You saw me naked.
Not without clothes, but without my wall.
The 10 foot, steel reinforced, wall around my heart.
You broke in, brick by brick.
And I let you, I let you see me vulnerable.
Forgetting what others had done to me when they saw me the same.
I wish I could say you were different.
But, you saw me naked.
And you laughed, pointed out my insecurities, and broke me so much that I rebuilt my wall.
I rebuilt it higher and stronger than before.
Protecting my heart from so called love.
You also saw me without clothes.
Burned your touch into my skin.
Whispered sweet nothings into my ear, and that's just what they meant.
Nothing.
I can't look at my body without thinking about you.
Because, you saw me naked.
Defenseless and with open arms.
I shouldn't have trusted you.
But I did anyway.
I thought that since you had a wall to we would be amazing together.
But.
I never saw you naked.

Dear dad,
I'm 18 years old,
and you've been out of my life for 17 years and 42 weeks of it.
You missed out on your little girl learning, and growing, and turning into a woman.
Someone else taught me how to ride a bike,
but I don't think that you mind missing something so important.
I don't think you mind missing recitals, and concerts and shows.
I don't think you'd even recognize me if you saw me on the street.
You don't deserve the title dad,
so for as long as I can remember, I've called you ***** donor.
Because that's all you ever given me (except for daddy issues and hereditary mental illness).
You don't deserve the title dad because you never taught me how I was supposed to be treated;
so I settled for too little, and longed to be loved.
But now, I don't even call you ***** donor,
I neglect to recognize your existance in my life,
because let's face it, you were never even a possibility.
I feel bad after all these years,
because you missed out on the joy of having a daughter,
and being a father.

To my ex.
You destroyed me like I was made of china, and you threw me at a wall.
I keep finding parts of myself that I thought were lost, but some still love you.
Not in the way that I'll ever go back or forgive you, there aren't enough pieces for that.
But in the way that I miss how you smiled, and I miss the part of my heart that I still haven't gotten back.
I miss the pieces of myself that you picked up and kept as a souvenir.
You broke me into a million pieces, but I stuck myself together with pieces of chewing gum and superglue, and I'm trying to love like I've never loved before, but it's hard when I'm not whole anymore.
I can't believe I'm even attempting to fall in love when I'm so broken and lost.
I wish I had never fallen before, because when I fell you didn't catch me, and now you can see where I'm broken.
I'm wondering how anyone can love me if I can't love myself, how they can love me with all my pieces missing and scars from where you hurt me.
I call you a boy, and not a man in the title of this poem because no man would do what you did to me.
No man would hide behind a screen when he shattered a girl beyond recognition.
I look like you were seeing me through the diamond in the ring that you bought me, the ring that obviously meant nothing.
You shattered me, broke me into a million pieces.
I wish I knew I'd be whole again one day.
But until I find myself, and get my heart back, I know I won't be.

America, the beautiful place full of obesity and intolerance,
where there’s a McDonald’s on every corner,
but a homeless veteran on every corner too.
The place where old white men are making choices about women’s reproductive rights,
refugees are turned away from a place founded by immigrants,
And racism is alive and well.
America the Beautiful doesn’t exist any more,
It’s America the polluted, America the Land of Sexism, America that would disappoint our forefathers.
America was founded by people in search of freedom, but yet our government is trying to take our freedoms away,
when our President is in favor of conversion therapy that makes LGBTQ+ people 8 times more likely to commit suicide,
it’s obvious that he doesn’t actually care about us.
America the money hungry country,
Where I can’t afford the EpiPen I need to survive,
And the top 1% says that raising the minimum wage is us being selfish.
America the Misogynist,
Because our country is directly affected by who we choose to represent it.
And I do not want to be “grabbed by the *****”.
I don’t want a ****** to be in charge when my ****** is still out living free on the streets.  
We are America the sexist because when women march for their right’s it’s seen as a whine,
not a cry for help.
America the bigot,
Where people are seen more as their melanin pigment, or their religion, and less as a person.
Where “don’t shoot” is more of a suggestion than a plea.,
Where I’m worried about my friends every single day.
America the Beautiful doesn’t exist any more.
It was made beautiful by the array of faces all different creeds, colors, and religions.
Now America is the United States of Hate.

I never remember dates, or if I have plans,
But I remember your smile,
and I remember you making me laugh so hard I snort
I never remember to eat, or to sleep,
But I remember that when I do eat,
I can eat more sushi than you,
And that I sleep so much better with you by my side.
I remember all the little things,
like how you look at me when you’re about to kiss me,,
and how it feels to hold your hand while ice skating.
I remember how my heart fluttered when you told me how you felt,
and I remember how you look in beanies,
(even though you refuse to wear them)
I forget simple things like what I ate today,
or to put out the trash on Thursdays.
I don’t remember a lot of things,
but what’s important I remember.
Every aspect of you is important,
I may not remember where we were,
or the day or even the month,
But I’ll remember how you sing in the car,
and you make my happy.
My memory is selective, and I select you.

Dr.  King said “I have a dream”,

But his dream suffered homicide in the streets of our nightmares.

Murdered by the people who were supposed to protect us.

