It all sounds good.
Riding with the windows down and your music loud all throughout the hood.
Neglecting your homework,
putting hours in at work,
because you think that you should.
Emulating a sound that you know is
not yours,
because it sounds good.
You think it’s because you should.
You should follow your own voice,
rhythm, and beat.
Be free in spirit, and feel
the beat from ground
through your feet.
You can’t be her.
You can’t be him.
You can only be you.
Just, be you.

The world feel worthless,
when there's no one
to understand what
you are going through.
When you needed help,
but they never listen.

should I say that I'm not doing fine?
Or should I say goodbye?

seems it has been quite
quite longer than
eleven weeks
since we last spoke
i'm sure that on this early morning
you're only sleeping
but i'd like to share
some basic ideas
Perhaps you
can't forget it all
in fact

it might be the sad reality
that all you can do
is reflect on
a good old memory

the simple memories that you hold
and seem to also run through my head
even if i refuse, the inevitable rises
that i must accept those
precious hours
we had
and it seems that
i like to reference songs in
all of my reminiscence
through this incoherent series
of run-on sentences

to answer your questions
do you want answers?
at least now
after all this time
quite longer than
eleven weeks
since we last spoke?
or may i leave your questions
as mysteries of your poem?
the answers
can only be guessed

guessed
emotionally
or logically
we do know
what happened this year
and it seems that
i took you
as far as you could go
hugs are nice
so embrace the hugs
selfishness is a construct

you can't be afraid
to care for yourself
and explore
your desires
i'm sorry i didn't stay
why would an affair
be needed
to visit you?
well, i sure hope
my lacking presence
doesn't wrack your brain anymore

I am studying.
I am dying from exams.
I should get some sleep.



Don's you just love exams?
I don't.
I hate it.

the door in my old room. the one with light blue sky and clouds painted over every inch of the walls. the two window sills in my room, with the dirt from when i’d go in and out of them. my ceiling from which i hung wind chimes. my bunk bed that had alllllll my stuffed animals on the top bunk. with a book called the anybodies (my favorite as a kid) to read on the top bunk with the fan on. anyway,
the door in my old room. i wasn’t allowed to close it, so i almost never did. but when i did, it was so I could write and draw on the white backside. my teenage poetry. pure, ****** poetry.
well i wonder if it’s all still there.
nostalgia is a slow, everlasting-like ******. a guaranteed good feeling. because i feel just enough sorrow that it’s the really good feeling pain because also, i’m happy as if i’m happy crying. if that makes sense
“i know it well” blood bank
momma, i miss you. i feel you. i only wish to ever be enough, and to be a good person.
even the best of us aren’t perfect hm?
my old door was cool. i miss some of those times. i feel like thinking about the lyric “hearts are broken every day.” has been messing with me lately. heartbreak (don’t judge me aight) reminds me that i am human. heartbreak makes me feel mortal in a way few things can. so what is the point of my life when i already know such heartbreak, it’s impacted me a lot, but it is simultaneously an every single day, multiple times per second occurrence. very common. very common **** my ****. that **** hurts in a good way you feel me?

When others meet you,
All they see is kindness,
And they tell me,
You have yourself a keeper.

I don't understand what it is,
But I just,
Feel myself,
Not falling any deeper.

I have this self pressure,
That I should be saying,
I love you.
But it would only be a lie.

For now I will hold back,
As only time will tell...
I do feel like I should say it,
But I WILL not tell a lie.