way too much of his gum shows when he smiles
and beauty marks in secret places
and the same white t-shirt worn over and over again
and eye colours that are indistinguishable
and cold, blank stares at 3 am
and hopeful stares at the break of dawn
and messy writing that's hard to read
and untied shoe laces
and lisps
and stutters
and jeans worn too low
and fists that make holes in walls
and breath that reeks of coffee
and lips that taste of tobacco
and eyelids that are heavy after a long day
and fading bruises
and bushy eyebrows
and clumsy feet
and hunched postures
and hands that are always too cold
and bandages stuck onto odd places
and cologne that's a little too strong...

 because I think that showing what is imperfect is what makes a person worth loving.

You are not lost.
You are not irreversibly damaged.
You are not irreparably broken.
You are not bound by fear.
And as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!

Quit letting your counselor try to dig up reasons from your childhood to justify why you're damaged.
Maybe we are damaged, but maybe blaming the people who ****** us over will only lead to a life of bitterness and revenge seeking.
Yes, we are hurt!
Yes, we are young and yes, we are lonely but as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!

Quit letting your church make you feel broken.
Maybe we are a little cracked in places, but those pieces are still glued together by the blood that beats in our hearts.
We are whole!
We are a living art with flaws and chips in our armor and scars that line our arms  but as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!

Quit letting your parents tell you that you've lost your way.
No, we haven't lost our way!
We are still here!
We are drunk on hope but as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to be live!

Quit letting your society make you feel like you can't do the things you want to because of the fear that it has places on you.
Maybe we are a little scared, but maybe that terror is only there to remind us that there are things more important than fear.
Be scared!
Be horrified on the days when you feel your disorder is stronger than you,
and gawk at how your hands shake when you kiss your lover even though you'd break your mother's heart if she knew you were gay;
because as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to be live!

Keep getting drunk!
Keep kissing the wrong person!
Keep cursing under your breath when you're forced to sit through a 2 hour church service!
Keep rolling your eyes at that teacher that you know is secretly a racist!
Keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again,
but as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!

So what if you really, really hate pets?
So what if you just can't seem to take the public school education system seriously?
So what if you can't seem to wrap your mind around a God who is supposed to love us, but is cruel enough to put us through all of the world's awful antics?
So what you secretly cannot stand spending time with your grandparents?
So what that Christmas is the worst time of the year for you?
So what if you have trouble getting out of bed or looking people in the eye?
So what if your hands shake when there isn't a cigarette between your fingers?
So what if you just can't quit watching gay **** even though you swear you're straight?

What does any of that mean to you, anyway?
What does how you choose to live your life mean?
What do the little quirks and the bad habits and the curses that have been cast upon you mean?

It means that you are living.
It means that there are billions of coffins buried six feet under piles of dirt and bugs, with crumbling tombstones that do not have your name engraved on them.
It means there are billions of breathing humans that are buried under society's rules and expectations and standards, that have their names engraved on office cubicles and restaurant name tags.
It means there are billions of dead people in cemetery's and there are billions of dead men walking, but you are not one of them.
And as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!


You are not bound by fear.
You are not irreparably broken.
You are not irreversibly damaged.
You are not lost** -
you have found yourself here, in this poem.
And as long as we are alive, we will not be afraid to live!

And love is really important,
even if just for one night.
It can chase away your biggest fears,
it can get your through your toughest fight.

Don't let society make you feel cheap
for only needing love in small, temporary amounts.
Your value as a person
isn't derived from your *** partner count.

Don't let them make you feel ***** or small,
because some of us need this to survive.
The night of love we get from strangers,
we use just to stay alive.

Because relationships can be messy,
and hearts are so easily broken.
But through nights of whisky and hotel rooms,
we find words of peace that were never spoken.

And some of us don't have hearts,
as they were stolen long ago.
From men called "Dad"
and men in suits,
and men who we've never known.

And maybe the word "****" makes the people feel okay.
This type of labeling has been going on since the Biblical days.
Maybe it makes them feel better about their own sinful ways.
Maybe when the Earth crumbles, they'll have a price to pay.

Because they don't know what it's like to be empty for so long,
That the thought of being full terrifies you.
They don't know that you'd rather be wrong,
than risk the pain that being right can put you through.

But I do, my dear.
For I am one of you.
I've felt closer to heaven in the arms of strangers
than I ever have kneeling on a pew.

I know what you dream of, darling.
I know that you dream of lasting and healing love.
I know that you feel prisoner by your demons,
I know you hope for a sign from above.

Don't let the world bother you much.
I understand you; I know you're doing your best.
For now, it's okay to find comfort in a stranger's touch,
to let love fall from your mouth.
To let pain flow from of your chest.

I didn't cry for two years,
Because I refused to let myself feel.
I promised that I would save my tears
for something that deemed my emotions real.

It was a method that helped me get by -
Not questioning why certain things felt so heavy to carry,
I never let myself feel the urge to cry,
Because the thought that I may never stop was an idea too scary.

And then I saw you
and I didn't know if anything would feel worse,
than the way you said my name
Or how your eyebrows raise when you curse.

You messed up my two year streak.
You interfered with my way of living.
And now I always let the water leak
from my eyes until my emotions are swimming.

So I'm sick of writing poems about you,
and I hate that you made me cry.
These are my last lines for you,
this is me saying goodbye.

I would give everything to not sleep alone tonight,
I have tried so many drugs to make this burden feel light.
But nothing is helping to rid these beasts out of sight!
Show me something to end this nightmare,
give me something to win this fight.

There are many things I can tell you, and many things I cannot.
The amount of battles I've won is much less than the ones I've fought.
But I've got lots of knowledge buried inside my skull
Some of which is morbid, but most of which is dull.

I can tell you how to sweep the kitchen floor without leaving behind crumbs,
I can tell you how to twist a doorknob without using your thumbs.
I can tell you how to get to Union Station from the West-bound train,
I can teach you different pranks that will drive your brother insane.

I can tell you how to sear small burns into your delicate skin,
I can name you all the different pills that will make you thin.
I can tell you how to hurt yourself in places no one will find,
I can tell you how to arrange your coke into a perfect line.

But there are things I cannot say, for I have not discovered:
How to find hope, how to be kind, or how to be a lover.
I'm still learning how to drive my car in standard,
And I'm still trying to figure out how to behave in a polite manner.

Every day I learn, and every day I fail
But my burning desire for growth will always prevail.

Because although I am destructive and ill and cold
And though I am young and foolish and bold
I am still looking forward to what the future will hold
Because there are many things I can tell you, and many things to be told.

I was 16 years old and wanted to slice myself in half,
wondering if I would ever get the last laugh.
Wondering why the good things never last,
hoping I could one day go down the right path.

I was 16 years old and couldn't think straight,
stuck on the idea that I'd always be too late.
Hoping that the boy would ask me on a date,
Seeing only predictability and self hate.

I was 16 years old with a hair clip and a lighter,
wondering why no one else saw me as a fighter.
Trying different things to make the weight lighter;
mixed in with the invisible's and the over-biters.

I was 16 years old and the timing was always wrong,
feeling like the road of self-destruction was too long.
Doctors telling me what I had known all along,
just waiting for the day that I could sing a new song.