the way she read books
was the way i looked at her;
interested and quietly
always on the edge of my seat
watching her beautifully move
without any cares
i loved when she blasted rock music in the car
and made me sing along
and i remembered she hated her voice
but all i could do was fall in love with it everyday
and yes this is in past tense because 
i let go of the prettiest flower in the ugliest meadow

Not easy to walk through a
meadow full of flowers
when they look dead
and it's as if you can see the
bones of the dead
reaching for the sunshine
that the daises aren't sharing
as I collapse towards the graves
part of me wishing to be a flower
and the other wishing I was
colds stone with some skull and bones
with my smile washed away
but roots of nature growing in me
my tears becoming lost in
the ground
because the flowers need it
but I need to stop feeling like
a dull piece of grass
I need to be a flower
but I'm just going to be
another sad story
lost in the dirt
that the flowers need to thrive
and another lost soul
will kick me around
but we all end the same
and we'll all breathe the same
dirt one day
and it won't be easy to walk through
a meadow full of flowers
when they look dead

You wipe away my sorrows
The wavelength between
our hearts and breathless breathing
must be the definition of love
or maybe it's the stars
playing as ventriloquists
I think of you all the time
because you're in everything;
even the air I breathe
and I will lock that
in my wavelength for you forever

The Garden Boy has eyes greener than the grass that will sometimes be the color of the dirt too
The Garden Boy reminds me of a distant galaxy because he is so close yet unreachable
The Garden Boy spends his time learning about the world and dreams of changing it
The Garden Boy met my eyes under the full moon and his parted lips were saying words that he never would
I wish The Garden Boys’ hands were welcoming to mine
The Garden Boy has a love he can’t admit
The Garden Boy is the garden boy because he reminds me of all the different flowers and the sunshine that blesses them and the sky that changes paintings every evening and he reminds me of the storms that he hates and the sunshine that he loves and the rain dripping from my eyes as I thought about how beautiful he was
The Garden Boy loves the world but I don’t think he loves me
The Garden Boy probably doesn’t have a garden
The Garden Boy is a poem of leaves turning orange as fall descends from the heavens
The Garden Boy told me he likes my hair but maybe he’s receiving wavelengths from a different star and my hair is red
But Garden Boy, I want us to be purple

Sometimes, I can be a bit much
I might text you multiple random things at a time
And I’ll know you read them
But i’ll keep sending them anyways
I’ll constantly be talking to myself
Because it seems like
No one wants to talk to me
I’ll be there for you always
But you’ll never return the favor
I’m there to worship at your feet
But you push me away when it’s my turn
And I start going insane
Thinking constantly
Ignoring you
Ignoring everyone
Because
Sometimes, I can be a bit much

im scared of dying
although everyone has done it
and we all have it in common
one day you and i
will be the dirt
and whats etched onto our stones
wont matter to our cold-to-touch hearts
our lungs wont puff cigarettes or posioned air
in fact we wont breathe at all
just the abyss of our memories swelling nothingness
all of the world left behind
yet you're buried into it
with everyone else that has ever lived
if there is an after life
i hope to see gogh and plath
because i belong with people like them
and my whole life i'll be searching
for souls like mine
i know i am hopeless yet hopeful at the same messy, indecisive time
the fear of death
is not only the fear of pain
and the road less traveled afterwards
it's the fear of dying not knowing myself
and being trapped forever inside
the box i always contained myself in
and still feeling cricks in my neck
from not loving myself enough
when people tell you
that it's inevitable and you should "just get over it"
do they realise how impossible that is
for a broken heart like me?
i am a derailed train and a puzzle piece no one understands
and i am a writer who suffers for art and because i am this....
this mess of a person
not even living
i just walk
and talk
and breathe
sometimes exhaling with a sigh
it pains me to think that by the time
death is knocking on my door
i still will not have lived

this earthly plane was one i wasn't too fond of
i wanted to go to jupiter
or somewhere like it
big and full of orange like my favorite sunsets
Europa is my favorite moon
because it reminds me of europe
it reminds me of anywhere but here
it reminds me of away
it reminds me of gone
have you ever wanted to be so far away,
so stretched thin
to the point of no return?
it's an earthly human feeling that i'm not too fond of
i'd like to be an alien
not the green or the gray ones with big heads and thin bodies
but the ones who know things
more things
things that Plato knew
and things that Sylvia Plath knew
and Goethe, and Einstein, and Martin Luther King Jr., and every woman on the planet
I want to know things
things no one knows
and i can't do that here!
i need to be in jupiter or a heaven of sorts
because the fire of this hell burns my not only my tears
but my passion dry

