You're making me nervous, the way that you smile,
And how you're so kind to me,
It's sickening.
I don't want a special someone, I don't want anything.
Yet you're making it hard for me to say no.
You're piquing my interest, so now I think you should go
Before we lose it, and it all spirals out of control.

I feel some strange connection to you though.
Like every time you walk by me, I just know.
When you compliment me, I feel a warmth inside,
And though I don't want to appear weak, it's too much to hide.
Yet all of these silly rules by which I have to abide,
Are stressing me out, can't we just cut the lies?
I'm so tired of these butterflies;
The nervousness is eating me alive.

how much poetry is in a person?
and how much of it comes out?
enough to bring up the pimples in your personality?
the ugly bumps you can learn to hide
but can't stop people from feeling
when they touch you

how much poetry is in a person
and how much needs to come out
before i am better
how much before i get over this *******
that's calling my name

how much poetry is in a person
and how do i get rid of it
i either speak cynically
or with the malice
and blood
that seeps out of me

how much poetry is in a person
and is it ok to have it there
and when will these pimples go away
and when will i be
alright again

does the poetry have to be gone
for me to be ok?

Hello? Germaine, you there?
It's been a little over a year since you left us all
I miss you so much
You have no idea how much I miss you
I wish I could have talked to you that night
I wish I had given you more hugs
More smiles
More laughs
I wonder every night why you killed yourself
And I feel so lost
You were the one to hug me, make me laugh, make me smile when I was sad
And now I know you can never come back
It makes me so sad
I wish I had hung out with you more
And I wish I was there for you when you needed me the most
Please forgive me, Germaine.
I love you and miss you.
Hope it's nice up there in heaven.

She lived in the shadow of a lonely girl
Her cry's were so quiet
They didn't hear a sound
Always talking but was never heard

You could catch it if you looked in her eye
I knew she was brave but it was trapped inside
So scared to talk but she didn't know why

Wish I knew back then,
What I know now
Wish I could somehow
Go back in time
And listen to my own advice,

I would tell her to speak up, tell her to shout out,
Talk a bit louder, be a little prouder
Tell her she's beautiful, wonderful
Everything she doesn't see
Little Me

But hands on the clock only turn one way,
And now that girl is gone
And here I am
Broken
Beaten
Bruised
Dead
And it's to late to be saved

Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're *'just friends'.
There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.

Broken Pens
Broken Dreams
A whole shore full of broken rings
On the isle of broken things

Walk along the shores of broken rock
See the broken souls
Will yours belong there?
It is full of young and old

These souls have been shattered
Scarred too deep
for anyone to fix
here on the isle of broken things

Walk along the roads
They are littered with broken glass
You too will surely shatter
if you choose to walk this path

Broken hearts hold it together
Cemented with sadness and anger
These pains their only trade
There are many who live here
However they know not
Of this isle full of things just as broken as they

And if they did know
Would they continue to be
Here alone with you
On this isle of broken things