poetry is so ******* ***
write about stupid **** no one cares about
i must be a ****** because i always write passages
**** those butterflies
cut off its wings
emotions just a waste of chemical signals
neutralize my brain chemistry for joy atm
just one of those days hahaha
I sit here....
I sit here...
I sit here...
until one day, I.......................................................................................die
having done absolutely N. O. T. H. I. N. G.
and I regret <dfihbadflhbfihrefbiuwfiuhfihifiufiwief> everything.
pretending to be busy instead of doing school work
I could be alone
I could be sad
I could cry myself to sleep
But I don't
I walk through cemeteries
And have panic attacks
And fall in love
Far too often
I guess that's just a side effect
Of deciding to live
This is honestly messing with my head. Is this what living is? Have I ever done it before?
When did things change? Did I really make that decision, or was it made for me?
No, I don't think it was. Other people decided to keep me alive, but I was the one who decided I wanted to live.
I'm glad too.
I don’t know you’re name
But I’ve written you poems
Not really for you
But definitely about you
This isn't a poem
Or a love letter
Maybe a tiny
But mostly just a note
To the one I adore
I'll see you
On the other side
Call me tonight
I'm going to the beach
And I'm going to dig a hole
All the way
To visit you
With sand in my shoes
I guess I've been a little unfair. I'm young, so is she, and I like her lots and miss her dearly. Love you.
where do mattresses go when they leave your home?
do they hitch a ride back to Oregon
that place that you only pitched as an idea for a funny road trip
but never actualized
instead the map with all the pins of the places you've visited
has become the places you'll go and now it's slanting askew
because your sense of perception is always a little crooked
do they sit by the curb of a dilapidated 7-11 and watch everyone
give them bedroom eyes
is there such a thing as pining or are we naturally drawn to the new?
something foreign that can be learned with time and patience
but the patience runs out like the water in the bag where that fish you won at the fair came in
and when you got home there was only plastic and the rubbery upside down belly of fish scales in an airless vacuum
do they enter through the window and shimmy under the
other dusty things in the attic?
Do they make themselves at home telling you stories of
everything they've seen and don't you wish that
the guests always stayed longer than you could hope for
but forever is not in your cards, it's not even in the receipts
you horde in the kitchen drawer
forever is stuck under the couch but you never check
because it's easier to just sit and think about it
I survive this life purely
In hope one day I'll see
my sweetheart once again
trying to live without her now
has been harder than I'd evet thought It possibley would
To love and then then loss even
harder so I spend all my days trying to Imagine how our live would be If she was still here with me still brings tears to
Tears that have never fully dried countless times I've cried but having loved and now having to return a life
before knew my
So much harder now to do for when you've loved and lost Is
harder than to have never loved at all trying to live a life without my beautiful wife Is really no life at
you are a preposition.
you are in my heart.
you are on my mind.
you are at my doorstep knocking.