Do I suffer?
Everything I do, I do wrong.
I can’t even get help.
I want to manifest my pain—
to bleed into your vision,
to force you to see me.

I hate that I’m an inconvenience.
I hate that I could be a problem.
I hate that I cause offense.
But please, please see me.

I need to be loud.
I need to be heard.
I need to be seen.
Please—
just see me.

I’m sorry to ruin your day.
I’m hurting too.
****.
I hate myself.
I might do it.
I might finally show you.

My last laugh:
the silence shatters.
I will finally be remembered.
You can’t ignore this.

Like how you run your fingers through my hair and stare at me with that smile of yours
when you think I’m not looking,
like how you light up whenever you see me
and you always rush to try to find me
and get up in my space?
Like how you spend time with me,
how you stay over at my house and I stay at yours?
Like how you get worked up over video games, and how sometimes
I can’t tell if you have a crush on me or are just an a##hole.
Now I know,
you’re just
an
a##hole.

He who writes angry,
Will write nothing of value at all.

He who write in emotion,
Shall write the epidemy of it all.

You took my light away

And let me stumble in the darkness

Why do you do this to me

I asked you to stop

But you dragged me back

Kicking and screaming all the while

I’m drowning in the flood

That you created

Said something dense
Breathe in, breathe out
Face crossroads with thoughts

But eyes don't lie

Frown like a fiery pulse
Cold turns hot

Eyes don't blink
Through winds
A straight gaze
Not obstructed

In rain
Still unbreakable
Five minutes of fierceness

Till exit
Deadly thoughts calm down
Glare to glow
Stiff lessens

Else around
On best behavior

When you ask what just happened
Don't know the answer

Apple, berry, and honey.
A giving tree,
a vine’d bush,
and a killer bee.
Fulfillment underneath,
my ice cream.
All in the home,
of the outer layer.
Warm desserts off,
passed down family notes.
Holed out memories,
forgotten the smiles.
One day beyond,
I’ll finally see,
what was left behind,
for you and me.

I want to be something great,
But according to everyone else,
That's well beyond my years.

Why is it only my youth they comment on?
Are they admitting I'd be better off than them,
If I was aging on 41?

A poet is somebody who writes poem,
Not someone, old, who writes a poem.
So call me a poet, or that is what you are not.

Back in school I submitted my poem for an English assignment.
I got bad marks, so I vowed never to use my poems again.
But now all I want to do, is shove my poems in front of you.

Have your opinions about whom a poet should be,
Just don't use them to disrespect me,
And my stupid poem about olivine.

If it’s not love it’s poison,
If it’s not good, then it’s evil.
If you’re not warm, you’re freezing.
And if you leave you’re cruel,
And if you stay clinging on for too long, you are nothing.
So, if it’s not love, it’s poison,
And if you’re not surrounded you’re alone,
And if you're not full you're starved.
If you break you’re nothing,
You’re alone,
So if it’s not love, then it is poison.