I wish there was more I could say to make you understand
The demons are inside of us, walking hand in hand

And when the nights come, when I cry myself to sleep
I tell myself it's your demons, that make you say those things

But the truth that I'm to afraid to find,
The truth that hides within your mind

Is it from your demons you wish to be free
Or are you tired of something else, something more like me?

Our demons don't play well together, at least not anymore
So perhaps we should say goodbye and open up new doors

i like my peanut butter crunchy.
and my jelly so i can taste the seeds.

                                                         ­                             i like your hand in mine,
                                                           ­                            and kisses on my cheeks.

i'm not scared of the dark,
but love gives me cause for concern.

                                                               ­           i'm not scared of you, my dear,
                                                           ­               but i'm scared you won't return.

i like my peanut butter crunchy,
because that's how you always made it.

                                                               ­      and the seeds caught in your teeth,
                                                          ­                     that made your smile perfect.

I was told the Refiner’s Fire
Would make me shine and glow.
I wish I had I known, that long ago,
The true Refiner left open the door.

I could have stepped outside,
And realized the sun is even warmer.
Into a new light, enters my soul,
And instantly I feel calmer.

Free from all the control and lies,
I was told as the fire was lit.
The choice that was always meant to be mine,
Was stripped away bit by bit.

It’s Healing and Grace, I’m needing right now -
I can’t find in the walls of this church.
The fire holds no love for me now,
The sun is what I deserve.

I’m standing in sunlight, still fully loved,
Without fire licking my skin.
After decades in a constricted cell,
I’m breaking out from within.

The refiners fire was always manmade,
A way to foster control.
The sunlight instead, beckons me in,
Bringing me back to the fold.

One line down
Only one to go
A waiting game
And a hopeful soul

One line down
One line stays
It won’t be there tomorrow
It isn’t there today

I remember the first night we put you on suicide watch.
I remember how you stayed in my room all night long and laid on my bed while I tried to make you believe that I needed you more than anyone else in my life.
That sentence still stands.
I love you.
You're still my best friend.
And being gone during such a huge, hard part of your life is breaking me down.
And I want nothing more than to tell you all this and stay up late talking to you about infinities and the impossible.
And I want to be 5 again.
Back to when you and I were both happy.
And neither of us looked for bottles of pills or busy traffic streets.

We all have things in life
That try to bring us down.
We push and pull and fight,
And scream for any way out.

Held tight for bonds of conformity,
Not daring to stand out.
We bury our identities,
And ourselves, begin to doubt.

But there's no reason for these things to be,
Why hide a luminous light?
Forget the rest and live your life,
And let your dreams take flight.

I never thought I'd be here
In front of this giant among men
As you tell me that you've struggled
And there's a light at the end

I never thought I'd be here
Sitting by your desk
As I confess that I'm not happy
And am wishing for the end

And I never thought I'd be here
As you tell me to hold on
I never thought I'd be here
But I'm already gone

it's kind of one of those nights.
you know.
the one that makes you want to crash your car on the highway.

it's one of those nights.
where your phone is full of people.
but nobody is home.

and the only people you really want to talk to,
are the ones who decided you're no longer worth their time.
so out with a bang you go, my dear.

coercion is not only the absence of “no.”

it is also the “yes” that is given when the option of “no” is stripped away.

please don’t forget that your “yes” was not a “moment of weakness” or a “sin you have to repent for”

you said “yes” because “no” wasn’t an option. and that’s not really saying “yes” at all.

Your binoculars are cracked
You've lost your sense of sight
Alone in the dark
You're filled with utter fright

Your targets been missed
And there's no where to go
Your binoculars are cracked
And now you've nothing to show

Your binoculars are cracked
The only way to see
But you're so far in the future
You forget to stop and be

Your hindsights 20/20
And now you realize
Your binoculars are cracked
But you have perfectly working eyes

maybe life is not for everyone.

I understand life comes in waves
And I'm beginning to think
I need to hold onto the things that save
And let go of those that make me sink

have you finished your cigarette,
the one you promised would be your last?
like you said, the battle's lost,
if you slip back to the past.

have you put down that bottle,
the one that's ten times stronger?
you promised her you'd do it,
that you'd make the change for her.

have you given up your sins,
the ones that have haunted you from youth?
so you can become the kind of man
that your kids will look up to?

you've made so many promises,
some have been kept and some have not.
please don't break this one last promise-
you won't lose the fight you've fought.

You took me today, to the place where you broke your arm. You told me how you were young, your parents on the other side of the park, and how much pain you were in. And you told me you didn't cry. And I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you and tell you that I know you've endured pain, much beyond a broken bone, but refused to let yourself show how much it hurt you. I wanted to kiss you and tell you that I know how strong you are, even when it's all broken. I wanted to kiss you, I wanted you to be mine, so that you never had to spare tears over broken bones or broken hearts again.

