Writing myself encouraging notes for the morning, knowing I'll need them to get through the day;
Is it crazy to talk to yourself in 3rd person through means of ink?
I've been finding myself more neurotic than usual.
Lists and notes help.
I swear it's not a self esteem issue,
I assure you of my confidence,
But I just cannot seem to figure out why it is I've sparked interest in so many intricate and spectacular people.
I've come upon so many outstanding friendships.
Sometimes, I'll admit, I forget to remember the vast support system I've found myself immersed in.
I have the ability to soar through the day, wearing a crooked smile, my personal notes in pockets, and friendship in my heart.
I must only remember not to forget.

I get drunk and read your poetry,
but I only do it when I'm
so drunk
that in the morning
I can't remember what you said

I browse the poems on Hello Poetry
and chance upon yours,
It shakes me to my core,
Like it was written by me, for me.

My thoughts you spread out on display,
My miseries, you named them.
How did you know?
How could you have known?
The blood shed was wiped clean,
The bruises, camouflaged accordingly.

But here, staring at me,
were details of my life,
Penned by a seemingly unknowing entity.

Inclined to turn away,
I quickly close the page,
Goodbye Poet,
Goodbye Poetry!

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,
the king has lost his golden crown,
the queen is dead with a bullet in her head,
and all the children have somehow drown.

Those sinister black crow hymns
play just outside the windowpane,
in all the years we've been painted black,
we watched this city go down in flames.

Cold lipped killers with a steady shot,
pulling the trigger with no second thought.
Creating a scene, across the movie screen,
undisclosed, undiscovered, never to be caught.

The lights go out and we're still falling,
to that same, sad hymn,
and the chorus is chirping all the way down,
to reunite royalty with it's sin.

People, you know, are like never-ending rainbows.
Nauseating colors and no pots of gold.

People, it seems, are like toxic streams.
Flowing endlessly with waters that you can't drink.

Like piles of so many strands of straw,
hiding golden pins underneath.
If I could find one I'd ***** my fingers and bleed
all over these troublesome docile stacks.
Light it on fire and turn them to ash.

People are like so many cigarettes in a pack -
always craving another even as your insides turn black.

And people, I swear,
they act like they care,
but when push comes to shove they all cower in fear.

So people, beware!
For I am not scared.
My strength comes from inside.
I'm self-aware!

And people (me too) know not what we do.
Spend our whole lives pursuing beliefs so untrue.

That's okay, people.
I forgive you.
And through your existential struggles,
I find you beautiful.

I'm quite taken with you.
You're the apple of my eye.
Like a chocolate fudge sundae on a Friday night,
You're as sweet as pumpkin pie,
But my teeth are prone to cavities.
I dare not take a bite.

I will spread my opinions like a plague,
which is exactly how they'll paint them.
By "them" I mean the proverbial "they."
The ones who will color me as paranoid and insane.

They'll say not to listen;
to disregard it all.
It's the nature of the games they play.
They push us to the edge,
Then publicize the fall.

Do not watch the news.
Ignore all commercials.
Pursue beauty and truth;
embrace the controversial.

"Any book worth banning is a book worth reading,"
so read them all with zest.
If you get the feeling that I'm preaching,
remember,
only you know what is best.