there was this boy
my friends hung out with him
they told me stories about how cool he was
i saw pictures and was immediately drawn to his smile
but there was hurt in his eyes
i had to meet this boy

there was this boy
and it was finally time to meet him
my friends and i walked to meet him half way
i was so scared
i wanted him to like me
i wanted to be his friend so bad
he laughed
but even more so in person, i could see pain enveloped deep in his eyes
i had to get to know this boy

there was this boy
and we quickly became close
we all hung out in a group and called each other "ohana"
every day of the summer, we'd smoke *** and laugh and walk the nature trails
i felt happiness in every inch of my body around them
this boy, he was the nicest of them all
even in our happiest moments
i was still reminded that he felt pain
i had to fix this boy

there was this boy
and finally, i figured him out
he told me of his past
and his abusive parents
all of his insecurities were out in the open
he told me he compared himself to everyone
he showed me his scars, and not all of them were self-inflicted
i cried with him and i held him in my arms
all of the hurt in the pit of his being made sense now
i had to show this boy that i loved him

there was this boy
and after a while, he, i, and our friends grew apart
we still loved each other
but we felt we needed to move on
our lifestyles were changing and i personally was scared i was making partying into mine
he was the one i wanted to hold on to
i'd never met someone with a soul so bright
and a heart so big
i couldn't leave him with that hurt in his eyes
i had to keep this boy

there was this boy
and he invited me to hang out one halloween
his new friends were there
and we went for a walk
they stopped behind the trees to smoke some ***
i declined
when we went back to the house to watch a scary movie
he was cuddled up with his new friends
i was alone on the floor
i felt discarded
i stopped talking to him, with really no explanation
somehow i forgot about the pain in his eyes
maybe it was time to let go of this boy

there was this boy
i heard he moved on to partying with more than just ****
we all had always been worried about how he treated being high
but i felt like it wasn't my place
i felt i didn't deserve to tell him how to live his life
he wouldn't listen to me anyway
i wished i had asked him if he were okay, at least
how could i forget all the pain i saw in his eyes
i was concerned for this boy

there was this boy
i got a message one day that we lost him
he was found passed away in his car
an OD, they said
i couldn't believe it
i had no words when i got the news
i quickly had to leave where i was
how could this happen?
is this real?
i sat for a long time
just sat
i felt the pain that was in his eyes
why did this boy have to leave?

there was this boy
and i saw him lying in that wooden box
that was the first day i cried for him
he didn't deserve to die
and when people asked how he passed, i didn't want to say
because he was so much more than the drug
he couldn't be remembered that way
as i walked up to say my final goodbyes, all i wanted to do was hug him
hold him and make all the pain go away
now that i couldn't see the pain in his eyes, i didn't recognize him
i hope he doesn't feel pain anymore
i will forever miss this boy

I'm almost lost without you
I see you in everything.
A huge piece of me went with you to california
Along with physical distance, came a distance much greater
we had never discussed the differences that would follow.
probably because we never thought they existed.
at least i didn't

It's been about a year since i noticed the differences
they hit me hard
where did you go, other than to the other side of the country?
I understand the hard time you're going through
I'm exploring these hard times too
I just wish you were here to help
I wish you would allow me to help

The laughs.
The. Laughs.
I hate to say it but i haven't laughed for real since you left
i miss having to catch my breath

If space is what you need, I'm willing to give you that.
but i miss my best friend, more than i miss myself.

I'm not a poet
the words I jot down have no particular purpose
"poetry", to me,  is supposed to be cathartic
enabling
relieving
only I know what my words make me feel
only I know what really goes on beyond the words I articulate
I feel in no way professional while writing poetry
I don't try
I just do

I'm not a poet
Poetry is my release
After I write, I can breathe.
I can think.
I can make sense of the feelings I wasn't sure I was even feeling before.
Like having a conversation with myself,
I'm the only person I can talk to.

No, I'm not a poet.
But I think that's okay.
Because it's my therapy instead

it's sweet and salty all at once.
that perfect little twinge of pain you feel in your stomach.
it clouds your mind with moments you can't change,
and moments you would never dream of changing.
it reminds you of all of the good moments.
and the bad moments, somehow, concurrently.
it's never invited
but seems to be always welcome.
we all love the somber daydream,
Nostalgia