the thing is,
i don't know what i'm doing;
i don't know who i am;
i don't know why you came back;
and i don't why i let you.

i'm incapable of following through with human nature
i feel like a broken bone that never set properly
i am knuckles that never stop cracking
since when did the lunch lady begin switching my apple juice with mercury?
there was a code blue at the hospital today which mean that someone was either in cardiac or respiratory arrest
it reminded me of how i feel every time i talk to you
planted on my seat, i picked at the fabric of my shirt and wondered if you would come visit me if i was at the hospital
i hope to a god that i don't believe in that i actually care about you the way i think i do
because my heart is too drunk to love properly and
my brain is too sober to accept that you care

Not even the wetness of your eyes can bring me back to this life; if that's what you call it. No longer a tale of you and I.

you told me that you'd **** me if i did it
but i did it anyway
so you wielded the gun that shot me and
i can't say that i blamed you.

You don't even know how to clean up your own mess.

I am empty, but not empty enough to hold you.

All she could do was die.
*So she did.

I want you told hold me in your arms that you wished were half of you the arms you used to pick up rocks in the field the arms that held crying girls that arms that were meant for me but now they don't fit like they should and I wish my heart was as big as your ******* head I wish you knew how I felt and trusted me why don't you trust me I am growing up and make mistakes just because I'm shorter than you doesn't mean you can look down on me there is a world inside of my head that you cannot see from your point of view and I'm losing my voice from yelling at the top of my lungs why did you do this to me.

if you kissed me, i'd teach you a thing or two about the birds and the bees.

i want you to tangle your fingers in my fields of hair and daisies and pull me close to you like i am an oxygen mask and you are on a plane that is higher than you ever thought you'd be.

I never thought I'd be up at 5am sobbing and writing poetry about you because I never thought you'd leave like this.

i am not a slave to your uncontrollable emotion.

death would be easier than dealing with this.
or would it?
i can't be trusted with this decision.
it'd be comforting to know for sure that my life is being controlled by something else.
my veins are aching, leaking out through tiny holes you poked with your teeth
my once full energy supply is now depleting,
battery life draining down to 5%
warning, warning. connect to charger.
1%.
i'll shut down, soon.
hopefully in your arms.
how difficult is it to understand
that people like me never sleep soundly?
i'm sick of you(r) people
and your UPPERCASE letters
UPPERCASE standards
UPPERCASE expectations
you, better than me?
hah.
please.
whispers drawn from scratchy throats,
whispers being the loudest they get,
coated in alcohol and ash.
you try to scream
but your voice is muffled by
the weight of your decisions
i told you to stay with me forever
no way to say no
you're stuck heading in one direction
promises are promises, dear.
you told me you'd rather die.
i'm feeling cold
no shivering, waves of frost wash over instead.
they're much worse.
i keep on tucking my hair behind my ear
it won't stop falling from the perfectly made groove
curved to perfection
signed and dated.
it falls how my best friend "accidentally" fell off of a balcony
mom always warned me about balconies.
why do you think i always walk with one hand against the opposite wall?
it's reminder that you can stay away from the gravitational force that is Earth.
at least, for a bit.
why do spaces matter, anyway
jus ta wayt odi st ance
things that should be,
that belong,
together.
the boy who sits behind me in class
plays with my curls, and then
one day,
he cut them off.
i trusted him.
kinda still do.
trust is a weird thing.
trusting someone not to look when you change is hard,
they could turn around and you'd never know.
somehow,
trusting someone not to tell everyone that you want to die is easy.
i'd trust you even if you held a gun to my temple.

the ******* lightning bolt at the top of this screen reminds me of you;
it is shaped like the one that at one point permanently resided on the skin of my wrist.
i used to worship you like you were actually the god of thunder and i sincerely thought that you would light up my storms with the most brilliant of light shows.
shortly after it came to my knowledge that lightning eventually has to hit something and cause clouds of smoke to obscure my pure rain.
i never forgave you for not controlling yourself.
you begged and begged for me to let you back into my grasp because lightning doesn't survive that well alone,
but i was too obsessed with how this newly found sunshine of mine managed to give me the most beautiful of light shows i have ever seen without ruining me the way you do.

sometimes i wonder what it would feel like to be dying,
and then it hits me that life is just a metaphor for death.
we are growing and growing,
and this growth is only preparation for our demise.
some of us don't even make it all of the way.
if i knew this when i was in the womb, i wonder if i would ever have come out in the first place.

i'm constantly
shaking and
the only time
i notice this
is when i stop.

