He won’t cut his hair
Because his ears will get cold
And his eyes are dark brown
But they stare into my soul
He doesn't want to be close
Or give out hugs
But he’s always there
To check how I am
And I like this boy
And it’s ******* annoying
And I like this boy
With his drawing obsession
And his chat about a game
I have no clue about
Or an anime series
That I’ve never seen
And we joke about how
He’s so **** at maths
And he compliments my new hat
Because he knows I want one
But no one else has
And he's quick to defend me
Like I am for him
And we gel really well
But I wish we weren't friends
Being friends makes things awkward
So I'll ignore it instead
For a couple of years
Then remember and go
Oh **** yeah
**** I used to like that emo lookin kid
But he only looked like that
Because he refused to get his haircut
Because his ears would get cold

the sound of nothing
in our ears and the empty
is all around us

Alone?
Feel incredibly unloved and unwanted?
Because the only person
that would love to spend the
whole day
With you...
is your one year old.
And that’s only because
she spends the most time
With you
And you’re her buddy.
I’m not minimizing that love
or taking it for granted.
But it’s hurtful
not to be just ONE person’s
first pick.
Their favorite human,
their best friend.
Someone who wants to share
Moments,
Stresses
And memories
With each other.
Because you simply,
mean that much to them.
That is why my heart
is sore.

It was quite music to their ears,
Music to their ears:
Your shouts and Screams,
Your inner fights out,
Wars spit with the venom of a serpent high,
Knowing, just knowing how it feels:
It was quite music to their ears,
Music to their ears,
It hurts like Hell,
Your shouts and Screams,
Music to their ears,
Music to the ears
Your shouts and Screams.

Hard times expressed,
Making something of the beauty one can find,
What went wrong,
What went wrong?
Why weren't those mirror reflected upon your existence?
Why do they enjoy making us suffer?
For you to find,
It's for you to find
That
It was all
Music to those ears...

Music to my ears all my shouts and Screams,
All the laughter and the tears!

One day I heard her say:

“I have a dreamy kitchen.”

I pictured pots and pans hanging above

an old-fashioned stove, a light blue and white checkered

tablecloth on a wooden table for two.

And the morning frost beyond the kitchen door,

not reaching the warmth of her ears

from the night’s sleep.


I wondered:

What does she have for breakfast?

Does she make herself two sunny side-up eggs?

Is she too busy for eggs?

Perhaps she only eats yogurt before darting out the door.


You were always darting, not quite rushing,

but too fast for me to say hello.