Weekends
are for feeling lonely,
anxious,
and depressed.
I feel the longing for fun,
but yet I stay still
inside.
This is where I belong,
with the demons inside my head;
Forcing me to become something
I'll never achieve.

I hope my words reach you.
I hope they pace through your mind
and make you think of
who you are and
what you did
all the time.
I hope you read them.
then read them again.
and again.
over and over until you drown in them
when the metaphors and the tear-stained
phrases wash over your body like
I once did.
I hope you think about your past
and see why
it never could last
and realize why I have to
distance myself from you.
even though sometimes I get this urge
this urge that stronger than the
push and pull of the moon and our waves
to send you a message.
just one.
It'd read something like "I miss you. even though
I'm not supposed to miss you I do
and I can't go a day without having you
stroll through my thoughts"
but I can't.
we weren't meant to be together now, maybe never.
but I hope you read this words
and decode them like you do
music. and see that 75% of my poetry
has been about YOU. and I just can't help myself.
read my words.
listen to me.
but don't act on it.

Dear…. ***** face.
Oh, man, I hope you didn't get offended by that I am so sorry… Well, I mean you shouldn't because you’re like the spawn of Satan, right? So… No. you know what? I’m not sorry. You have made me say sorry to such a large amount of people in a short amount of time to things that don’t even matter.
Things I shouldn't be sorry for.
No, I am not sorry for my social anxiety.
No, I am not sorry that I said the wrong thing
And no, most definitely not am I sorry for having a good time for once.
You are not only stomping on my mind but my heart. Why the HELL are you making me panic in the middle of a convenient store with only two other people in it when
I just want my chocolate bar.
I don’t want my cheeks turning red, my heart racing, and my voice shaking like I've been crying for 45 minutes.
And then I will go cry for 45 minutes, while not enjoying my chocolate bar because you’re the one who pushed me out of those doors empty handed and back up into my bedroom where I will spend the next 3 days feeling sorry for myself, but also hating myself. For lugging you around all my life instead of letting go when I should have a long time ago. But no. It’s hurts to let go. Because every time i try to, the rope burns that have scarred my hands never heal. They’re always crying out to me whenever I eat in public, use a public restroom, make eye contact with strangers, and… just simply exist.

I am tired of you twisting and churning my stomach every morning before I go to school, every time I want to go somewhere alone, every time I see someone who’s better than me.

I am tired of you always having that crooked smile on your face every time there are tears running down mine.

I am tired of you.

                          Sincerely,
                                 the girl who you’re possessing.

I stay up waiting
for the sun to rise,
only to be
hypnotized
watching the
moon stride
across the speckled
night sky.

hiding in the dark
a retreat to solitude
the trees hold my hand

i wish i could get you
out of my head;
but how does one forget a love
so sweet it
left a touch of sugar
on the tongue


sometimes the simplest
most innocent things
become so beautiful.  

i left behind your ocean
hued eyes and found
myself in the arms of a new
kind of love.
i guess i didn’t want to feel
any more rooted than
i already was.

lately i’ve been catching myself
reminiscing about little moments
without looking at the big picture.
i see the blue ocean tint in my
rear view mirror,
although leaving is bittersweet
it’s best we go our separate ways
explore, grow, learn
maybe we’ll meet again some day.

Before you even meet her,
    you know she's different.
You see it in her name, her eyes;
    the way she walks.
She carries confidence on her shoulders,
    a song in her hips
to which she'll always stay on beat
    with.

Her eyes will remind you of the Earth,
    with wings "so sharp they could **** a man".
Her will is as strong as her hands,
    for they have held so much pain,
but yet have mended everyone but
        herself.

You can never get enough of her.
   She's like a song you play on
repeat and never get tired of,
   if you have good taste in
           music.

She's either your best friend or a
   stranger,
and though she's an open book,
   only a few can read
between the lines.

feeling the cold air rush against
my exposed shoulders
from the window.
my hollowed eyes straining
for the white screen in front of me
mindlessly typing
different and stupid
combinations of 26 unique letters.
my legs are hot underneath my thick comforter,
my spine bending from an uncomfortable position.
wishing i didn't say goodnight to you.
why do i say goodnight?

home
is not in a house with
2 floors.
my home doesn't involve a child
or two.
it has an old swingset in the backyard.
a frisbee still stuck on the roof.  
an annoying floor that no matter where you step
you'll be heard.
home holds more memories
and tears
this house will ever produce.

Basically skipping up the sidewalk,
I turn the key and enter.
I pet the cat on the steps,
and hug my father.