You cannot give me thorns and expect roses in return.

I never used to cry this hard, not even when he was pronounced dead.
They pronounce you dead because that becomes your new name; you are nothing but a carcass that needs to be dealt with before it rots.
Sometimes I see him, with a daisy tucked behind one ear and a pen behind the other.
Bare-footed, of course.
He always told me how important it is to know as well as to feel where you are going.
Death is more than an acquaintance to me, we've met on many terms.
The first time I encountered death was when she carried a part of me there in her *****.
I never left and I don't think I ever will.
You broke the dam behind my eyes (you made me feel like I never thought I could) and I don't have enough materials to patch it up.
I'm desperately trying to fix myself but I can't; you're holding of my resources in your arms instead of holding me.
Please put your lips on mine before I drown us both.

it didn't take long for you to realize that i am a sucker for anything that rhymes.
you could woo me without even making physical contact.
i was on my knees, begging for more, and you expertly delivered stanza after stanza of lies that you recited thousands of times to other girls just like me.
once you got what you wanted, you didn't even bother to put me back on the shelf so that others could find me.
you left me, slumped on the ground like a rag doll, my knees ****** and bruised beyond recognition.

he calls her an enigma
like she is something he will never bother to try to understand
the thing about people is that we assign labels because we can't be bothered to delve deeper into the minds of others.

for someone who usually remembers to put on her smile every morning before she goes down to eat breakfast, i've been crying lots. my people are in an uproar i mean why do you think my hairs are always standing up on end? i sweat too much even though i'm always shivering and doc says i'm just stressed but i think my body is just searching for more ways to cry because my tear supply is running low and there are no refill stations around for miles. i never understood why people twiddle their thumbs or why it's called 'twiddle' and the day before the day before yesterday i told the girl next door that i felt like a pigeon that wanders into a busy street and freezes when a car is steadily speeding towards it.

my first grade teacher taught me the difference between horizontal, vertical, and parallel lines using words that followed a tune. little did she know that i'd be using those words eight years later to decide how i want my arms to be decorated and i mean yes scars fade or at least partially but i'd rather choose what happens to my body than have you choose for me. all of your promises snap like twigs and i think that's how you'll also break my heart. "are you bitter?" maybe maybe not but my heart is certainly past its expiry date and it's rotting much more quickly than i ever thought possible and i wish i knew why since my body is more frigid than the inside of an ice cream truck although maybe the problem is that it doesn't play welcoming music
i need to blast music in my room and then scream louder than it louder than the sound of a plane landing louder than the drumming in your chest louder than the groans that broke free from your lips when i tore myself away from you even though we were krazy glued together. i wish you could hear how your words endlessly echo and bounce off of the brick walls inside of my head because then you might realize the grand effect you have on me. an elephant doesn't forget or... something along those lines; speaking of (oh my, it always comes back to these) lines, we should discuss how the lines you gave me were always different. they were deep, so deep, deeper than the deep end at the community pool. i often found myself stuck in them and only after they began to close did i realize you stole my ladder after i climbed down.

i feel like my body has amnesia but my mind has been 'spared' i mean the muscles in my face have forgotten which ones must go taut in order to smile and my hands stumble whenever i try to undo the buttons of your shirt. at one point i would have given up anything in order to forget this madness i mean how nice it would be to fall and get up but in foreign land with an empty backpack and a full wallet.

bye.

I MEAN GOD I CAN'T TAKE IT even my farewells aren't proper and i wish you stayed up late to talk to me like you used to when i cried at night but you got sick of me-and i mean literally sick i remember hearing you gag into the porcelain bowl- when those nights became constant and my tears began to liquefy our 'forever' glue. forever wasn't supposed to be the amount of time it takes for a premature baby to be born and i mean our premature baby didn't even live because its heart couldn't beat properly and that's when i realize that my heart only beats strongly when i'm with you i miss our nightly "i love you"s although they became more routine than anything. i found myself running out of sincere words to give you but my hugs were always tight and long. always. we had our "okay?" "okay." moments way before either of us read that John Green book.

