watching you, just standing
there- as the world is
fitting into place around
you, a puzzle
for which
I am unfit,
the wrong shape
and you don't care

gay gay gay gay gay
gay gay gay gay gay gay gay
gay gay gay gay gay

Im trying to decide
what it is that
I see in you
what it is that
makes me love you
Because really
you just make me tired
all of the time
I'm stressed
depressed
and overall in pain
just being with you
yet I can't help but stay
because theres something
I love about you
Its not so much your eyes
or your voice
though both of those
are wonderful
its not quite your smile
or your laugh
yet both of those
are sweet
I think its something deeper
calling me to you
and it causes me to stay
even though its rough
I believe its love itself.

No one told me how much it could hurt. No one told me how I could so easily I could fall back down after picking myself up. No one told me that even though it's bad to keep everything inside you, it's even worse to tell it to someone who doesn't care. No one told me how hard it would be to find someone who does care. No one told me that you could get so sad that you could actually feel your heart breaking. No one told me how hard this could be.

when i was 13,
"if your friends jumped
off a cliff would you?"
was an effortless,
"no"
because when i was 13
the cliff was a tall,
intimidating
piece of land
with a neon sign that said
"impending doom"
lit up at the edge,
but now im 20
and the cliff
comes in glass bottles
and the cliff
comes in thick syringes
and the cliff
is drawn beneath
my skin
in india ink
and down below it,
i can see my home town
and i can hear the patient voices
of the kids i grew up with
that never got out,
shakily shouting
"come down here;
it's easier at the bottom"
and if im being honest
im stumbling toward it
with an alarming
lack of fear

And here we are, a bunch of
  bad poets writing bad poetry
   liking each others thoughts while
    hating our own words, trying to
     keep ourselves open and free in
      a world full of cages and traps, pens
       full of ink, thoughts full of rage, a blank
        white surface being turned into a stage and
          we're yelling and screaming in vain as another
            bad poem dies on the page...

Pull the trigger,
Do it,
Set in motion this cascade of events

Lock and load,
**** the hammer,
This firing pin demands action

BOOM!

Muzzle flash,
Smoke,
A bullet case innocently falls

Tear through bone and flesh,
A maelstrom of destruction,
Who will be your next target?