i can’t find them
i can’t find anything
i’ve lost them all
in piles
of clothes
or pens
or paints.
i just saw them
why can’t i
just *******
grab them.
people say organization is important
and to them it makes sense.
i tell them that i know.
i do.
i know.
but if my brain is a mess
as it has been forever,
will i lose myself if i organize it?

You know that feeling when you can't write a ******* poem but wanted to write so bad that you end up being miserable and lonely and insecure about yourself?

I keep erasing the words I write
With no life or soul in a poem
Why bother writing one at all

Your thoughts go blank
Nothing seems right
Nothing is good enough
Or it doesn't make sense put together
You want to write
To spill your guts out onto paper
But you don't have the words to make it happen
I have writers block.

It’s the new year,
Time for resolution, or inevitable revival
The point of this winter season when everything seems…
New and fresh, like anything is possible.
But is it really, if all we will do is make the same resolutions
And live out our consistent, boring lives
Grasping to the idea that change,
Only change,
Will somehow add meaning to the meaningless-
Inspire the uninspired.
We find that so easily our life will pass us by,
And we will cascade into our indifference
For the lives we made for ourselves and the unimportant choices we took
Even though we heard the necessary calling for change,
We ignored it,
Until the year changed and our lives became one year bleaker.
Call me cynical, or pessimistic
But the change we crave, the change we ache,
Is too busy living inside of the dream of a fresh start
Instead of living inside our lives.

i'm constantly stuck between
bones and blood and amphetamines
i keep thinking that
i can have it all if i just find the right scene
and i can see toxic thoughts like toxic waste
contaminating the oceans of my mind
a bitter aftertaste, a better nursery rhyme
the glowing eyes of my demons
reflecting off the blade of a knife
and the half smiling rings on the coffee table
are the only things keeping me
company at night
i never thought i'd ever describe pain as
"bright"
"vibrant"
"almost warm in the right light"
i'm stuck here, falling apart
a glass object breaking in slow motion
becoming bones before tomorrow starts
fissures turn to fractures, an explosion
kids these days call that abstract art
who i am hates who i used to be,
and who i was always wanted to be
this
a human typewriter who knows
how everyone's stories begin and end
a tree limb that never breaks, only bends
the back end of a horse
a street with a dead-end
a best friend a godsend
wind me up and watch me pretend
turning circles and spitting up my
heart on my bedroom floor.
"this is as good as it gets, my friend."

and
I miss the way I use to write constantly. the way words, feelings and emotions surrounded me, grabbing me ever so tightly. bringing meaning into my life. the way my words cut the silence, like a cut from a knife. man how I was so powerful and just so sure. now I find myself carefully choosing words. I think I lost sight of what it really meant to write. not so much thinking but just allowing my words to take flight. pulling you closer allowing you to feel exactly how I feel. **** so real, for a moment your soul is what I steal. I felt like I lost it, like I was just lost in the world. another being trying to find peace but my thoughts in a swirl. can i capture your soul like I use to do. of course I can. I was solely… made for you. I was made so you’d b able to feel me. for you to capture who I am. free willingly.
tap into my mind and inhale thee.
　well look at that, Im alive b