poems are my escape
into worlds where sense
is measured in meter and rhyme,
and the undercurrent of meaning.
i make regrettable decisions
and excise those
that meant me well
in exchange for a pain
less familiar.
i would apologize,
but pride dictates
i stand my ground
and put pen to paper
instead.

Don’t talk to me
I’ll only break your heart
As mine only beats for one
But I’ll still lead you on
As the thought of someone loving me is a crave
Though I only crave it from one

I haven't seen you in two years
We haven't talked for a year and some months
Everything ended so badly
I had convinced myself that I was over you
But when you saw me, you asked to talk
I said Okay
Than that phrase, I'm sorry
You said I miss you and I still love you
My heart melted and I caved
We're talking again and I feel happy
Part of me thinks I'm making a mistake
The other part thinks we might work out

Is poetry not enough? Do my songs still not help? The ghosts that I've conjured scream no. Writing always made me miss you more clearly; but it never made me stop missing you.

And I think I’ve managed to **** up every good thing that has happened to me. My vocabulary is becoming strictly “I’m sorry” And I am. But I’m sorry doesn’t fix everything. And sorry didn’t fix us.

I always say that I write to confront my fears, but I’m starting to think that I’m just writing to myself. And poem after poem I only become more aware that the almost inevitable self destruction is my biggest risk.

I’ll pound knuckles into walls, I’ll etch pencil into paper, and I’ll stay in the same spot for what feels like forever. I’ll conjure more ghosts. I’ll scream “I’m sorry” and in the end I will be the only one to blame.

But In the end I’ll still blame you.

I cant keep my hands from shaking when I write about you.
I get nervous, and I stutter when I speak to you.
I'm always scared that we're drifting miles apart,
and what ***** me up most is knowing that neither of us want the distance.
I think I miss you more clearly when I write about you.
I keep listening to the songs that you gave me too.
you look so cute in your smile.
I know that sounded weird.
I'm sorry.
The truth is I get a very honest tug at the corners of my lips when I see you.
I know that what I'm about to say will sound sad and pathetic,
but I practically live for the hug you give me at the end of the day.
I'm sorry.
You'll probably never read this anyway.
I just really hope that tonight goes well.

Heat burns my skin
Peeling off
Shedding my past
Seeing him only hurts my heart more
I don't want to hurt him
I don't want to hurt anyone

Things just change over time
and things can't stay the same