I feel like love is like listening to a song, and finding the true meaning behind those words, and what they mean to you and the person you claim to be so in love with.
I think love is when someone tells you that you’re too young to know love, but you don’t even second guess it or give it another glance, because you know that you know what love feels like, and you feel bad that some people never will.
I think love feels like a deep connection like you were lost souls who finally found your way back to each other. 
Love to me is like opening a book and seeing highlighted lines that mean the world to you, and you don’t understand how you could ever live without them. 
I know that love feels like a roller coaster; high, low, happy, exciting, sad, adrenaline pumping, heart racing, joy. 
Love is when you’re writing about your experiences and it feels like you’re singing in your head as you play the piano. 
Music is both brilliant and beautiful, just like the four letter word that some people dread to hear. 
Love to me is like going to the adoption center and finding the perfect little pal that’ll be there for me when no one else ever will be.
Love is when you’re at your breaking point, and the person is holding you, caressing you, reassuring you that everything ends up working out.
Love is knowing that good things come to an end, and the only thing that’ll ruin you is death. 
And even when that comes, you know your souls will find each other again in another life. 
That’s what I think like love is like.

Her name was Mystery
She loved poetry, so I thought I’d write her some

Hangnails always lived on the sides of her thumbs
The same thumbs she used to type up her future book ideas with

Music flowed through her body like waves in the ocean

She fell in love with characters she’ll never meet
But she had so much hope

Optimistic, she was

She danced with the hillsides of mountains
And taught me about aliens

She swore she was from Elsewhere
I guess Mystery is trapped inside a fake reality
A world she created herself

Mystery loved movies
She told me she wanted to be in some, one day
But I told her she didn’t need to be fictional
And she said
“Maybe I already am”

shall i compare thee to a summers day?
i admire shakespeare for being such a yaknow, writer
and i wish i could equate to his flowing of words and make hidden messages between the metaphors
i try my hardest
but amogst the other angsty teens who bleed tears and numbness
it's hard to compare thee to a summers day when thats what everyone is doing
but it's so true
you are the flowers that bloom out of my ribcage after winter has been in my lungs for some time
and you are the sunshine that peaks through to warm my heart
you are the summer rain and wind that makes me flutter like the butterflies in the south
but you are also a human
and sometimes you turn to winter
or spring
or fall
but i love thee til mine death
and theres something poetic about the old english
this modern english makes me feel less of a romantic lover and writer all together
i want to compare thee to cold bedsheets after a sweaty day or the splash of water onto my feet when the ashpalt gets too hot for touch
i want you to be my metaphor for everything
i want it to be simple and complicated and use really big words because im pretentious
but i just want to love you
and as we progress into the robot era
i still sit here writing my love for you
bleeding for you
this is not romeo and juliet
and i never really know what im doing
im actually quite a mess
and this doesnt make sense
but the spark of light for my love of you will never dim to darkness
and i will hold the candle to the heavens as an offering for you to be the eternal light
this is rambling on and on probably
but i love thee
je t'aime
ich liebe dich
i love you
do you compare me to a summer day?
am i colorful like a meadow and soft like a cloud?
am i your greatest living, breathing, loving figuruative language?
or am i another hopeless (hopeful) romantic that is another page in a story that you wont speak of or analyze enough to understand
will you skim me?
i sometimes doubt your knowledge of love for me
i wonder if it's surface love
or if it pulls your heart to your stomach to ache when my touch and laugh is unavailable
i wonder if you mourn at the thought of my pain
and if romeo and juliet is a plausable scenerio
ha ha- joking
i sometimes doubt
but i know thee loves
and im sorry that im like this
but at the same time im not
anyways,
and yes, anyways is a word (at least to me)
(english breaks its own rules all the time)
i shall compare thee to a summers day
and thee shall be loved

