cool-aid cool-aid in my glass
if you don't,
I'll kick your ***

Growing out my hair,
But it's hard when I look like
Wolverine's father.

I hear white noise in the evening gloom
Alone in my head as the wind blows
Then the stereo plays your song, quick and quiet
And it takes me to places nobody knows

You've always thought that no one listens, but I hear your music, I do
I'm listening to your lovely words, your midnight secrets
The things you're too afraid to say in the silence
The words inside that are dying to be set free

Then something tells me your song is about to end
But you don't deserve to fade out the way you always do
So please keep going, keep talking, don't leave
And I'll keep listening.

how many times have I compared you to a wonderful piece of art?
your veins, your angles, your eyes, they all lead to your heart.
your face is worthy of a cathedral’s ceiling,
but I can’t compare it to what I’m feeling.
I scream to the heavens that they need to close the gate.
what’s the point of waiting in line when heaven is your touch, and it feels so great.
your eyes are the Monet that was never hung up.
the way they blend together from far away, but up close I get so strung up,
trying to figure out how they blend together,
browns and golds and greens and yellows, I give up, whatever.
your smile is my favorite Van Gogh,
how your dimples glisten and your teeth glow.
I love when your lips twitch at the sight of something that makes you happy,
it can make even my worst days feel a bit less ******.
but there’s a bit of Frida Kahlo that you can’t contain
because in those Monet eyes of yours I also see pain.
and I hate when I see it but I also see your Sylvia Plath,
because when that smile disappears all I can see is wrath.
and after you laugh I hear your Emily Dickinson,
the silence that follows is your eternity prison.
but don’t get me wrong.
you aren’t just the primaries; red, yellow, and blue.
the gallery dedicated to you is long overdue.
because what I see in those eyes of yours
is that pain isn’t something you’ve yet to give in to.
and I know the world in itself is a huge piece of art.
but the only painting I’m looking at is you.

Homework, thou art a most wearisome ghost
Who doth chivy and harry my frail bones
To their shatterment, to amuse the host
But I shall not delight them with great tones
Of fear and agony, nay; with homework,
I shall blast the fearsome foundation flat
And though my heart bids me to papers shirk,
Quiet strength am I, and never fearing
What mere letter or stroke may do to me
For I have but one desire: to learn
And to become the best that I can be
While for homework no sense I yet discern.
What shall tear me down from where I now stand?
Only homework, which I cannot remand.

My old friend, you've done it again.

You turn the lights out when I can finally see,
You stain my fingers with ink you use to write me letters so cruel,
You scream at me deafening words of hatred,
You let tears flow from my eyes without a sense of pity,
You point out my wrongs the way you like to pick the prettiest flowers,
You push me into the smouldering flames then you're in awe of the way I glow,
You slit me with a blade and watch the blood flow, you say it's as beautiful as waves dancing.  
And you do it, over and over again.

Believe me, I wish I could let you go.

I try to run away in the dead of night
To get rid of you, to forget you

You never seem to leave.
You follow me like shadows on asphalt,
You leave your traces in my favorite blouses,
You vandalize my bedroom walls,
You lurk in the corners I confine myself to,
You're in each window I pass by,
You hide under the sheets I sleep in,
Your sobs echo through my ears in the middle of the night,
You're in the mirrors I look away from,
You're in me.

You are me.

I used to cry  haha
I used to laugh  haha
I used to be angry  haha
I used to be nervous  haha
I used to be inlove  haha
Now, That's a poem.  **Haha