I have to write it down
Or else
My frown will give it away
You're in my heart
But it's to late
In wondering what it takes to escape
Your name on their lips
My psychotic fits
I can't with you
However
I want to
Some how I still miss you
You've been gone from my life so long
But you're still here
And when I hear your name
You're still here
And I fear
What it's doing to me

We dance in the ashes like
Literary scavengers.
In the ruins and after rages
We draw the shreds of words and pages
Around our naked bodies like Blankets,
A quilt of the quintessential struggle
Which all people suffer

My poems are pretty nice, I know
These premeditated thoughts I type up
To show you a sliver of me
But you haven't met me in person

On the other side of this poem
The other side of the screen
I'm just another high school student
Plodding along with the rest

I have a few people
(like, one or two)
Who I talk to occasionally
So I can call them friends

I have a loving family
There are seven of us in the house, though
So it's a bit crowded
And crowds stress me out

I'm a bit of an introvert
So even though I hate to be lonely
I don't really mind being alone
Prefer it, actually, most of the time

In person I'm small
And a bit quiet 'till you know me
Won't talk till you show interest
Then talk your ear off in excitement

I do tend to ramble
This shows in my poetry sometimes
Mostly because I don't have chance to practice
Normal conversing behavior

I talk too fast, and too much about myself
I'm a bit annoying, to be honest
And I'm pretty absent-minded
Forgetting to eat or go to bed on occasion

In person I'm sarcastic
A bit sassy too
But I'm always scared I'll hurt someone
And at the slightest confrontation I clam up

I favor silence, and solitude
As (unhealthy) coping mechanisms
Because I hate bothering people
And will withdraw if I think I'm being irritating

In person I'm shy and solitary
In person I'm too needy and excitable
In person I'm a bit naive and lonesome
In person I'd rather die than hurt anyone

So you know my poetry—
A bit sad and fierce
With a few encouraging works thrown in—
But you haven't met me in person

h.f.m.

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree ******
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking  
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of the law has no top and no bottom
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears

Sometimes
Some relationship
Doesn’t workout ,
          Simply
Because
           Sometimes
We are giving things
In our lives
Way before we are
           Ready
To receive them
         And
Sometimes they
         Just
    not for you
       To keep.