I never have felt the pain of a sunrise
Or the sad sad feeling
Of the birth of a child
I haven't seen the sorry image
Of an old couple
Holding hands
I haven't tasted the agony
Of a fresh-baked
Chocolate chip cookie
I haven't seen or felt or tasted any of these things
Because beauty is everwhere
Filling up the world
With all its beautiful things
And making me feel
Amazing

What the ****, Beauty?

Hannah Baker was the girl
Gave her dress a little twirl
And when I called on her to play
Turns out Hannah passed away

Writing poems but who are they for?
Are they secret notes to myself
To read
When I'm old and gray?
Are they
(Perhaps)
Simply lyrics to
Songs I'll never sing?
Are they my
Crudest representation
Of
My soul?
Yes they are.
Maybe.
I'm not ceratin.
To be honest
I have
No clue.

Someday, someone might find my poetry
And they'll quote me
To me
And I will tell them they are wrong
But you said it here, they say
And they'll point down at the page of my writing
Sorry, I'll say, I couldn't have written it
I sold my hands to buy cigars
Then I'll light a match
And walk away

I will give you a virtual kiss
Virtual kiss
And a virtual hug
virtual hug
I just can't give you
A virtual me

I wrote a poem
Seconds before my head exploded
In a flashing of
Cacophonous pain
Inharmonious
Agony
Was it dehydration?
Hunger?
Stress?
All I knew was that it hurt.
And the ibuprofen was safely at home
Out of reach
I've always hated geography

Love me, love me
Forever and a day
She says
But how can I love you
When I can't love
Myself
?
She has no answer
Because I never ask
The question

I'm too afraid to
Admit that I may never
Be able to love anything
Or worse yet
That I never have
Loved