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The inspiration died
When the summer ended
Now my poems are like the shirt that my dad needs mended
Ripped apart at the seams as if cotton blended
i've never fit the standard
i've always been quite odd
and while i know that makes me different
i'm not necessarily flawed
because it's always for the wrong things
that the world tends to applaud
though i swear it's not intentional
i've never been conventional

my behaviors have no pattern
my colors have no scheme
when i'm asleep i'm thinking
and when i'm awake i dream
while the rest are all so silent
something inside me screams
i'm more than three-dimensional
i've never been conventional

you may find me confusing
you may not like me very well
that's something i understand
i'm a hot pink among pastels
still i think, no i believe
that eccentricities propel
the reason i'm ascensional is
i've never been conventional
I have written you one-hundred and twenty-six love poems
On the backs of forgotten receipts and used napkins
Among scribbled equations on calculus exams
And yet still you do not care for me enough
To even write my name
On the front of a tiny strip of paper
Let alone the palm of your hand
Or where I would like it to be
At the center of your heart
Remain complacent and confused
Content to be lost
With a heart that stirs
In the permafrost
Run on through the empty streets
Hands open
Eyes closed
Breathing in the cool air
Growing numb from the cold
Still don't let your heart thaw
You'll feel one beat and then another
Warmth so different from the frost
Just the thought it makes me shudder

I was burnt once before
Dark hot fingers scarred my soul
If my heart goes warm again
I fear it'd shatter
Leaving holes

Run into the unknown
Seeking a freezer for a heart
Before it's beaten by the world
Forever covered by it's marks
It's grown so dark you'll never see
But do not dare to light a match
For if you do you might feel warmth
You might consider turning back
Sometimes
I speak
Just to fill
The silence.

Because
I hate
Feeling empty.

Because
I want
To know
What it’s like
To feel full.

Sometimes
You mistake my need
To fill
That silence
With who I am.

When
In reality

Sometimes

When I speak
I show you
What I am not.
The stars
Once ceaseless
Infinite
Now sprinkle the dark
As if accidents
Tiny holes
Peppering the black
With their hopeful presence ​

Only the brightest are permitted to shine
While the rest lay trapped  
Behind the blanket of dusk
Which is cool upon the skin
And warm within my heart

But I will break it open
Uncaging the sky
Allowing weaker stars to see the world
Before dawn comes again

Awestruck
I will breathe them in
Before back out
Into the night
They will ascend
She came alive
Out in the dark
Waltzing among the trees
Treading lightly
On a blackened path
The night, it set her free
I watched
As she absorbed the stars
And held the memory
Of the girl
So at home in a place
I could barely even see
what is it that we've shared, exactly?
twenty some odd nights
and a sky full of stars
nine sunsets
midnight and toast
hundreds of splinters
and true poetry, to be sure
but what of our hearts?
and the almost kiss?
have i only imagined your lingering glances?
or have you told me with your eyes?
if there's one thing i'm bad at
it's guessing
and if there's one thing i'm good at
it's asking questions
hoping that someday
you'll give me the answers
with your mouth
for i'm a much better writer
than a reader of eyes
and even i can't put into words
what exactly we have shared

— The End —