(In English, we were supposed to write a poem based off of George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From" and this is the one I wrote)

I am from picture frames,
from Dove and Suave.
I am from the white house on the corner of the street
(far enough from the train tracks, close enough to the park).
I am from lilacs,
from the rose bush on the side of the house,
always humming with bees.

I am from crocheting and complaining,
from Edith, Rachael, and Susanne.
I am from blind eyes with a blue glow,
from "Speak up!" and "Sit up straight."
I am from "Now I lay me down to sleep..."
and old, golden cross necklaces.

I am from Ohio,
turkey, and sweet tea.
From the night my grandparents ran away togethers,
and the glass wedged into my father's finger,
the day god lifted him from the driver's seat.

I'm from the upstairs closet,
sitting beside childhood memorabilia.
Images of faces I never met,
and those I'll never forget.
Bags of animals,
stuffed with imaginary souls,
and boxes of books
which tales will never grow old.

i put these words in my mouth
only for them to be
****** back up into
the vacuum of my mind
that's already full
with things that went without
saying.

there will come a day;
when i take these words and line
them up from the tip of my tongue
to the end of my spine
coated with a substance that
is tear-free.
those words will shoot out like bullets,
and those bullets will go into the ear of
all those i said i loved
and all those i said i hated
and they'll go straight out their other ear.
always completely unphased with
words that could change our lives.
these words;
matter.

some words could fill up the sun
while others could fill up a blade of
grass,
that blade of grass will barely
***** their thoughts
while the sun will go completely
unnoticed.
because,
who really talks about the sun anymore?
and that is why,
the unimportant words,
the ones that are never true,
could be the moon.

i did not want to say goodbye
not entirely, at least.
but i had to
i had to
i had to


and look at us now.

I tend to get distracted by nature
too often.
I stare at sunsets while driving,
       almost swerving into the other lane
    wanting to follow it.
I ignore my teacher's lectures just to
  peer outside the window;
the leaves seem greener when it rains.
Even as I'm writing this I keep glancing
behind my back towards the window,
  after every line

My favorite thing to do
   is to lay on the grass,
eyes towards the sky,
           watching the clouds roll by
   imagining I'm lying on top
                 of one
           instead.

it's hard to think of
your own faults
when others
have larger ones.

it's hard to pray
for yourself
when someone needs
it more.

this week i realized,
that when i am depressed,
other people bring out
my grace.

His hands are ice cold
  They grab a hold of my insecurities
and won't let go.
         He is speechless
                     -in awe, even.

His kisses are hard
               -hard to forget.
   Energy courses through
his lips and into my body sending
        me into shock,
                   falling into him.

His hair wrapped around
       my fingers;
he'll listen to any word
      I say,
         except when I ask him
to check the time.

Driving on the back roads,
          we take the long way
to my house.
   Our hands intertwined
like we'll never meet again.

We stop a block away from
where I live,
     one last kiss
            in the dark.

on my sheets
and in my clothes

warm on my neck
and on my lips

soft on my skin
and cold at my hips

ever-present and lingering
on my soul that you
hold so gently
in the palms of your hands --

so delicately.

i take that pill
as a substitute
for ****.

it's not an exact
replica, though.
the effects are

almost completely different.
my drowsiness is more
zombie-like

rather than
playful and
light-hearted.

the high makes
my stomach turn
not growl with hunger.

I don't want to sound
like a cliche hippie,
but I prefer the herb.

i hope that someday
i can wake up and not feel like
sleeping for eternity
that i can rise out of
my sanctuary
and tell everyone
how im feeling that day
and i hope i say
"im doing okay."
without having memories
that haunt the depths
of my mind
each and every second
of the day.
i pray that i will be able
to scrub this layer of anxiety
off my skin for good.
that someday
my words will make someone realize
how loved they are
and how they're not alone on this
terrifying planet.
remind them that even though it's
dark now
that shrivel of light will creep
into their brain
and change their point of view
forever.

I feel like i could sleep my life away but
then regret every second
i feel like i could scream what i think
but still get offended
i feel like i could talk to every person on the earth
but then **** myself for it
i feel like i could walk to see him
and run away.
i feel like im always trying to be
someone im not.

(i feel like i dont know who i am.)

i feel like a broken shell that keeps getting washed away
but always comes back
(even more broken)

i feel like these words do not make sense
that i'll never make it

so i feel like im going to stop.

The first step to living
was cutting my hair.

I cut it so I wouldn't have anything to hide behind when I'm scared
no more waves to sink into no more lake to drown in.
I was slowly pulling myself out of the ocean of anxiety but still rocking back and forth in a boat that had a leak in it. I kept trying to cover up the hole but no matter what I did it still reached me.
The ocean was always cold, no matter the weather. It only seemed to carry sharks that circled my boat day in and day out.

