I fell in love with you today
I barely even know your name
They say never to fall in love with a poet,
But I'm in love and I know it
Your words immediately capture my soul
For I know your heart is gold
They say actions speak louder than words
But I say that's for the birds.

I have learned,
people leave you
cold and broken
like my youth
and the only thing
that will ever stay
in my life
is that pen
and that pad of paper.

because my sanity
means more to me
than pleasing others
and my sanity
can only stay
if that pen and pad
are next to me

so take away my
so-called friends
lost inside
never empty pill bottles
and always empty
bottles of sorrow
and remind me why
this is what i cling to.

this is my far few in between
this is my light
at the end
of a never lit tunnel.
This is where misery
and it's company
join hands and dance
in the moonlit
darkness of the past.

The only thing
I've ever held close to me,
was anger and resentment
for those who i'm supposed to love
I find fatal flaw
where there isn't any
I look for wrong
in those who try to do me right
which is why I write.
because the only form
of therapy available to me
costs sixty bucks an hour
and that hour
holds more secrets
than my mind
will allow me to speak.
So I bleed ink
and hope that some sense
of relief
flows through my fingertips
like the weight upon my shoulders

and the only thing
worth fighting for
in my eyes
are the things
that are fighting with me.
Which is why people
come and go.
But blank pages
are always meant to be filled.

remember that sometimes even the most accomplished fall down,
and the stars refuse to shine.
if you remember that sometimes a candle gets dim, it'll get brighter after a little while.
think of all that makes you happy,
if only for a second
and keep going solely because of that.
when the clouds cover the sun, it can't shine
but it's still the brightest thing we know.

I asked myself over a warm cup of tea, "what kind of beauty is there in finding mystery in yourself?"
I took a little sip, and had more thoughts.
And so I scribbled, a few words on a piece of paper.
a fine day indeed to be playing Thelonious Monk,
one of my favorite Jazz pianists.
y'know, his music has a certain type of soul to it, something inviting about it. I dunno.

with that cup of tea still in hand, I listened to the ocean dance while Monk rushed over the piano keys.

that cup of tea smelled like years of fear and peace to come.
that cup of tea reminded me of the first time I burnt my finger with a candle when I was still a kid.
that cup of tea reminded me of my first love.

it reminded me that I'm still 17, it also tasted like conversations I had with friends about girls we'd never have.
"that girl. she's the one, you'd probably have a chance with her. say something, you shy mo'fo."
but then again it wasn't about probability.

it tasted like 5AM in the morning after your first breakup.
it tasted like 4PM when you wrote your first poem.
it tasted like bitterness.

the tea tasted like my love for things that have aged.
'65 Mustangs and inked pages.
ripped jeans and new faces.
jazz music and new places.

its funny what tea can do one's mind once it burns your tongue and runs down your oesophagus to warm your lungs.

Monk's music in the background, I still scribbled words on a piece of paper.
if only this moment could linger.

cup of tea, cup of tea, what type of flavor did you leave in me?

see, when i stare at this cup, it seems as if it holds unneccessary emptiness.
but can still hold my deepest desires in liquid form - a warm cup of tea.

I probably wrote all of this after I burnt my tongue with tea.
but then again, this isn't about probability.

this is from the deep of things, with love.

sincurlyxbaki

the flowers remind me of the blush on your cheeks when the wind blows.
the music i listen to gives me a beat that reminds me of your heartbeat,
shaky but still there and that's all that really matters.
the freckles on you face are identical to the ones in your eyes, so small but tell such a big story
the rush of water reminds me of how you talk when you're passionate about the subject. you slur and ramble, but there's a purpose. there's always a purpose.
i think of all the things that remind me of you make me think about how such a beautiful person can be so broken on the inside and so close to death every night.
i wish i could tell you what i see when i think of you.
i see waterfalls
flowers
music
freckles
the flicker of a flame
the sound of scratching a paper with a pencil.
if i were to tell you,
you would laugh and brush it off.
you might ask how i think of such silly things.
but i know what it means and i know that you're beautiful.
i know you and that's all i need

You can be my inspiration
if you believe in me
I'll believe in you.
You can spark my creativity
with all your wonderful emotions,
whether they are sad or happy.
I won't stop you shining through
I know you can feel it too
so don't feel blue
or I will too,
so please don't cry
when people walk away
and others pass you by.
Don't forget to be you,
you're weird and that's awesome.
I just hope that someday
I can inspire you too.

remember all the hurt,
pain,
shame,
emptiness,
vulnerability,
masks you had to make,
lies saying "I'm fine."
remember that?
it ******. it still does.
but know that it can't get much worse than slicing your skin everyday then popping pills to end it all.
if that's rock bottom, then start climbing.
it's going to take a while,
and it'll be hard.
but you've been through so much worse.
You'll hit your head and scrape your knees,
but that's just life.
you're going far kid.
Don't **** yourself.