She hid things,
and left you in the dark.

He forgot things,
and caused her to anger.

They fell apart,
and he went with another.
She stayed behind,
in her wonder.

They fell apart,
leaving me here struggling
between which side to choose.

I am like the sun which gives warmth:
they revolve around me
as I give them advice,
but I try my best
not to get drawn in.

It's hard for them,
but harder for me,
as I'm tossed around
like a ping-pong unfree.

I don't want to be in the middle,
I just want to be free.
It's not my fault,
so why me?

I am in love with gray sky mornings. They make me wish I sang mezzo-soprano. They make me wish I had a distinguished streak of white running through my hair. They make me wish I held all the wisdom I will ever possess, but with the sprite heart and energy of a 10 year old wearing worn out sneakers. Gray sky mornings seem to represent a middle world, an in-between plane of absolute sweetness and impending doom. But not the scary apocalyptic doom, rather the powerful, majestic and mysterious kind of doom. Gray sky mornings are the worlds way of saying hold your sunshine anecdotes of beauty and bliss, beauty is much too complicated to be confined to only the obvious blue bird scattered skies. Beauty is in the messy, the transitions, its in the muddling of good and not so good, its is the unknowns, the half-ways and the try and try and try agains. Beauty is in the grays.

you walk down the hallway
its either you're invisible
or people see you for the wrong reasons

you arrive early to school
just to avoid the crowd
just so you could hide

you sit in the library
during lunchtime
so they cannot find you

when will you
stand up for yourself
learn how to shove their opinions
back into their mouth
don't care what they think
point your ******* at them
and say "*******"
its your time to stand up
for *yourself

WHAT does one do when their
Mind is in the clouds
but their Heart is drowning
while the Pain is so loud,
the Thoughts are dazed,
and Memories are a m e s s
that can't be cleaned, that can't be erased...
this ice inside my Chest...
my Lungs are losing air-
but my Eyes stare  off
into a Place of dreaminess...
i'm s p l i t into two
one piece in Earth's core,
sinking
the other up in space
floating
to the other end of the galaxy.

"these will all be memories one day"
she said as we sat on the corner of
the old middle school.  
"one day we wont remember this day,
we wont remember sitting here on
this September day." her voice got
quite when she looked down at the
fallen leaves.
"scary huh, that one day we won't
be in middle school only worrying
about what test was coming up and
who liked who."
i kept quite not saying a word,
"because non of those stupid
things matter, middle school
becomes high school, then
high school becomes life and
these will be memories."
she laughed this beautiful
laugh you could listen to forever
and she stood up and said
"lets go make these memories"

"Stop, don't feel that," I think sharply;
As though I can control mind and
Heart-what a joke, it's like catching
Salt from a pile of sprinkled sand.
"I'm in love," I snide from within,
Yet the pressure boils steady
And I can't help but yearn in such
Overweighing, cold agony.
"Don't look"- my eyes dart straight to him
While the guilt overflows my chest,
Setting the butterflies ablaze,
A raging fire in this mess
That I created at first sight.
"He isn't anything you like,"
I try but I know it'll fail;
It's true but this attraction's spike
Still cuts through like a sharpened blade.
"You love him more and he loves her",
Despite the honesty it held,
The reality was ******.
He has his troubles with his love
And although feelings might be on
One side, this emotion can't be
Shaken; innocence has foregone.
Two options remain: wait and see
Or shut my eyes and feel it bleed.

My Middle East is torn
Divided into sects and stones
Desert full of rage
Ancient cities bearing witness to atrocities
In the name of the merciful
Let the killing begin
Seek justice in an afterlife
For God is deaf

Ceasefire!
long enough to bury her face
Under the classroom's desk
Or onto her dead mother's chest
Nameless casualties in numbers
Gaze at the brilliant night sky
Rain of shells, rekindling the dark-ages
No truce is left
For God is deaf

The Father carried his young one
A lifeless log returned to earth
Faith unshaken among shouts and prayers
Let the words avenge you
Curse the creator in whispers
And spiral not into an uncharted nihilistic ground
Fuel your hate
For God is deaf

Commemorate the dead
With roses on their heads
Or with poems on their gravestones instead
Morality embedded in poetry, blood is shed
Humanity on trial
Blame not my words
For God is deaf
And in my Middle East
He remains,
Undead.