There's so much food
In my section of the fridge that's way past it's sell by date but not quite rotten yet.

I know I'm
not going to cook it, but I'll still wait till it's moulding before I throw it out.

I haven't been the same since you left me.
And if I can't tell the truth to anybody, I guess i'll have to write it here and call it poetry.

I wish I was one of those people who could realise that I'm fine alone, but I'm not.

I need people and my skills are ridiculously deficit, I feel like I'm fooling these people into believing I am someone worth hanging out with.

They don't buy it at all.

They don't buy food they know they won't cook.

I have to stop placing people higher than me
In how I see how they are
In importance, see
I haven't got it through
my head that everyone
Is just bones and fluids
And thoughts and fun

All these ideas I have
About who I think you were
Are actually untrue
you are just a person

And this anxiety I have
That seems to wash over me
Is only here because deep down I think
You're better than me

There is no better or worse
Everybody just is
There isn't popular or outcast
Unless you start to think

they're just opinions and thoughts
And I just think too much
But I am sick to the core
I'm done giving a ****

I don't care how many likes
You got on Facebook today
I don't care how high your grades are
We both passed, ok!

I don't care who you are friends with
And who they're dating this week
I don't care what you did this summer
if it makes me feel weak

I want to know how you feel
I want to hear your passions
I want to feel your fear
And talk about the old fashioned

Ways that people would talk
And act so elegantly
Without these interactive
Mind magnets
changing our speech

I want to be confused
And vulnerable
I want that to be ok
And acceptable

I want to be myself
And care about other people
Not these manufactured movie screen
making bad sequels

Where's originality
I want passion and art
I want intelligence fuelled by
Love and not darkness

I want to feel ok
I want to talk to you
I want to feel as if I'm involved
And not trapped in a zoo

going
going
going
gone

This screen isn't real.
These pictures aren't real.
These smiles aren't real.
These feelings aren't real.
Maybe they are,
maybe they captured something smart,
maybe they wanted to make art,
maybe they're enjoying their life,
not everyone just wants a fight.
But this is reminding you,
reminding me to step outside and see,
the trees and nature
that's what we are made of
not these made up fantasies.
I don't ever want to look like a barbie doll
never in real life never down in stone,
I want to age and fade away.
I'll take some pictures as I make my way
but it's fake.
I'm not saying it's everyone,
I'm just saying my feelings
when it's half past one,
so if I'm reading this,
go out and have some fun,
if you have to brag,
aren't you the lonely one?
Do what makes you feel alive,
is what you're in inside.
If you want to sleep,
then sleep away more time.
It's never healthy to ignore a problem,
make it get worse,
can't you make your decisions
before you end in a hearse.
So dear me,
unapologetically,
get off your social media
and leave your phone be.
If anyone who loves or likes you
wants to talk to me
I guess they'd do it in real life
if it's meant to be

I once asked my mother if she liked my art
I was 3 and it was in felt tip pens
And I think she knew it didn't make sense
And the colours didn't have an end
But she said she loved it
And hung it on the fridge
And kept it there for months
Till the Blu tac fell off
And the paper rustled apart.
.
.

I once asked my mother if she liked my art
I was 8 and all my friends
Didn't like me using all their pens
Even though they were meant to share
But I didn't care
And my mom said she loved it
And printed the tiger on her bag
And showed it to all her friends
And took it to work every day
Even when it rained
.
.
.

I once asked my mom if she liked my art
I was 14 and hated it all
And she was busy with too many things at work
And didn't have time for her to part
And I didn't understand
And I thought it was bad
and I didn't ask her again
Incase she got mad .
.
.
.
.
I once asked my mom If she liked my art
I was 16 and afraid
Too young to be great
To old to stay sane
She said it was beautiful
But I didn't believe her
She was busy again
And It couldn't be clearer
That I wasn't good
At anything
And there wasn't a point
In trying new things
And everyone
Need not make another thing
Because it wouldn't make sense
When it's not the best it could be
And there's better ones that better friends
And better hands will make. .
.
.
.

And she saw my confusion
And she laughed quite a lot
And as busy as she gets
She just had to stop

And she told me that art
Isn't good or bad.
It's all that you've been
And all that you've had. .
.
.
.
.

And it's beautiful
Its overwhelming
that I didn't see
All of what
She made of me

I've never had a room
Ok that's a lie
I'm a middle class
Working, privileged kinda guy
But I haven't had a room
And being here two months
Is something so serene
I can't word or touch
I've never had a room, see
It's mostly been sharing.
My sister's a near age,
Shove them in, but I can't bear it
She snores so loudly
She'd wake me up.
Her life is so messy
I'd have to clean up.
A few years like this
Was fine to be fair
Until it got too messy
found my comb, your hair
I know what's mine is yours
But our things intertwine
What stuff makes you you?
What stuff do I call mine?
It's materialism at best
I'm nothing either way
By owning a piano
I'll still own a grave
A few more years, finally
I have a space
Just kidding haha
It seems like its fate.
I slept in the lounge
Where we'd watch episodes
Manic, depressive
Gather round for the shows!
I'd search for peace
And I'd practice my patience
But I need to save some
For my real patients
Am I not my own patient?
How can I treat myself well?
If everything around me
Is crumbling.
Well?
Surprising isn't it?
all I wanted was a room.
And I didn't even know it,
I'd run towards all the gloom.
I thought I needed people.
I thought I needed love.
And I do, but that's nothing
Until it comes from above.
But the point is space;
I never really had it.
And right now I am thankful
and hope I make it a habit

I'm insecure
And on those days
My friends think I'm a bore
It's as if they suddenly know
They don't like me anymore
And if I talk
Its always
Painful and sore
And when I walk
I wish I'd
Eaten some more
I'm insecure
And it's not fair
I hate thinking like this
As if a genie could appear for me
Grant me a wish
Maybe then I'd know how
To cook every dish
Maybe then I'd finally
figure out how to fish
I'm insecure
I am quite sure
I'm not who I need to be
If everyone was in a race
I'd be lost at sea
And there's no way
That I will ever see
That there's a way
To live out my time here
Peacefully
I know I'm wrong
Here waiting
For feelings to pass
Trying to think me out
Of this barren grass
It isn't fun
To know I'm
Labelled at last
It isn't nice
To feel so
Stuck in the past
I'm insecure
I'm always
threatening me
Behind my eyes
A body
I wish I'd not seen
Behind my face
These thoughts
I'm glad you can't see
Behind these glasses
My own eyes
Watching me
And if I'm loved,
I'll smile and tell you all then
But if I'm not,
I'll cry till I can't pretend
That there's no use in making everything
About your feelings when they
Never do end.
What if it's healing;
Writing,
Making a mends
Maybe I miss the way
My mind
used to blend
All of my thoughts
I wasn't
So ******* aware
Of how to change them
Make me
Not who I appear
But it's a skill
I wish
More people could have
And yes they can
But will they
Need it at last
Cause when you do
It hits you
Right in the back
And then you prove yourself
You never cut slack