The beautiful leaves gracefully flow
But sometimes they fall
You go where people want you to go
But then you don’t stand tall

The sun gives light
But it runs from the moon
You give hugs that are tight
But then they’ll make you sad soon

The wind you can’t see
It’s quiet but sporadically loud
When you let your friend free
Their voice in your head is found

Flowers grow and extend
diminishing the weeds taunting
You find new friends
And done is the haunting

pouring out paragraphs of poetry
reading until i stop absorbing
my confidence built on words
i worked to make this work
confident, optimistic, and brilliant
pursuing activities for pleasure
demanding a stronger tether
binding, finding my tribe
aligning, trying to vibe
my confident built on words
redefined all my hurt
made my hurt work for me
embrace the shadowy

The trees
the fields
the sky

I was
reckless
always shy

Stone
cold
sober

Wishing
soon
it will
all be over

A mistake
egg on
my face

Never
knowing
my true
place

You were written
In a language
No one understands.

You became a star
In the night sky.
While I?  I truly tried
To read your code

When you burst
Into a supernova
Overhead.

I hate my emotions.
It’s like I don’t have control
over what I feel.

Sometimes,
I’m just sad
for no reason.

Sometimes,
I’m just mad
for no reason.

I wish my emotions would stop
doing what they want.

Sometimes,
I feel things
and I can’t even explain what I feel,
and it makes me sick,
like a sinking feeling
in your gut.
It’s super weird.
I hate it a lot.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Sometimes,
I’m not even thinking about anything sad,
but
I feel so horrible.

I don’t know
if there’s a medicine for this.
I’ve already been declared not bipolar,
so I guess my emotions just hate me.

F*ck Inside Out.

A painful tear leaks from my eye,
It screams a terrible sound,
A sound so loud but unheard from all around,
It flows down my cheek and seeps into the ground,
“Help him”, it cries “he wants to die”

Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck

never to deep
never enough to die
but enough to feel the pain;
enough to scream inside