i haven't sobbed this hard since i smelled my grandmother on my pillowcase that one night and tears soaked that scent almost immediately nd now they're just kind of pooling in the crook of my neck and usually i love puddles but this isn't one that the sun will drink up. i hate it when people say all people are the same i mean we call everyone "you" when we directly address them i have said 'you' countless times in this mess of a poem while referring to a ton of different people. i mean honestly nothing is the same ever not even snowflakes. oh god i feel like my tears are eroding the skin on my face oh god i can't deal with having mountainous terrain there oh god the only reason you love me anyway is because my skin is (was) smooth oh god. i do a hell of a lot of talking without even saying anything.

bye once again and please don't send me letters like the last time.

i saw you in my dreams last night and the thing i remember the best is the sharp outline of your jaw
and how it moved when you spoke
my mind wandered and made me imagine how it would look while you were kissing me
at least the three pounds of meat that slams around in my skull is good for something.

darling, please eat.

I cannot feel your love
Too polite as it knocks on my eternally locked door
Standing there for ages, holding flowers, now wilted and brown
I peer through barred windows
Your skin barely in my view
My house shakes with every knock
Fat tears rolling down reddened cheeks
You tuck a note under the welcome mat
And finally turn away
In a matter of seconds, you're gone.
I hang myself the next evening.

i say it ironically because *******.
...
i hate swearing i hate irony i love you a lot it's hard to keep on avoiding the things that crave me the most that i crave the most i'm not as sure minded as i seem i don't ever know how i feel which is dangerous because every "i love you" isn't necessarily true even if i think it is people have stopped mattering only time matters i don't have much left things are going downhill i'm rolling down a hill like i did when i was little except i can't stop there is no bottom the thorns in the grass are piercing my skin without permission
and and and and and i forgot to say and
connect me to you like the "and" that connects "you" and "i".

i sleep my days away and dedicate my nights to you.

if i confessed my undying love for you, kneeling next to your tombstone, would it still be considered too late?

The thing about most love poems is that you never know who they're talking about but you always have someone different to connect it to than the author did. I find it beautiful.

Science taught me that eventually, everything dies and returns back into the Earth. I'm just writing on a piece of future compost to a person who's going to die. That's not a proper way to think, though. Right? I'm going to be older and look back at how I used to be and hate myself for being this sad.

People have been treating me like ****, and that's I have been beginning to feel. Like ****. You said you were coated in ****, but babe, I'm the human embodiment of it.

It's white outside. Whiter than the whites of your eyes. Whiter than this paper. Everything is white except for the bare branches of the trees and the outlines of the houses and street lamps in the distance. You would think this is a white world (it's more of grey-black slush), upon first looking. After your pupils contract and focus on the whiteness, you see the waves of snow blowing from left to right at a constant pace.

The trees outside look tired, branches limp instead of *****. How I'd love to be limp with them.

I want to go to the roof of a building and sit on the edge and feel the air pull at my feet.

I always shake my left foot, sometimes my right. It's my way of keeping part of my body constantly alive. I am alive. Plus, I'm a nervous wreck who is addicted to the beating of people's hearts.

I'm a vessel of those chills that crawl down your body.

Everyone told me how I looked cute today. I wonder if I'd still be cute if I gave them a tour of my mind.

The hair on my head is the home for my troubles.

Apparently my eyes haven't been that white, lately. The veins are prominent and I feel how bloodshot they are. Too many tears, no wonder I'm dehydrated.

I like seeing the silhouette of the trees outside through the cheap curtains of this hatred-filled school.

My handwriting is like a kiss and slap on the cheek at the same time.

I have always wondered why people kept track of the sunrises and sunsets. Night and day should be one. Goodbyes end, just get this one over with already. I wish we never knew the differences between seasons and days because then time would just be spent with others and budding flowers would be surprises.

It's March 12 and I feel like I've been 15 for longer than 10 days.

Kissing shouldn't be a big deal.

I want to tear up my clothes and wear them like it's a fashion trend.

My boots are worn out by my wandering mind.