I am fascinated with your body
The way your hips sway with mine, and how they line up perfectly
Like the feeling of getting the last puzzle pieces to fit
Your hands hold mine like a newborn baby; so fragile, so soft, so breathtaking
You remind me of a painted sunset with wind dancing across the sky as I lean in to kiss your lips that taste like paint and late nights
You know artists never sleep
and thats why you stay up late, wandering through the streets with me
I know you think a lot, and I hope 90% of it is about me
But I get this feeling like I'm suffocating with my own air, and I can't breathe, because the thought of loosing you, is like the earth without the sun
and I just can't let go
You're my tidal wave of madness, and my sunshine wrapped into one
And I just hope that all of our pieces fit, and that the late nights are spent with me
Putting our puzzle together

i wrote a poem and wanted to hear ur thoughts ok here it is

I'm scared of dying...like most empathetic humans are,
but I have to try extra hard to not have an existential crisis. Or two. Or ten...
and my late nights begin with starring at dotted ceilings or purple curtains or clenching them tight because I'm scared of the shadows I might glance at!
but sometimes I don't notice that they're open
and I'm just blankly starring into an abyss of darkness.
It's so hard to be happy when there are monsters under the bed.
They tug at my limbs until I cry,
they want me dead
and I believe their whispers
but I'm so scared of dying!
Skeletons dance around my head,
taunting my flesh to join them in the dirt, even though I repeat, "no, no, no, make it stop!"
But the demons don't care...
But, there is this one angel,
who brings me back to happy, to serenity, and content minded smiles.
The angel sings to me about sunshine and reminds me that I'm loved
and sometimes I feel guilty
because the angel helps me but sometimes the monsters outnumber the angel in my mind
but when the angel kisses my lips while caressing my cheek,
the skeletons dance away, and I have this goofy grin on my face that is real!
And it lasts long enough to lock the monsters out of my room.

I feel too much; emotionally/mentally
I'm constantly thinking about nothing and everything all at once
Why was I born with this blessing?
Why was I born with this curse?
Why am I like this?
I feel feelings that don't exist and
I fall in love with everything and
I'm constantly breaking my own heart
I feel like no one understands me andI don't know how I should
Feel about that
I just have all these thoughts and emotions inside of me
That I can only release onto paper and
It makes me feel alone and trapped and
Yet I push away everyone in my life
So they don't see this beautiful mess I've created
Of both happiness and sadness
I'm still trying to solve myself
Because I'm a Mystery

for her [every woman]

sparkle red [sparkles are stereotypically for girls. but instead of sparkles, it is blood. so, bleed red.]
& care little [do not care]
& honor every 'no' [honor every woman who has every said no to anyone or anything because it is not highly looked upon for women to stand their ground]
to our every 'no' [a cheer. like a raising of the glass for women as a whole who have stood our grounds and have said no. we deserve a pat on the back.]

You don't need to write
me poetry
for you've already
engraved yourself
into my skin
your very being
is salvation enough
and with you
words don't even
need to exist
because your eyes
say it all
and the rhythm
of your hands
on my bones
and the fresh
beat of your heart
are my poetry

