validation is like drugs. the first time i got validated, i felt like i was floating. i was above cloud 9 just by someone telling me “you’re my friend” in the third grade. not best friend. not my soulmate. friend, and i couldn’t stop my smile from spreading. feeling needed by someone who doesn’t actually need you is a fantastic feeling. that’s why my heart races when anybody invites me to hang out. they didn’t need attention - didn’t need my attention, specifically -  but the syringe filled with proof that i am a fun person to be around sticks directly into my veins and stays there until the medicine runs out and i no longer have the serotonin for those around me. the euphoria and i dwindle, and i grow distant, because it’s become evident that i wasn’t needed for your journey; i was just a pitstop. someone who could give you some laughs but doesn’t have enough advice to listen to your problems. i can tell you your dress looks nice but i don’t have enough courage to defend you in a fight. i can remember your favorite color but you didn’t remember me enough to resurface old photos of us at fifteen and smile at the thought of our memories. i’ve been down this road before. trust me, i have. i want to be seen, but not to be sorry for. don’t look at my past and defy it as my present. i’m not the lonely kid who sat on swingsets and barely had the strength to push herself. i’m not the little girl who had no one to twirl me during daddy-daughter dances. i am still the girl who wishes things were different, but you don’t need to know that. so please, tell me that i’ve changed. tell me that you’re proud. tell me that everything is going to be okay, and that i’m worthy to stay the night. that i won’t become another pitstop.

A stranger knocks at my door-
I opened it and saw,
Loneliness standing in front of me,
Saying, “Hello, old friend."

If you're afraid to speak,
Come with me.
I'll teach you how to use a pen,
So you may write it out.
Because if you can write,
Someone else can speak it for you.

Folding thoughts like origami
fortress of the hectic army
a sea of fans cheering wildly
and nothing certain waning mildly.

A pile of notes and bloated files of writings,
the little terrors these forgotten worlds invite in.
A choir of friendly voices turning choices into stressful hourly junctions degrading your peace and eroding your mental function.

I write in lines the complex as the simple but between them find a blurred reflection, a swirling mirror in which I seek answers but find only an ever increasing number of questions.

Every note, every key is played off the piano so gently as your fingers caress the keys so freely, like the words that slip off your tongue.

The words comfort me, entrance me, engulf me in all that I am.

You feel like the sun glistening on my skin in the summer,
like the wind that whispers against me,
like the thunder that rumbles through my soul.

The one that longs for you,
wanting you, needing you—
an unknown feeling, a thought that resembles your being.

The one that keeps me close,
the one that keeps me safe,
the one that keeps me burning like flames—
Until all that remains is the warmth of you.

I know things aren’t sunshine and rainbows, that I often overlook things because I want to feel something other than emptiness or sadness. Change it to something else—for someone to understand me, for someone to see me, like I’m looking through glass. To feel some sense of comfort rather than the loneliness I often feel inside.  You call me these sweet things, like a tune of lullabies, and act differently other weeks, like you didn’t. It always leaves me so surprised.

To those honored poets,
An opportunity has opened up,
I'd like to spread this gospel,
Of a chance to reach new horizons,
Well beyond this world,
Now gather if you dare,
Join and journey to a new place.

Tonight, I just want to make love
Not with a person
But with my passions
I want to tap the strings of my guitar
Caressing it with the fondest of desires
Driving myself over the edge
To get that beautiful intoxicating feeling
A beautiful high

I want to take my pen
Lightly stroke
Every line I write
Brushing softly against my quilt
As I get my pages wet
Spread so apart
To get the perfect feel
I want to taste them on my tongue
So they flow

I want to exercise my vocal cords
Into soft delightful noises
To give you thrill
I’ll start low then go high
As the pace increases
I’ll hit that high note
Leaving goosebumps
All over your skin
Then the music
Will at least be heard