Why do hearts beat?
They're not providing entertainment for the musician nor the observers.
Rivers flow without a pumping source so why can't veins?
*
Bodies of water vs bodies of people
I once watched a documentary about a woman who couldn't lie down because her blood stopped flowing.

it feels like the blood inside my veins is moving like quick dry cement does ten hours after it's poured
simultaneously a storm brews in them
similar to how mom once brewed soup that tasted of distanced family and bile
bile which still resides in a clump at the back of my throat from the last time i said your name
you are he-who-shall-not-be-named since saying your name is as dangerous as saying Voldemort’s
monochromatic colour schemes make up my world, each day either tinted or shaded
usually shaded because I was told that dark colours are slimming and that thought never left my mind
rain smudges all of the pigments together and even my glasses can't correct my vision
i love rain but my rainbows are always brown-black
like those karate belts you had when you lived
or how she used to mix all of her playdoh together
i used to believe that she created the world that way
god i wish i was right.

i feel like people forget that humans can die naturally.
i mean we're all so used to cancer taking our loved one's lives but
some people just sleep and don't wake up again and
i somehow manage to find that type of death beautiful.

When I was little,
I always wondered if people wore nightcaps to sleep to capture their dreams.

The day I learned that there's no boundary between how I feel emotionally and physically scared me.

there are so many poems on this website that i secretly dedicate to you.

as i sit here, typing the way i learned how to in the fourth grade,
i feel my head being weighed down by my thoughts.
i'm scared to get on the scale because they surely have doubled my body weight, crushing my confidence between their thunder thighs.
it takes a lot of self-persuasion to convince myself that i am not made up of numbers.
i am not the amount of bones in my body,
i am not the result of a test,
i am not what i dial into my phone just to hear your voice mail recording,
i am not the numbers on the scale.
three digits are terrifying, two bring solace to my night.
but do they really?
are two digits enough to stop the thoughts in my mind from running before my body catches up?
"******". "obese". "huge". "disgusting".
how can TWO DIGITS get rid of these thoughts?
newsflash: they can't.
two digits don't do as much as i used to hope.
my body is finally keeping pace with my mind and i'm realizing that there is more to life than numbers.

a lot of things happen when i decide to avoid what's supposed to fix me.
i'm lost in a sea of beer and cigarette fish swim in the surrounding waters.
somehow, this whole concoction is aflame.
i wonder why i'm not being burned alive yet.

I'm sick of being of led on why do you remind me of him why do you remind me of him am I just paranoid or are you just another Nick Nick Jr. second edition Nick so many Nicks I can't even breathe because the air is Ni2O I still have that ***** and disgusting nickel that I bent down in the middle of the road to pick up and which nearly got me killed please tell me you're a beautiful copper penny because those don't exist anymore in my country but I crave them more than anything.

what you mean by your:
metaphors; you make my heart beat louder than the footsteps of thousands of soldiers marching methodically.
tone; audacious, yet wary, laudatory, and adoring.
allusion; i know this girl who makes my heart race faster than Jesse Owens and she looks an awful lot like you.
repetition; i love you, i'm in love with you, i love your pulse, i love, love, love me.
hyperbole; i'd ****** everyone on earth just to get a taste of your lips.
just tell me what you mean.

i found a home in your eyes
long before i needed to find a new home
you see, growing up in a family like mine hasn't been easy.
mother began calling me mature when i began calling her "mother" instead of mommy
i stopped being daddy's little girl the day after i was born
i lost the twinkle in my eye too early; my grandmother had hers until the day she died.
maybe i'm dead.
that would explain why all my teachers say that i'm so ******* precocious.

understanding the human mind just teaches us how to manipulate it better.

a, comma, tells, us, when, to, momentarily, pause, or, when, things, don't, belong, together, because sometimes there are people like me who don't know when to pause who can't find the remote who are afraid to stop because what if they never start again?
please never put a comma between you and i.

i want to take cocktail after cocktail of pills until my body represents the mess that is my mind.

We are like fish in a tank.
We don't know that we're trapped until someone sets us free.

I learned that people's eyes dilate when they are attracted to someone and when they are panicking and those are two of the many reasons why the orbs that rest in my skull are only black and white

sometimes i think i'm
crazy i mean i
don't sleep and i
barely eat and my
entire existence depends
on you and only you

He's six feet above
And he's missing her because
She's six feet under.

most of the time i hate wearing things around my neck and wrists because they feel like shackles and i am a free person