I don't want to scrub your laugh off of my skin
that it's been embedded in
along with the kisses you planted on my lips
that one day might be bruised
and used to cry for your love
to return to my veins
I don't want to write poetry about our breakup
I want to write poetry about how your eyes love me
and how your hands encasing mine
are the missing puzzle piece
still making my heart skip a beat
when your thumb traces mine
I want to write about all the
demons and angels
withing ourselves and others
and how we are both
mountains and sea
and moon and sun
and how we love each other
endlessly
regardless of if my poetry
can show it or not
I don't want to scrub you out of my bones
I don't want the thought of you to feel like sandpaper
I don't want to shiver
and cringe at the thought of
your love touching me
I don't want my teeth to shatter and my skin to raise
at the thought of your lips
I don't want to cry over wanting you
I want to have you underneath my fingernails and freckles
I want to hold your soul
within my arms
and never let it go
I want to kiss your
every emotion
hopefully healing some wounds
and I'll kiss the scars too
I want to write about how
my love has been
with you since the beginning of time,
how our atoms were created near each other,
that we are from the same star
I wan't to write about how
even in another life
we would find each other
I want to write about your everything
and how I'll love you past my best ability
and sometimes it breaks me
like I'm a piece of glass
from the jar
encasing our hearts together
until maybe one day
they stop beating
I don't want the rhythm
of our heartbeats
to change or stop
but it might
and my cuts will not heal
from the broken glass I call
my heart
but we might stay intact
like the Gods or the stars planned
and if not,
just know that
I love you,
simply

I drift in the wind with the leaves
and I become a planted seed everywhere I journey to,
But I am lonely
I am trapped inside a wanderers mind
and I have no way of escaping,
So I leave;
Leave reality.
I’ve lived in a fantasy of optimism and distance
Since birth.
I am so different and naive;
I am learning how to forgive my mind for being the way it is
I am learning how to find myself
And I am so lost

Loneliness creeps into my thoughts on a daily basis
I don't know why, considering I have
All these friends, a family, and I'm
Such a happy person
But then I think
I think hard
I realize the people I surround myself with don't make me
Happy
So I try to get rid of them
But that results in loneliness
I'm trying
Trying to find myself in this abyss
Help

[RECOVERED POEM OF MINE THAT I FOUND]
I’m utterly terrified at making people understand
No matter how many times you explain
They will never fully know
It’s a scary thing
But also kind of thrilling
You can whisper all your thoughts to the universe
And they will hold them forever
But the people you talk to about your feelings
Won’t ever be as good of a listener
As the stars
s. a. s // 8:26 PM, December 18th, 2014

I understand why everyone is always so angry all the time
But at the same time, it baffles me
There is war, crime, hatred against people
People who are all the same
We were all created from an explosion in the sky
We live on a floating planet, sustainable enough to provide just for us
Yet, we hate each other
We hate each other because we are different
Our skin is different
Our language is different
Our culture is different
Our minds are different
Our bodies are different
Our lives are different
We are different
And no one is happy
Everyone goes to school, works, grows up believing lies, see’s the truth, hates the world, works a little more, and then dies
Never experiencing happiness
Never knowing equality
The tree’s are alive
The wind is calling your name
It’s up to you to end the hatred,
To change the world,
To experience,
To live.

the whispered
"I love you"'s
echoed through
the masterpieces hearts,
us being the two
most beautiful
works of art
in the room

the kisses you
planted onto
my begging lips
in that old
book store
let the stories
living inside
come to life,
including mine

the sun is blaring into
my eyes
and all I can think about
is you
in that instant of waking up
no mistakes yet made
no coffee brewed
no sighs of the sunrise
the first thought is you
the only thing between us
were layers and layers
of skin and thin t-shirts
touching you, giving me an escape
only love can produce
I showed you
my poetry
recently all my poetry
has been about you
but I'm not complaining
because even when the
sun has set
and the stars are awake
and the moon has said hello
I will think about
you
and the layers of love
etched in my skin
and the sun will rise
the next day
with our love
again