I went to the beach once for a week and every time I'd try to have fun in the ocean the waves pushed me down and almost ripped my bikini off at least 5 times, I can still taste the salt in my mouth just thinking about it.
The best part about the whole trip wasn't being with the sharks, it wasn't falling down in the ocean, it was simply riding a bike through town, having the wind whisk away all my worries.
I wish I could ride that wind. Ride that wind until I land on the moon, where I could be alone but still having the most attention. I am that girl who craves love and affection but is confused as **** when it is given to me.
Maybe that's why I pushed him way; not just because he was a bad kisser. Or maybe it was because every word I said went through him like it was nothing, I ended up repeating myself time and time again only to hear the echo of my voice.
this time it's different, though. when he kisses me I kiss him back with as much force as he gave. I touch him when he touches me and boy, I cant keep my hands off him. he listens to me and his takes every word I say and puts it in his pocket, ready to bring it up later. he's the only boy that loves my hair as short as it is and knows that I hate the ocean. He is like the cave that sits near the ocean, ready to take me in and hold me in his arms for as long as I need him to. He shelters me from the ocean spray.

Pine wafting through the
open layout of our house.
A million needles
waiting to be
swept up or
hidden under the rug.
The curious cat circles the tree
both meant to be wild,
but now domesticated
for the joy of human kind.
Why are we so selfish?

"I am, I am, I am."
  her words rest on the page
she wrote this at peaks of hopefulness,
     when courage wrapped around her
neck instead of a rope.

but for me the words keep beating
     through me, endlessly, with my heartbeat
            but I am not hopeful,
       nor being held by courage.

           What am I?
I am ... alone
     I am ... empty
            I am ... missing him

how cliche of me to say.


I think of him,
    I can't help it.
his scent washing over me,
     drowning in his cologne,
choking me.

    "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart,
                           I am,
                                     I am,
                                               I am."

Keep grasping that little
piece of grass called hope.
Keep staring into your heart
and repeat why you're worth it.
**** all of the ghosts and demons
haunting your mind with
the little things
that matter.

It gets better.

she said she wasn't happy.
he said he tried.
she said "it'll be fine, you'll like the new guy."
he said "you're the only girl in my life."

I said "why".

he says he doesn't want to see me preform because ... "He will be there"
she said he's ignorant.

I said "why".

if I could take all these "whys" and turn them into seconds it would last the same amount of time it's been since she decided she wasn't happy and when he gave up trying.

I have feelings. I have regrets.

if I told him he'd say "I already knew"
but I know if I told her all she'd say is
"why"

The air is thick and heavy here
I've lost the familiar feeling
Of cold, wet moss under my
Bare feet.

My lungs are full.
There are no clear signs of a storm,
The leaves haven't exposed their
Light backs,
And the clouds remain white, pure, and puffy.

Cicadas wind up and scream their song
Under the blazing southern sun.

When I look towards the horizon
The mountains have faded out of view.
I'm no longer enclosed by miles and miles of appalachia.
Instead all I see is sky ---

The soft blue tint of Georgia.

the night has covered the town.
dim streetlights line the edges of sidewalks
it's the only light we have
this deep in November
the clouds hug the moon and hide her
from our world
and the raindrops fall and kiss our cold blushed faces
this deep in November
frost has yet to make an appearance
but whistles and whispers that it's nearby
this deep in November
the only warmth we find is in each other
bodies under blankets
we heat ourselves with love
this deep in November

we resort to empty fields of grass
and call them our safe places.
my home is where a young beagle chases butterflies around her circle of dirt past the clothesline
and an old German shepherd refuses
the idea of privacy
and comforts me when my mother’s old Victorian house is too big for comfort.

we form bouquets from roadside wildflowers.
from susies, queen Anne’s lace and half-naked dandelions.

the front room is first to catch the eastern sun.
My grandmother leaves flowers on the window sill


and i can hear bumblebees from my bedroom.

the roads always take us
back to west virginia.
the hills we climb lead
to impeccable views,
beautiful hidden scenery
only we knew how to find.
highways became one-lane roads
the gravel washing out,
half-a-million potholes
when you drive on a hillside
like that,
the same rush comes
that you get when you look
over the side of a rollercoaster cart.
but when you’re with your best friend,
the rush turns to comfort.
“if we were to fall off the side of this cliff, I’m glad I’m with you.”  

