Fifteen years since I was safe.
Six years since I had a peace of mind.
One year, six months since our first kiss.
One year since our last.
Ten months since I last felt your touch.
Eight months since we had a conversation.
Seven months, five days since were were together.
Two months since it rained.
Two weeks since I last cried.

Three seconds since I last thought of you.

*My memory is my greatest enemy.

You think because I'm quiet,
that I am hateful too.

and you think,
that because I am quiet,
I am clever.

Quiet means so many
different things to different people,
innocent,
bored,
unhappy,
angry,
resentful,
narcissistic,­
dreamy,
mysterious,
quaint,
selfish,
shy,
rude,
ignorant,
misant­hropic,

But did you ever think,
that maybe my silence
is the loudest
of all cries for help?

Did you ever think,
that maybe I am silent,
because I am afraid?

Maybe I'd like to be a Homecoming Princess,
Maybe I'd like to be a Prom Queen,
Maybe I'd like to have this solo,
Maybe I'd like to have the spotlight on me.

Maybe I'd like to join a band,
Maybe I'd like to speak my mind,
Maybe I'd like to win Poetry Out Loud
                                       or
                                       anything, really...

Maybe I'd like to see,
                               hear,
                               do,
                        and be so much more,
Maybe I'd like to be like everyone else...

And maybe-not maybe- quite absolutely
I'd like to ***** panic, anxiety,
and all these stupid hinderances--
and do all of the above.

Life is sometimes a precious waste, it's been given up on and its been erased. We put on a fake smile so no one knows the hurt deep within our hearts, we screamed for help as loud as we could from the start. Our screams fall on deaf ears, but now our dreams are our worst fears. The reality is no longer wanting to live but it's now how much more can we give. No one sees the pain, the hurt, the sadness or the tears, but they only see what we want them to see not what we see as we look in the mirrors. We are pros at hiding all our emotions, just so someone won't figure out that we're only going through the motions. At Night that's when it's the worst, we hope to make it through the day and not have to be put in a Hurst. Don't cry for me or say you were always there, But realize that this pain is unfair. It takes lives way to fast, so open your eyes because no matter what you won't be pasted. The cuts and scares show how real this can be, no matter how hard it is to see. Reach out to the ones that seem like they it all because you'll find out its nothing like you thought at all. Its easy to die but harder to live, but death seem like the only way out when you gave all you could give.  This is real and in the blink of an eye it will find someone to steal. Be strong and never give in, fight for your life until the very end. You'll see that there is always light at the end of the tunnel, just like after a storm and the rain becomes Settle. Remember that no matter how much hurt and pain this life has gave,  it can all be wiped away because happiness saves. Love yourself with all that you can, and remember when everyone else's fall you have the strength to stand!

And even though things have changed between us,
The love we once felt doesn't fade.
that love, that knowledge... that doesn't go away.
I wish I could unknow every curve of your face,
and every word you half speak then change your mind.
It would be easier if it did go away,
if I could hate you.
Maybe if we had fought more,
if there were hateful words you had said that I could recall in perfect clarity --
ugly words that I could throw at my reflection when I stood in front of the mirror.
See, it's probably my fault you didn't love me enough.
whenever I look at my reflection I wonder what was so wrong with me,
that our relationship fell apart.
That doesn't make it easier to forgive myself.
It might be easier if my heart didn't skip a beat every time I hear your name.

BUT, how many of us can say we did something ******* up for a love that didn't work out?
That we uprooted ourselves and turned into someone else.
I jumped and fell freely and ended up at rock bottom.
But I'm digging my way out one sad movie at a time.
Digging while my eyes sting with tears,
as my hands bleed,
as my clothes tear away.
And I'm trying really hard to not be embarrassed about failing.
It doesn't always work out, I knew that.
That didn't stop my heart from beating to the thuds of hope.
If only you were the one.
If only I could have been what you wanted and compromised some more.

Each time we break up I want to crawl into bed and never get out.
I analyze each part of me,
wondering what didn't fit into a part of you, why it couldn't fit.
I know it couldn't fit into a part of anyone else.
I think about my life,
berating myself at the bad choices.
I wonder if I was wrong -- maybe we weren't so bad?
Maybe that was as good as it gets?
Maybe I asked for too much?
Maybe I'm too idealistic and too crazy and I need to be more realistic and grab a hold of a man that will do.

But no,
I want a man that wants to make me happy.
A man that knows am everything he needs and isn't afraid.
I want you to be ready for me.
Don't run cause we always end up right here.
I want you.
Just you.
It's always only been you.

Whatever you do,
don't ever ever ever
throw out a piece of paper.
One day you could
be cleaning out your room
and discover a sheet
covered in scribbles
and notes in the margins
and raw thoughts
that might even seem to come
from another you entirely.
But whatever the page says,
you'll see yourself in it
and be taken back to those feelings--
if they're good, they'll remind you
of times you felt happiest;
if they're bad,
you'll be able to look at them
with wisdom you didn't have then.

The eraser is not your friend.
It tricks you into thinking
that words you have dared
to get out on paper
might not have been good enough.
A really cool thing
about things you write
is that it isn't like real life:
any ending you don't like,
any aspect that isn't
exactly completely perfect right away
(and believe me,
not many aspects will be)
can always be returned to and rewritten
any time you want to change it.
But write your first drafts in pen,
because any thought you have
is going to be beautiful
because it is your own.

And finally, if you ever do need
to get rid of a piece of paper,
recycle it.
Cause the beautiful part
about recycling
is that it takes something
that you just werent able to use
and turns it into
something that could be
meaningful and beautiful
to somebody else.