Just take two second to block out everything
Focus on the present moment
Think about what you're doing right now;
What you wish you were doing,
And what you want to do one day,
Or what you
Want to change
Focus on the fact that it is so simply to change your life;
Your way of thinking;
Anything is possible for you
Stop overanalyzing your every move
Take two seconds to go into a deep concentration of chaos and bliss
Knowing that one day you will be gone
And you won't want to regret
Not exploring,
Telling someone you love/hate them
Simply existing is not ideal
Go live
Make art
Cry and laugh
Fall in love with everything
Take two ******* seconds to try and figure it out
Fail
Try again

my head lay upon your chest and i could've sworn our heartbeats were one

when tears tugged at my eyes, you made them beautiful

your arms around me in our weird cuddles made me feel at home

and when you're not in my bed with out breaths intertwined, i feel like a ghostly shadow lingering for your return

any time you leave i miss you, whether it be a second, or days, my heart aches for yours

and if you leave it will ache much more or even break and shatter

you promise you wont go but i still take in every heartbeat and pulse with you

i feel every inch of you and i watch your eyes flicker to mine

i could look forever into the garden boys eyes
and let our galaxies intertwine

I observe her while she dances in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a graphic tee and her pink lace underwear. Her hair is flowing, and it's brown, and it's beautiful. She has big blue eyes that soar for greater knowingness, and freckles that have been created from past summer days that I never spent with her. Her smile is growing, and her one crooked tooth is her biggest perfect imperfection, and she hates it, but I love. We put vinyls in the record player, letting them spin like the love in our minds. I grab her hand, and the grins grow wider as we dance amongst our tiny apartment, and it's enough. It's home... No, not our apartment, but her. She is home. She is the planted garden in my mind and the beating of my heart. And without her, there is no smiling, there is no joy, there is no heartbeat, there is no living. I hope she stays, oh God I hope she stays, simply because a world without my beauty, isn't beautiful at all. With her gone, the streets looks poorer, the sky looks duller, and life looks worthless. But with her here, the sun is smiling, the moon is dancing, the people are happy, and the universe is whole. The only thing that can seperate us now is death, but even then, I know somehow we'll find a way, because she is the light, and I am the dark that is following her for the greater good, and I love her for this. I love her for her laughter, and her sadness, because her emotions are strong enough to cause a war in mind, but then when it heals, everything is good again; only she can do this to me. Her happiness is mine and we are together, til death do us part, and beyond. When the graves have been dug, and the grass has grown over, just believe that our skeletons are smiling, holding hands, and our souls are dancing without a care somewhere in a distant place for the two of us, forever. Endless compassion for her, I hold, and with that I will wish the same for you. For you to find someone who will hold you while you're at your breaking point. For someone to love you even when you don't love yourself. Because all we really need is that, and when the only thing we can't stop from happening, finally approaches, just hope for the love to grow into the roots of this Earth, and to spread throughout. My world is full of infinite beauty, thanks to the first thing that really opened my eyes; her.

Life is too beautiful to be sad
Tree's whisper in the wind, and when the green leaves fall to turn orange; they accept the changes
The sky changes colors because it wants you to feel more than one emotion, and the mix of paint on the canvas called a sunset, makes me feel beautiful
We exist because stars exploded with a great burst of sacrifice, so that they would have something alive to look at in the dark hours
Flowers look at you with curiosity, not knowing if you will **** their beauty, or let them live to witness yours

pale flesh
against pale sheets
writing on pale paper
but her heart is red
and the vessels bleed love
and the pulse plunges deep
some days she is colorful
and others she is dark
but either way it's because of love
her hesrt tugs and weighs
like a bursen to feel so much
it's her blessing and her curse to linger with blood stained fingerprints all over him and open wounds in her flesh but he patches them with kisses
and they bleed together

When you open up to your parents
about your crippling anxiety
and unbearable depression
do not expect them to be okay
expect them to turn into fire
expect their skin to boil at the thought
of their precious child being miserable
how dare I have an imbalance
in my head that makes me
want to blow it off
how dare I have in imbalance
in my head that makes me
feel like I would be
better off in a place that
wasn't Hell
how dare I give them such an inconvenience?
do not expect them to hold you
and tell you that you will get through this
expect them to make you have
another panic attack
and make you feel like it's your fault
expect them to make you feel
like everyone else has it worse
expect them to spit on everything
you've confessed
expect nothing
because that's how you're going
to feel afterwards
you will shed some tears
in the vast emptiness of your head
that is at the same time
triggering your depression
to scream
but you will feel empty
you will feel hopeless
even though no you're
getting therapy
you'll still feel like
anything besides a
human being
so when you open up to your parents
about your crippling anxiety
and unbearable depression
hopefully you'll have
better luck
than I

Once Upon A Time,
There was a little girl named Me,
Who believed in fairytales
I thought they were real,
and alive within me.

