thank god i can’t write good poetry
the best poetry comes from pain and hurt if you ask me
so although i can’t write like i used to
at least it means i’m doing alright

i’m trying to convince myself
that i don’t love you
but it’s hard when
you can taste poetry on my tongue.
-a.c.b

She came to me broken,
shattered like a priceless vase,
she was whitering away right before my eyes,
like a long lost puppy without a home,
she said she fell in love,
we found each other in darkness,
with our hands held out we found our way,
but little did I know that her love was rotting day after day,
even though when I found her I was also half dead,
I ripped myself apart to make her whole again,
I loved her more than love thought possible,
but it was never enough,
she threw me away,
cast aside where I belong,
a worthless love,
now I lay broken,
now I lay dead

life is never fair;
why is it that
the good die young
& the bad live freely?

that's why people give up,
why people break down.
nothing they do is good enough,
why people end their life too soon.

the irony is
that the good
will continue to die young
because their whole life
they've been told
they aren't good enough
or worse,
they are 'too much'

too sensitive,
too quiet,
too observant,
too introverted,
too curious,
too independent,
too careful,
too blunt,
too caring,
too honest,
too, too much.

but really,

they are too little of everything you are too much of.

Some people are so poor that the only thing they possess is money.