I used to hate the smell of cigarettes because they reminded me of you. And all the bad decisions you had made. They reminded me of the late night calls begging for a rescue. They reminded me of the broken window and bloodstained hand. You were so addicted to the things that lead to your demise. But you've traded your cigarettes and ***** for Christ and a bible. And you've bargained for your forgiveness and prayed for some redemption. But I still hate the smell of cigarettes, because they serve as a reminder of just how easy it is to spark the things we think will give us healing, but end up catching fire and destroy us.

I wonder what it's like to be the moon. To look down on those. Sleeping peacefully, falling in love, creating memories. I wonder how it would feel to know for once I was the source of light in someone's life. To be the one that is beautiful beyond comparison. Look at that moon tonight. I wonder how it would feel to be so selfless you let others use you for the countless hours. The moon that hangs, seamlessly without strings, but steady as a rock. It's reflection skewed by lakes and seas, I wonder if the moon is ever as lonely as me.

You kissed my lips,
As the sea kissed my toes,
I could drown in you both.

She craved adventure while he shied away. She'd step off the edge of a cliff, knowing she'd fall or fly, not caring which. While he'd stand by her side, ready to move, yet strings still attached, refusing to let him be ungrounded.

She longed so much for something other than automated responses and faked opinions. Something more than just a mirror.

Her mind was a canvas, waiting to be colored, while he remained hidden under plastic, to keep sheltered with all his domestic familiarity.

I'm not saying that you fixed everything.
But it all hurt a lot less when you were around.

I wish you’d write something, so I could know how you’re really doing.

The good can never stay
And the bad refuses to go
Your clothes aren't fitting right
And your spring skies only bring you snow

Your hands are numb,
to match your heart
And poison words
From your lips departs

Are these butterflies? Or nausea?
The two seem so alike
I'm puking up my feelings for you
But you turn around to fight

No comfort to be found here
No lingering embrace
All that's left's an empty soul
To match a nameless face

Do your legs ever feel restless?
Because mine do. All the time.
I think about breaking your heart, but not in the traditional sense.
I won't leave you for another.
I won't leave you because I fell out of love.
I'll leave you because I can't escape myself; and why cause two casualties where one would suffice?
Yes. I'll break your heart. I'll run away, and you'll never hear from me again.
But please believe it's not because I don't love you.
I love you more than the feeling I get when a plane takes off, and the possibility of somewhere new becomes a reality.
I love you more than Sunday mornings, with the sun peering in the Windows.
I love you more than I hate myself. Which is why I have to break your heart.
Please don't miss me. I'll love you forever, but someday you'll forget the brown eyed girl you used to know. And you'll remember what it's like to feel free.

I trust myself, but not you.

They talk about these dead cells. Shocking them back into life. Making them immortal because every time they slip into nothingness they are brought back. I don't believe that any amount of science could bring you back to me. Not the way you were before. Your cells may return but you never truly will.

it's not right.
for you or for me.
but regardless,
here we are.

and there we go.

it's not right.
but it's right here.
so here we are.
and we'll never go back.

“You’ll feel so much better,
When the meds start to kick in.
Just give it some time,
And keep your mind open.”

I’m kicking in doors and
I’m breaking glass dishes
And none of it brings me
Any closer to wishes.

Of healing. Of wholeness.
Of anything sane.
Of something, just anything,
To scrub out the pain.

No line of poetry, no act of god.
No deep breathing method or trip far abroad,
Will pull me from these depths that I’m in.
I can’t start to get better
if the meds never kicked in.

I wrote 22 poems last night,
In honor of you.
I’m not saying they’re all worth reading.

But every year that has passed,
Without you here,
Is a year I feel like retreating.

I want to give up the fight,
Get back to you sooner,
Finally see your smile.

Heaven’s too far,
But if that’s where you rest,
I’d walk through hell, every mile.

I spent a lot of time missing you today. That one song came on that always makes me think of you. And I can't help but wonder if you're proud of me. I missed you more today than I think I have in thirteen years. I wondered if we'd be on this trip if you were here. I wonder if I'd yell at you for using all my stuff. I wonder if you'd cry on my shoulder when the boy at school doesn't love you back. I wonder if you'd roll down the windows with me and sing your heart out. I wonder if you'd look up to me or if you'd learn from my mistakes. I have a lot of thoughts on my mind tonight. Most about you. And I wonder if we'd go out together. I wonder if you'd have a crush on that boy in our church and I wonder if you'd be begging to wear makeup like I was. I wonder if you'd look like me and mom. I wonder a lot. I hope you know that I spend a lot of time thinking about you. And a lot of my decisions factor whether or not they will get me closer to meeting you.

Depression makes me feel so undesirable.

