i'm tired of defending myself.
the things I do or don't do.
sick of explaining the way I'm feeling
and the reason behind my means to cope.
the less fight I put up,
the more attacked I feel.

I don't want to talk
because you don't like the things I have to say.
They're too negative
or I don't say them with enough zest.

I vent to you and I can see the hurt it causes.
I hold it in and I seem short.
What is the use.
I try, only to have the worst assumed of my good intentions:
"Don't make a thing out of this (you argumentative *****)."
So maybe I should quit trying so **** hard
(if i'm just going to end up wrong either way).


******* out of here.
I'm sick of being sorry.
(I'm allowed to have off days too.)

I'm a white, male,
American dreamsicle
who says "****"
way too much
to not be cool.

I read about my father issues
on my mother's face.
I hate things and people
because the news told me to.
Art is ****** and ****** is art;
when Billy killed Sue,
my heart raced.
Do drugs with me
or do none at all;
promise me when we're high
we won't fall.

There are ******* on the street
and the cops are shooting them.
There are ******* kissing
and old, white men are scared.
There are mentally ill people
and they are "seeking attention".
There are women with voices
and old, white men are scared.

I am an American Dreamsicle:
cold, unhealthy, and killing your kids.
You can buy me for 40% off
and I promise to take 60% of your ideals.
I am what my parents don't want me to be
and that is the appeal.
Little do I know, I am every thing you are
and that is my cancer.

I am the poem she has not written down yet

I guess this is as real as it gets.
I stared at this blank page for a while trying to figure out how I wanted to express myself to you.
The easiest way to get my thoughts flowing was playing that Hedley song you once sang to me while we layed together on the black couch in my living room.
That couch isnt there anymore. Neither are you.
But it's that moment sits in my mind as though someone etched it there permanently and I can time travel back to that moment as soon as I hear the piano playing.
I remember how funny it was that you couldn't sing. But at the same time it was amazing that you remembered every lyric to that song and looked me in the eyes as if you meant every single word.
Ironic isn't it how it had to do with not letting me go.
Ironic that even if it sounded crazy, you were gone 2 months later.
I guess I should of seen your lose grip on my hands as a warning sign that you weren't staying,
I wasn't enough to make you stay and I guess that's why 6 months later I still lay in bed blaming myself.
They say if you love someone let them go and that seems like the most rediculous thing to me because I loved you more than I've ever loved anyone and watching you leave was just as hard as standing unarmed in the middle of a shooting range.
As pathetic as it is, I just want you to know. I want you to know how much I hate you for hurting me the way you did.
I hate you for consuming my thoughts everyday. I hate you for thinking its okay to make me fall so deeply and just leave as though I was nothing; as though we were nothing.
Ending a poem is probably the hardest part. I don't know how I want to leave you feeling.
I'll just say this; if love is what we had, then I want nothing to do with it because someone that loves you shouldn't be able to leave you feeling torn in the middle of the night, they shouldn't leave you wondering what they did wrong in order to not be enough for you. I shouldn't feel like love is something that isn't meant for me, and that's how I feel every ******* day.

These lines on my crevice create chances
Massif trials I must triumph through
Alligning to parallel stigmas creating balance
I must find the power that denotes truth

I tussled my way in thrusting bricks of trust
Between the seams of pride
Throwing away fragments that denies
Death is so near but I feel so alive

Whatever it takes I will pull through
Miracles & Luck I've always believed
Fighting every enmity that ruptures me
Denying that I'm dying is my bulletproof

I dare to dream
I dare to believe
Igniting the fire in my heart
Flames of courage within me
I will fly like a lark
Burning through the dark

So take my hand and you will see
Just how simple it is
*If you just do it
If you just believe

I told you I'd never let you become my everything
But that's a stupid promise to make
Because I can't control the impact of something on me
When you left I couldn't force myself not to break
{bcg}

It's embarrassing to say
but I talk to your picture when I can't bear it anymore
It's just I really miss you
And you aren't here to hear anymore
I almost called you the other day
just to hear your voice
and also ask you what type of deodorant you use
I could imagine the conversation
I would ask you
and you'd laugh and ask me why
and I'd say I missed the way you smelled and it's cheaper than a plane ticket
and you'd get quiet
and I'd get quiet
and the conversation would be cut short
by the same honesty that lead to you not being here anymore

it's that walk you didn't think you'd take, that memory lane that was just five minutes from your house with a car because you've timed it on his phone when your curfew was midnight

the house that once held confusion and comfort now just holds those rusting patterns in your brain of walking up the driveway and heading for the door that once memorized your hand print as much as his

maybe you can escape snow this winter

it's the way that the light strikes his face and the way that you see his new accessories in the foreign couch you once loved the color of because you're all alone in this world girl and nothing is going to change that

perhaps they all think you're anti social because you fade into the background more than they do, what's the point of being unique when i'm redefining the lines of the old and the new, stepping on the boundary of emotions to come back to where i've always been: an end

memory lane is not in my heart and not in my eyes, it's nowhere where i want to be because i'm too **** emotional to be able to handle it and i thought it was a good idea but chasing after butterflies is always a lost cause because they fly away and you're still here

the birds have never looked so dark, the sunny days so terrifying and i don't find the door to the basement anymore because no one is there to open it for me

the sound of music leaves his speakers the way they used to his gramophone but he's up to new technologies now and haven't you learned you're the old cd left in his bedroom to accumulate dust

they don't listen to the music you shared with them in the days when the world was covered in angel tears because they brought umbrellas and youre late to the **** party once again