Just a little poet
Who's always afraid to
Show it.

But then I met you.

why can we never listen to our own advice?
is it because it isn't true?
or is it because we realize we aren't worthy.

I'm happy
Because you're here
It's a weird feeling
A foreign feeling in a sense
I like it
But I'm afraid to lose it
It's okay because I'm happy
If I lose it so what
It was fun while it lasted
Thank you
For being my one source of happiness

When the television dies
He cries
For no one is talking anymore

His sanity is slowly becoming sand
From the ocean full of wonders

Slowly drying up the tears
He awoke to the sound of endless rings

The petrichor scent
Reminds him of the past that he’s life is a lie

Because all of his friends are dead
When the television dies

i don't wish to be invisible
but i wish they'd never seen me
or heard my voice.

i wish to be known and i guess
also to be loved
without anyone ascribing a sense
of beautiful or ugly to me.

please!
i wish you would expose me
for the brave comment
for the snide remark
for the gentle mention
for the valiant mistake
that i am.

but--stop! don't do it,
my pretty face is my shield
and if i weren't so scared
i would've already destroyed it.
i would've made my invisible visible
and you would all see what i am,
really.

don't do it

i wish i could do it for myself:
to be naked but not afraid

frightened about addictions--
mine feel far less dark
because they blaze from a white
screen

lower the brightness. i can't
bear to feel my eyes
dissolving like my dull white
scream