Our secrets followed us here
Into this aged room
With dusty walls
And a stale smell
That reminds me a lot of us
Stuck in these patterns
Of not telling the whole truth
For the sake of others
For the sake of ourselves
Saving face as if it were a race
To see who can hide the most
But my hands our tied
I can no longer be the one that lies
Because lying next to you
Has become a painful facade
A ridiculous charade
A song that’s been overplayed
A novel that needs an end
This is the moment that breaks us
When I stop biting my tongue
Until my mouth is filled with blood
This is the minute where truth floods
Downpour of rain
Drowning you in disdain

If you look
At this poem
A little
Bit
Closer
tilting your head
a little bit
to the right
You can
see
A city
Of poetry
And words
And letters
I don't know
If
Anyone
Noticed this
But
It is
Interesting to me
Because
Words
Poetry
And all these
Letters are making
A city that is
Filled
With
Love
Horror and darkness
Hope and light
Madness
Mystery
Oddness
Stories of the past
The present
Our futures
In this
City
Of
Poetry
Words
And letters

i like symbols
i love symbols
i do symbols
i write symbols
im a symbol

I wrote a note today, how I felt. I was finally honest, even if only with a piece of paper. I loved that note, the comfort it gave me. It didn't cry or shame when it heard my pain. But like scars, it was visible. It could be seen. So I had to shred my honesty, piece by piece to make sure no eyes would see my insides. My words were not for anyone but myself. The graphite on my fingers is easier hidden than the blood on my skin. So tonight I wash my hands, so I can write again tomorrow.

It's not your dreamy scenery
or the kiss she stained you with.
It's not the words she addressed to me
or the sketch accompanying it.

It's the genuine sentiment you symbolize,
that I both hate and love.
It's the arguments and the picnics
that you remind me of.

It's not your fault
You represent her petty little game.
That I still hold her in my heart,
It's not you I blame.

I've tried to rip you, burn you, trash you,
Yet there you sit on my windowsill
Teasing the memories that despite the time,
are vivid in my mind, still.

It's behind her.
It's behind me.
It's over.
It's done.

You're all I have left.
Please don't weather or tear.
Now that she's gone
and I am still here.

I am going to be stronger and wiser to myself this time.
You weren't there in my hardest time,
And you left me at a time when I too needed somebody the most,
I guess that somebody just wasn't you.
So hear me out while I scream it to your face
while you call me selfish and inhuman,
You weren't there when I needed you the most.
Now I am not obliged to get back to square one
and loose myself again in the process to be good to you,
because I am. too busy being good to myself

Basil and thyme speckled rye
dipped in warm tomato soup.
Nestled under a white cotton quilt
clinging to a small blue bowl.