I had a dream just the other day, that you were happy.
Happy like you were in July. Happy like you were when we were with each other.
And in the blink of an eye the world changed and you weren't happy anymore.
You pulled away. You said hurtful things and I couldn't believe you had changed so much.
To me it seemed like an instant change, and then I began to wonder how long those dark feelings had been working within you.
How long had you been fighting to stay happy and stay alive?
And what made you let them win. I don't know when the change came. I don't even know why.
But I know that it did. And I hope you find all that you want out of your life.
I dreamt about your happiness. If that doesn't make you believe I love you then I don't know what will

I don't know what's wrong.
I can't eat. Sleep doesn't come easy either.
Maybe I miss you, and maybe I regret you.
I don't know if I'll ever know which.
Everyone tells me to hold on
Surely the storm won't last forever.
I feel hungover
My thoughts are blurred. Bored.
But one thing rings clear.
I don't want to be here.
I don't want to do this.
I'm back into my old ways of thinking.
I want it all to end.
Not for lack of life, but lack of enjoyment.
I don't pray for the end
But if it came, I might greet it with a smile.

There it is. The spark. The heart racing, heavy breathing, if I don’t write this line of poetry my body might explode spark. Closely followed by intense examination of every single syllable to determine if what I think is poetry is something that someone else will think is poetry and will they shun me from the poetic society of poets if they disagree? Hah. Followed by slight laughter at my own cunning demise because that’s the thing about poets. Whether you call yourself that or not, you’re a part of this creative community. You’ve decided that you have words to share and **** it you demand to be heard and then maybe you wonder if what you’re feeling isn’t all that big of a deal at all. Maybe it doesn’t deserve a line, a phrase, or even a poetic thought.

But it does. Because poetry is not poetry if it’s censored and molded and charmed like a snake into fitting into someone else’s landscape. Poetry is not poetry if you don’t feel a piece of your soul being exposed with every cascading turn of phrase. Poetry is not poetry if it is a robotic reiteration & regurgitation of what someone expects you to feel. Poetry is not poetry if you don’t believe in what you’re writing.

So write the things you want. Write the things that are hard to say. The things that choke you and trip you up and expose scars and flaws in your physique. Write the things that are begging to be written. I promise not to laugh. I promise not to report you to the creative commission for poor writing. Write the things that demand to be written, because you demand to tell them.

The way your eyes change colors with the sky
The way you bring me flowers on random Tuesdays, because you were thinking of me
The way you worship my body, soft, where I wish it was hard
And the way you open my heart, hard, where I wish it was soft
The way you whisper my name when we’re connected down to our very souls
The way that you are a complete person
And the way I am a complete person
And the way that together we are two complete persons who continue to choose each other over and over again
And the way we are better for it
I never want to forget the way it feels to be loved by you

typos are their,
to sea if you care.
your the only one,
whose going to dare.

it’s always this place I come back to.
a broken heart and broken promise lay at my feet. and instead of walking away, i pick them both up, tie them together with a ribbon, and put them both back in my chest, with the hope that next time you won’t break them in the first place.

Writing is muscle memory.
And the muscle in my chest remembers you fondly.
Every beat a memory,
And when it pounds loudly,
The words flow seamlessly.

The world is my oyster, but I'm allergic to shellfish.

I wish it had been you.

Like a thief in the daylight,
I saw you coming,
And you still stole everything I had.

Anyone who says
They don’t count the syllables
On their fingers, lies.

pick up the pen
crack open my chest
see the ink instead of blood
know that every word I write
is for you

I sat on a Large Rock
While you hunted Little Rocks
The sea lapping at both of our feet
At different elevations
In different places
Connected by the sea
Our invisible string

You stab your own heart
to make sure it will bleed
when others ***** you.

I lost myself and I found myself.
I lost myself and I rebuilt myself.
And when I did not like what I had made, I rebuilt myself again.
I carved out, and uncovered, and restored, and outgrew.
And I, and I, and I.

And I still don’t have it perfect.
I’m still not who’d I’d like to be.
And my shadow still comes out more often than I’d like her to.

But I, and I, and I will continue to try.

Knock knock.                     “Are you home?”

Text chimes.                         “Are you alone?”

Phone calls.                       “Are you alright?”

Face the signs,              “Let’s call it a night.”

Back to back.    “We never said it was love.”

Drawing lines.                “But maybe it was.”

I found a bunch of my old writing today.

None of it seemed to move me the way you used to.

The scariest thing,
That I wish I’d never done,
Was give you those words.

the god of small things let the lights be green and the hair look perfect and the clothes fit right.
the god of small things smiled at me in the grocery store parking lot and offered to take my cart back for me.
the god of small things left a daisy on my car today, so that I could think of you.
the god of small things said yes when the answer was no and told me to go instead of stay.
the god of small things did not carve mountains with rivers, but did let a stream move over rocks.
the god of small things let me fall asleep in your arms with a lullaby on my lips.
the god of small things said, “this is what we have, and this will be enough.”