Once Upon A Time,
I read the greatest fairytale of them all— The Bible!
I believed that this was the best one yet,
So i lived it like I belonged.

Once Upon A Time,
My favorite character—God,
Wrote me a letter
It went like this

Dear naive little girl,
I am warning you,
I am warning you because
I am not as great as I seem
You know me as real,
But I am far from that
I lied to you
I lied about protecting you,
loving you,
being there for you
I scared you with sins,
Only to let you know that
Only I can save you,
I am bigger than you,
I am better than you,
And if you do not believe me to be real,
I will make your life a living hell

And then I stopped reading
I stopped listening
I stopped looking for God in the tree’s
I started looking for myself
Because all along I realized
God made my life Hell
This was all just a fairytale
And fairytales are not real to me anymore

you say you love her
while your fingers trace another
while you eye the other girls
while you still think you love her
let me tell you what the **** love is because
clearly you don't get it
love is when no one else is as beautiful
as the one you get to call yours
love is when you come home to her and she's the real home
love is watching her fall apart and holding her while it happens
love is the feeling in your heart you get when you kiss her
when your tongues unravel into each others bones
when the poetry you try to write isn't enough to capture her beauty
you use sunsets as a metaphor for her
and your love cannot be broken
because your love is real art
your love is true love
and your love is buried into each others souls
thats what love is
and she deserves it

When He tells you, "You're beautiful.",
Don't believe Him.
Because it will rattle every bone and
Tear your heart
Until there's nothing left but
Pasty skin.
When He tells you, "You're art.",
Tell Him to *******.
Because once He strips down Your
Walls of insecurity to
Make you feel secure,
You'll end up being locked in Your
Own ******* head
With His words at
Your throat about to cut You raw.
When You finally build up courage to leave
The Ghost and You run
Home to nothing but Your own
Monster
And you face the mirror, You will finally say,
With salty cheeks and shaky limbs,
"I am beautiful", and
You will believe it.

With my hands folded and my mascara smeared onto my cheek,
I wait
I spend sleepless nights waiting for you;
Waiting for you to come to me with a smile on your face and a blanket in your arms, saying you are going to stay
But the blanket is filled with betrayel and sadness
Sadness that will morph around my caccoon of skin, and engrave into my bones like a tattoo
And I will still love you
I will want you to love me back, but the only love I get from you is flashbacks on things that were never real
And I miss it
I miss the times when I could hold your hand and the image of your smile in my brain forever
But that smile was sinester and I fell for the devil
I don't believe in the devil, so I tried to get rid of you
But you were my first love, and you are inside the lining of my heart for God knows how long
And that's really ironic, because god has showed me things that make me know he's not really showing me things, and that he is just as fake as your love
And I am okay with this
Because I will be okay
Even when my heart beats, with what never was

I hope you find one of the many loves you'll have, hidden in the shelves of book stores, waiting to be read
I hope you find one of your many loves, inside the cream you'll pour into your coffee at 6:52 AM on monday morning, and as it changes from black to brown, you'll remember his eyes, and how they were haunted
I hope you find love in the cracks of a record player, when your dusty, worn out vinyl is on its last song
I hope you find love on your chipped nail polished fingers, and I hope you re-paint them that same black until winter is over
I hope you'll find love at your weakest moment; I hope love makes you weak
I'm hoping and hoping that you'll fall in love with yourself;
Every ******* inch, because books get read, and then they get left, and coffee gets sipped, and then it's just the mug, and records stop playing, and nail polish will dry, and crack, and break!;
But if you love your stretch marks, and your freckles; every little part that defines you as your own, then you will know true love
When you see that your bumps, and bruises, and wrinkles, and dark circles are your form of art, then you will know acceptance
When you love yourself, then you can love the hidden poetry inside the walls of your own home
Thats when you can love the happiest, cruel world you'll ever know