336 innocent people killed in 2015, because the police saw color instead of people,

I suppose the color of their skin was more important than human rights.

Because someone's melanin pigment spoke more to how people perceived them than did the color of their character.

So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.

There are still racists hiding behind screens, and cops who refuse body cams.

The white man in blue suits killings brown kid’s dreams, murdering their moments and *******.

Dr. King’s dream of peace and harmony dies in the eyes of every American citizen.

You know things ain’t right when you are more worried about your boyfriend with cops than with drug dealers.

You know something is wrong when walking with him at night is more dangerous for him than for me.

You know there’s a problem when there are too many cops, not enough justice,

Too many them and not enough us and....

Dr.  King said “I have a dream”,

And.... So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.

When there are still people like Sandra Bland, and Mike Brown, who die for no reason, then we aren't done yet.

Because when people are more comfortable on a street with gun shots than cops, then we aren't done yet.

When I still get looks for having a black boyfriend, then WE AREN'T DONE YET.

We won’t be done until there’s equality, until there’s no more violence, it may not happen in my life time, but we aren’t done yet.

Love isn’t all the Hollywood romanticism,
Love isn’t just the words I love you.
When you love someone,
You’d do anything for their well-being,
Even if they don’t like it,
When you love someone,
You’d give up something for yourself,
To get something for them,
When you love someone,
You’d hold their hair back when they throw up,
And you’d stay still when they’re asleep in your arms,
But you’d also flush their stash if they keep using,
You’d put them into rehab and help them get clean,
You’d make sure that you’re always there,
But you’d bow out, when they no longer need you.
When you love someone,
It’s all about them, never about you.

When you dip her on the dance floor,
It's the color of her dress,
As she whispers in your ear,
It's the color of her lips,
When you make love,
It's the color that she leaves on your back,
With every scratch,
It's the color of the kisses,
And hickeys,
She leaves all over your body.
It's the color of your anger,
When she pushes you away,
It's the color of the words don't touch me.
It is sharp,
It's the color of the blood that you bleed,
When you hear those words,
It's the color of your eyes after a long night with no sleep,
because you were up thinking about her.
It's the color of her eyes,
as she cries,
and begs you to come back to her.
It's the color of your fist,
moments after you break,
and punch a hole in the wall.
It's the color of her face,
when she's angry at you,
but also the color of her love.
It's the color of her tear stained face,
as you kiss her,
and tell her everything is going to be alright.
It's the color of the love,
and lust,
you have for each other.
It's the color you can't stay away from.

I am radioactive,
everyone close,
gets hurt, or dies.
I am radioactive,
my confidence is decaying,
and my spirit is dead.
I am radioactive,
my emotions are on a rampage,
and my love has fled.
I am radioactive,
every aspect of my life,
turns into a battle field.
and I, I am radioactive,
I explode,
leaving no trace of life,
or love left.
I am radioactive,
every breath I take,
is taken from someone else.
I am radioactive,
the waves of my danger,
reverberate through people's souls.
Because I am radioactive.

Being a girl in my day and age,
you get used to all the horn honks,
the wolf whistles,
and the "hey baby's",
and the guys saying "you're too pretty not to smile",
as though not having a smile on my face at all times is a sin.
But why should I smile when harassment becomes normal,
when a girl can't report it because even the police thinks she should be flattered,
but why should I be flattered that a guy wants to see up my dress so much that he 'accidentally' pushes it up,
why should I be flattered when a guy can't even use words so he whistles at me like I'm a dog.
But I am not a *****,
I cannot be won over by a whistle and sweet words,
no scratch behind my ears in the form of some misogynistic pick up line,
will give you a chance.
And if I laugh at your poor attempt,
it is not consent,
just because my lips curl into a smile,
does not mean you can come curl up with me.
My self worth does not exist on how fuckable I am in your perverted eyes,
it is not existent on if you want to 'hit that',
if you were to hit anything it should be your mindset that that is okay,
right out of your head.
Because I am not an object for your pleasure,
and I object to you treating me like I am.
I AM!
I AM!
I AM!
A WOMAN!
Built from all the things a man could never be.
And don't you ever ******* forget it.

The earth with out art is just eh,
and the words I am spewing is music to the ears of all who hear,
poetry is my art,
and it is the art of the broken,
the art of the hurt,
the art of all of us who need to be heard.
Art is the building block of everything in existence,
there is art in the wind and in the clouds,
there is art in your hair and your clothes,
there is art everywhere.
When you can no longer hear the poetry of the world,
and see the art in the earth,
it is then when you lose hope,
you don't see the leaves cascading down in the fall like rain in the spring and snow in winter,
and you don't hear the symphonies of the cars passing by,
and the whistling of the wind whispering to you,
telling you about the beauty the world has to offer.
You see nothing,
and all you hear is silence,
because someone killed your art,
they murdered your poetry in cold blood,
and in the process made you draw blood,
they broke you down with every painful word,
and they chipped away with razor blades,
they tried to make your art disappear,
they tried to cut your poetry out,
but they just just cut you up.
When they tell you your poetry is nothing special,
and your art is just eh,
they are slowly attacking it, attacking you,
your music and art and poetry is you,
when they **** it,
they are killing little pieces of you.
But it is your art,
it is extraordinary,
and your poetry has little pieces of you in it,
so it must be special,
if you let those parts be killed there is just less of you to love,
because someone will think your art is amazing,
and your poetry is genius,
and if you let those pieces be killed and you be scarred,
there will be a little bit less of you for them to love.

