Heart and brain are stuck,

Fingertips are freezing cold,



My words cannot say

I'll hide

Within the tea jars

And the broken whistles

Where, hopefully,



They won't think to look

I do a lot of writing

while in odd places

or waiting for the bus.

I do a lot of writing

when my heart is in a billion pieces

over a boy I never knew.

I do a lot of writing

while I try to paint something beautiful

but all that comes from my fingertips

is a dusty bouquet of dandelions.

I tried to do a lot of writing

when you told me you love me



but my heart could bear the weight

and my fingertips could not produce the

magnificence that you held in your mind.

My writings all **** now

but I'm perfectly okay with that



if that means I can keep you in my sweater pocket.

I'm sorry

that I left my shoes

under the dining room table

even after you told me

they were getting in the way

of your vaccuuming.



I'm sorry

that I missed your

17th birthday party

even after I told you I could make it

and was excited because we haven't

seen each other in a while.



I'm sorry

that my dress rises a little

too high

whenever I bend to pick up

that black furry cat that's

constantly meowing at you.



I'm sorry

that highrises and architecture

and green plants with big leaves

and little flowers

excite me on my

worst days.



I'm sorry

that I told you that

I loved you

and I would always be there to

paint portraits of aliens

and flowers for you.



I'm sorry

that I'm not so special anymore

and my hair needs to be cut



and my skin is a little dry.

It smells like rain drops

But my mind is in pieces



Separate from you

I want to feel my life

I don’t want to see it from the other side

I don’t want to be free of it

I just want to be free of all of this



I’m not alone

Although I feel it

Although I am swan-necked,

Yearless,

Unsinkable,

I have Him with me



He knows my story

He knows I’m stronger than I feel,

But sometimes—just sometimes—

I feel totally empowered,





but I’m stuck powerless

Learning things

That make you

Squirm where you sit,



And bounce off

The things that make

You cringe,



Selling your soul

To preserve your

Skin,



Mismatching your

Glass eyeballs

And tearing your hair,



Putting pressures

On the canvas of

Your brain,



The presence of

Your unorthodoxies



Clouding your ears