the music that made me
feel in love stopped
halting my eyes on
his dreaming body
I could still hear
the noise of a run-down car,
his steady breaths muffled
under my chest as he
slept on my lap,
and my heart was
beating for him,
as the music started again

twisted and dark
the demon in my mind
i reflect an angel
but inside i am dying
my rivers have all flooded
and now they're dry
and i thought i was drowning
but now i must die
i do not want life
and i do not wish for death
but i do hope for a medium
inbetween where i can
stop floating in the abyss
of my angst mind
filled with sorrow
and guilt for merely being alive
i wonder what normal people
are like
but i will never know
because if you want a definition for
insanity, then look no further
than into my own mind
sometimes it's a good time
it causes for uncomfortable poems
that only the dark
will understand
that only the people who grieve
and mourn at breathing
the one's who have thorns
poking their eyes
us who see beauty
in death
we romanticize the things others fear
we are poets
we write poetry
about the things
we secretly thrive off of
we write poetry
when we are staring into space
at 2 in the morning
we write about the silence
we write about all of the bad things
we write about all of the good things
we write
thats all we do
and sometimes we laugh
and sometimes we'd rather be dead
than move our fingers onto paper
oncemore
but as poets
our duty is to be the disturbed
and the ******
and i will do my best at making your skin rise
because by now im more than used to the feeling of things shattering
inside of my own bones
and i will tear you limb from limb
and lick my fingers when the blood
is still fresh
uncomfortable yet?

They sell you cheap romance on shelves of your local bookstore,
And you believe it.
But they never teach you
How to love yourself,
The Universe,
The tree’s,
Birds,
Wind.
Teach yourself how.

Have you ever felt air suffocating you? How can something you need to live be killing you?
Maybe because the breaths aren't careless, long, beautiful and free
But short, restricted and sloppy
It feels like I'm choking,
especially on my words
How do you explain depression?
Unbearable sadness and clogged throats
Not wanting to get out of bed and either staring at a clock watching time move both quickly but not quick enough
or it's staring at the indents or popcorn ceiling of your haunted house pretending they're stars
It's people telling you to just be happy
Don't you think I would've done that by now?
It's constant dragging of feet and weighed down shoulders and exasperated sighs filled with air I can't swallow for the life of me
They're filled with everything I want to say and nothing too
Indecisveness plays such a factor into this and is the pinacle of why I cannot put into words why the air is choking me
Am I worthy to breathe you?
Were you made for me? Or was I the lousy experiment that is ruining you?
I don't believe in God anymore now that I'm less optimistic
Why would God punish me for breathing when God was the one who made the air?
Sometimes I don't even want to speak
It's kind of all over the place
like my thoughts
but like I was saying,
I am drowning in air
and that's the best I can
explain it
Every breath feels like a burden
and I'm waiting for the
last sorrowed exhale

Tips when it comes to falling in love with an artist

1. don't

2. seriously, don’t

3. if you do, just think about how much poetry they’ll find in the strings hanging off of your clothing that you hate so much. They will love the small things, like the hangnails on your thumbs that you always have because you’re convinced that you have dermotilomania, even though you don’t. You just have a nervous, addictive habit. He or she or they or them will love the wrinkles under your eyes, and the creases in your forehead when you’re convinced that you need to stop getting so old. They will look at you every day and see the art inside of you, and since they’re an artist, they’ll defiantly feel like ******* you later that night

4. seriously, they might just want to have *** with you so they can write about the ****** they had. They’ll break your heart so bluntly, and create a best seller off of it

5. I’m kind of kidding about that one, but not really, (I garuntee it’s happened before). But, since I am a cliche *******, optimistic genius, I will tell you this... They’ll teach you to appreciate the most hateful things in the world. Example, global warming. Okay, no, maybe we shouldn’t love that. But you should love the fact that you can create a conspiracy theory about how global cooling is actually a thing, not global warming. You’ll learn to love every flaw of every person because the person you love will teach you such things that you knew were possible, you had just never felt.

prepare for this because you too might become an artist. plot twist, you are an artist. go make art.