14:23 5/31/2018

we need time to grow
like vines grow on the sides of buildings
someday we'll slowly start to intertwine
with each other
not yet, though.

step into the cold night
my boots crunching in the snow
to the spot behind my house
where i can smoke without feeling
completely judged.
listening to soft beats in my ears
my hands are cracked and cold
lifting the fire to my teeth.
the stars are out, though
and i can see the moon above the trees.
i’m by myself in this corner of
siding and snow
my feet are starting to freeze to the ground
but somehow it’s worth it
when i can see the faint snowfall
in the light of the midnight street lamp.
6 minutes of crisp freedom and solitude
i think i might have another one.

Taking off your half faced helmet
To unleash the messy curled
Mop-head of hair
“You need to cut it soon, baby”
I’m too distracted to think
Of trimming those boyish locks.
I remember all the days
I never thought I’d make it out alive.
Half dead for four years
You lit a spark in my mind.
I turn down the ***
I think of you
I think of us.
No high is greater
Than the feeling I have
When I see your smile.
The smile she could never get,
It’s mine now.

Like the ***** laundry
my thoughts keep piling up
like all the empty mugs
taking over my room
the stress is
taking over my mind.

I have the tools to clean up
I have my washing machine
and a dryer,
a sink and my two hands
but nothing will work,
there's a short in my system.

so I keep rebooting
but I'm left with
the same bugs.
so all I can do is sleep and
dream of a time when
things weren't as real
as they are now.
I wish I wasn't as real.

this familiar taste of yearning
leaves a bad aftertaste on my tongue
it tastes like yours
soft and warm

its missing you
its the thought of being held
in your arms
on  nights like these
when all my focus is
directed towards your texts
and your voice
that makes me forget about
my own existence

we have time set aside in the future
but this is now
and right now
i am missing you.

Bless these ******* mornings
After getting a mere 3 and a quarter hours of sleep
Not only does the sunshine wake me up,
    There's also the lingering scent of cat **** in the air
And my boyfriend's elbow in my face
Or it’s the sound of him almost knocking the **** over
    That probably shouldn’t have been left on the nightstand
In his sleep.

Bless these ******* days.
The ones where I can't seem to get enough sleep; and later that same evening
I work for another 6 hours.
Then there's class, which depending if I skip or not usually takes up most of my afternoon.

The weather is getting colder and like the insects in the coming months, my motivation will die.
The snow will bring the sadness, I'm sure of it.
The holidays once again always ensue with the worst
of my anxieties, some of my repressed events and feelings
start to materialize
and even though I have time before this passes
I am wracking my brain thinking about it
exciting my nerves and wearing myself out.
and this is just all too much for me -
how will I survive?

I want to marry you next to a
Field of flowers
On a sunny day with
Thunderclouds looming behind us while the
Ceremony takes place.
I want lightening to strike when we say “I do”
And thunder to clap when we take our first kiss and
Our first steps into
Eternity.

A waterfall next to the reception,
Where the younger kids could swim and play
(If there even were any).
You could dip your feet in, too ,
Or watch me while I float on my back
Living in the moment of love, light
And happiness.
I won’t care if my dress gets wet
Or if my makeup smudges
We’ll take pictures barefoot playing in mud;
Because that’s what our love is: fun,  simple, and whatever we want it to be.

fidgeting is my specialty
if there was an Olympic competition for anxiously
biting nails to the bone,
I would take the gold.

my biggest fears revolve around
other humans;
talking on the phone is like piloting
a fighter plane towards the city
and you know it is proven
you will crash into a skyscraper
with a hundred different daycare centers
within its walls.
I know that's a terrible thing
but now you know how I feel.

I have this disability,
the ever-present feeling of fear
radiating from my core to my tips.
Its un-ignorable,
i can't wait to wake up one day
and not remember what it is like
to want to go back to bed and hide.

I like being the last to close my eyes
before a kiss
so I can get one last glimpse of those eyes

I yearn to grow and float away
As petals do in the wind
Follow the air
And follow my heart.
I don’t know where I’m going
But I know I will land.

My roots hold me back
Crawling up my frame and pulling me down
Chained
To the earth where I
Started to bloom.

Maybe I’m a lotus.
Dormant in one spot
Being used only when needed.
Blossoming and folding back up
Into myself
its the only home that’s
Permanent.

Earth,
Give me a push in the right direction.
Move the currents and tides
So I can float downstream.
Exhale your winds on my petals
Spinning in the air
Falling towards a new home
Starting my own roots.
I don’t know where I’m going
But I know I will land
Someday

this is my poem for the day
this is me laying next to you
wishing you were
inside me
instead.

slightly ******
i lay here
im wrapped in my Mothers afgan
composed of left over yarn
the colors range
this was her very first one.

i feel paws on my skin
a purr at my arm.

i cant wait to spend another evening
napping with you
and our kittens