I don’t want money!
How many times do I have to say it?
I know my verses will lead to nothing
But at least I’m whole
Isn’t that what we needed?
A purpose
I’ve found mine: writing cheap poetry
that only sells to crazy hearts longing to understand
Understand what?
I have no idea
I only know that art is this—being ecstatic
Not trapped in some rule because someone said so
Do it differently
Put that dot outside the curve and
Tada! Art!
Only there does the magic make sense
Sorry, babe, you tried so hard to make me rich
But I found my wealth elsewhere
I know, you’ll tell me that money can’t buy happiness
But it can buy many other things
Still, without it
I found peace

Not the others
To hell with the others
I want the courage and bravery
of those who said “**** it”
and went to live
I want to live
“Please, let me live,” my soul screams
And I think the most painful part
is realizing it’s all up to me

I think I need to wash my soul
All the water I drink every day
makes no difference
I’m not sure if I’m writing poetry or music
I guess it doesn’t matter
Right now I just need to let it out
I read the other day that it takes maturity to be happy
So please
don’t give me happiness
give me maturity
Because I don’t know how to be happy
I’m still a child
I need to grow

You found this book on the last shelf
of an old, dusty bookstore
Yes
I didn’t write this to be a success
Only those who truly want to be healed
will find me

I don’t want crumbs
I want gold
wheat
honey
the finest and rarest in this world
I am not cheap
My mental health has cost me dearly
My tears
are priceless
I’d like to see you pay for them all
I cried for everyone
But I cried most for myself
for letting me cry for those who didn’t deserve it
for giving space
and letting them destroy my peace
I owe nothing to anyone anymore
Yet everyone owes me
Starting with the one who writes to you now
I owe myself
a great deal of love