If you have to be mad,
be madly in love with me,
if you fall,
fall in love with me,
if you hold something,
hold my hand not grudges,
if you have to take something,
take my heart,
if you have to run,
run into my arms.
I'm yours,
take me.

We were walking,
just you and me,
friends,
we were drinking a cheap energy drink,
just you and me,
I thought we were just friends,
we were joking around,
just you and me,
why were we just friends,
then you kissed me,
just you and me in that moment,
and all of a sudden we're not just friends

I'm awake it 1 am, thinking, going over every aspect of my last year in my head, trying  to sleep, but failing miserably.
I'm awake at 2 am, thinking, of where it went wrong between us, hoping I can fix it one day, but knowing I can't
I'm awake at 3 am, thinking, about our late night drives, and cuddling in the back of your truck
I'm awake at 4 am, thinking, how could I fix us, how could I bring you back
I'm awake at 5 am, thinking, I miss you, I miss you, I can never love anyone else.
I'm awake at 6 am, thinking, crying, remembering when I got the call, when they said your car lit on fire and you couldn't get out
I'm awake at 7 am, thinking, our last conversation, the last thing you said to me was I love you baby, be safe, but I was angry, I said a short love you don't die...
I'm awake at 8 am, thinking, he died, I should've done something, what could I have done? I miss you, please come back.

I just want to see myself how he sees me.

There’s this guy that tells me that I’m beautiful

There’s this guy that tells me how he wants his future

There’s this guy that holds my hand

There’s this guy that kisses me tenderly

There’s this guy who knows me and all my craziness

There’s this guy who likes to show me funny things

There’s this guy that has the cutest messy hair

There’s this guy who I could see myself with in the future

There’s this guy who knows when something’s wrong

There’s this guy that has the most amazing smile

There’s this guy that’s strong

There’s this guy that I can tell everything to

There’s this guy who thinks I’m hot in just a t-shirt and jeans

There’s this guy that passes me notes

There’s this guy who has a really big heart

There’s this guy that makes a lot of tyops

There’s this guy that knows almost everything bad about me and still loves me

I've always been a no name, quiet and sitting in the back of the class.

I've always been a no name, just trying to go through the halls without getting knocked over.

I've always been a no name, with no one to help me carry my burdens.

I've always been a no name, an outcast, a '******'.

I've always been a no name, painfully average, painfully plain.

I've always been a no name, with even the the teachers forgetting my name.

I've always been a no name, barely any talent, barely anything special.

But I refuse to be a no name,

I refuse to sit quietly,

I run through the halls skipping,

if I have to I will carry my burdens myself,

I may be an outcast, but that's okay,

I refuse to be average,

I refuse to be plain,

I refuse to let people forget my name,

I refuse to tell myself I'm untalented, or special.

I refuse to be a no name.

How the hell is it possible to feel this way when our lips only brushed for a split second?
When just looking at you makes my stomach fill up with butterflies.
Your strong hands reassure me when I’m too scared to kiss you, then the fireworks go off with a light show better than the 4th of July.
When your lips brushed gentler than a butterflies wings onto mine, the butterflies that only appear when I’m with you fluttered.
How can you, my best friend, make me feel this way?
When I’m with you my pulse hastens so my heart can tell how much that gentle, half a second kiss made me fall for you even more.
My mind is like a race horse running in your direction, but never reaching you, but never changing it’s way, when just the thought of you jumps into my memory a smile pours across my face.
I've never had a name for this feeling before, but the ,shortest, kiss of all kisses made me realize that this is love.

Some people say life is a game, like Monopoly, but for most of us, our lives are sorry.
Sorry you've been abandoned, sorry i can’t see you any more, I’m so sorry for your loss. Sorry, sorry, sorry is as sorry does.
Sorry’s mean they didn't love you, he didn't care, and we couldn't save her.
Sorry's ****!
Sometimes sorrys feel good but most of the time they feel like crap.
Sorry's mean guys are jerks, people hate me, and I. HAVE. NO. FRIENDS.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, say it three times over a wound and it won’t make it heal, it’s just a five letter word, but it's a four letter word to me, it doesn't do anything.
It doesn't heal scars, or take back the words, or take the razor blades that end peoples lives from their shaking hands as they draw their last breath.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, it doesn't make life any better, it doesn't make it right.

Every second right now the next second, the second after that is fleetingly the future, present, then the past.

They all come and go so fast, the future is second from the past and even closer with the present.

In the space of 3 seconds you have all three and don’t even know that they’re there and gone.

And now at this moment in time is the youngest you will ever be again, then that is in the past.

Every second of the present is fleeting into the past as fast ad you can blink your eyes.

Here and gone and here and gone. Gone forever only looking forward to the future that will be here in a second.