Depression is shattered
plates and dreams
it is the sadness
that morphs into
a dead butterfly
it is complaints
about issues that
don't panic anxiety
but they panic it to panic me
It is sitting in
cold showers
mixing the tears
with the numbness
of the waters touch
depression is misery
that is a safety blanket
and you wish it
was a harsh wound
covered by a non-rip-able
band-aid that you
are itching to get off
and the floors look like fire
but there's no light in the sky
or at the end of your tunnel
and the only way out
isn't available
because you're scared
of something that's
inevitable anyway
depression
it ******* kills you.

the Heaven's met an angel
named love
he had bright hazel eyes
and a smile sparkling
as a star
his hands were pale as snow
but warm like the blanket
his love wraped me in
the Heaven's met an angel
named love
he read my poems
and they provoked emotions,
raw,
his love
the Heaven's met an angel
named love
and he will never die
his passion will live
through my veins
even if he leaves
to go somewhere
where angels go
the Heaven's met an angel
named love
and I'm glad he's lived
in my bones
and soared through the pits of
Hell---I call myself
and the Heaven is me
the Heaven's met an angel
named love
and they loved

the light fades to a piercing black
the darkness:
swelling and pulsing slowly,
like lungs taking their last breath,
like hearts skipping their last beat,
and eyes shedding their last tears,
as the darkness consumes the
layers of scars you've built up
from falling off the swings you call life,
as the darkness takes you
to the depths you didn't know existed
you turn to bone
no more flesh to call your own
and you cannot see the light
anymore
when life's in deaths hands

If you ever love me; here is all that you need to know
I will love you back
It may only be for an hour,
a day,
maybe a year if you're lucky,
but probably not ever a lifetime
Sorry but love is this idea that you are limited to one person, and I can't grasp that idea of loving someone who won't ever really love you back
They might love your body parts,
but only long enough until you have 3 kids, and the divorce papers are sitting on the counter along with the scotch, and the unpaid morgage because you're too busy slamming doors, and breaking hearts
It's hard to love when you love everyone
It's hard to love when you fall into it with fictional characters, and ideas that you've read about, but have never witnessed,
and you're trapped inside this world of high standards that no one will ever meet
Therefore, I may never really love you like I would want to

I'm so glad we got to where we are
to hold hands
even when we're freezing
to warm each other's hearts
to kisses on rosy lips
and tongues exploring
each other's vast caves
to laughs filled with memories
to small things like
your eyes changing colors
and mine forever remaining blue
to the cliche poems
like this one
to express my love to you
I am so glad we ended up like this
instead of staying strangers
lost in our own stories
because now we're
writing a book
that I hope will
turn into a sequel

I am terrified of becoming depressed
I grew up around many forms of this illness, crowding my friends and family like clouds in a hurricane, and they came in waves,
Tearing down the walls of the ones I loved
I feared for them
I feared for their hearts to stop beating, for their stomachs to start folding, and for them to stop smiling
They always told me the creases by their eyes were not caused from happiness, or the sun
They told me it was caused by the many nights of pillows being thrown down drains of emptiness, because what was the point of sleeping when your own thoughts are cornering you, until they are no longer yours to have?
They told me that they wrote poetry and I said I do too
They looked concerned, saying "depression is not artsy, so don't think you should want this disease,
because it will tear you limb from limb, until all thats left is your heart
And your heart is beating like it's going to explode, but you dont care because you feel like you are already dead
So my friend
Stay happy"
But what they dont know is that I've been wishing the same for them

eyes feel heavy
mind pounding
with consuming
thoughts that I
wish didn't belong
to me
I'm scared of them
they're rushing
and morphing
me into a giant
headache and
my tears are dry
just like my
exasperated breaths
and I wish
they would stop
I wish my panic
would stop shaking
and heaving
I wish the only thing
I worried about
was nothing
I wish...
depression...
thoughts that
I wish
didn't belong to me