Your heart remains covered by vines and branches
The vines shroud you, and the thorns guard you
I will not hack and slash to reveal you
I will water and nurture, letting the small bulbs grow into vibrant flowers.
I will not pick them, I will let them live and thrive
If the season of frost comes again, and the flowers wilt
and the vines turn brown
I will be patient and caring, tending to the garden of our love
waiting for your heart to open once more

Brought into this world, ****** and afraid,

My face blue, unable to cry,

I took my first breath in silence,

A cry buried in the depths of a heart not yet ready.
I woke up one day, six,
And found the bitter taste of my father's world,

Beer and cigarettes,

Ashen remnants of choices he never took back,

I swore I'd be nothing like him.

They taste gross,

Their sharp edges biting against the innocence I tried to hold.

I fell back asleep,

A sleep that carried me through the years.
I woke up at eleven,

Staring down at the chalk on the ground,

Scraped knees, tear-streaked cheeks,

A bruise on my soul, unseen but aching.

Falling asleep again,

Trying to outrun the weight of the world.
I woke up at fifteen,

Cigarette in one hand, beer in the other,
Guess my old man is still a part of me,

His ghosts clinging to my skin,

Yet I carry them like a burden I never chose.

I fell asleep again,

Hoping I could escape,

But the shadows lingered,

Uninvited, relentless.
I woke up at twenty four,
And the weight had shifted,

I put down the beer, swapped the cigarette for a vape,

A quiet rebellion, small but real.

I’ll fall asleep again,

But not as the same person.

I’ll wake up accomplished,

Surrounded by a loving community of friends and family,

Roots that stretch deeper than the chaos of the past.

I will not let my past become my future,

I will grow beyond what I was,

And the kid who couldn’t cry,

Will one day find their voice.

The bird in the zoo,

A fleeting shadow,

While the tigers, lions, and bears sit pristine.

Behind glass, behind iron,

The ice cooler hums its silent cold,

A tire swing creaks in empty air,

A scratching post stands tattered,

Drawing the eyes of tourists,

The pride of the wild carry distant memories of jungles and savannahs,

Of woods that no longer exist,

Only flashes and pointed fingers remain.
They perform for their meals,

Hiding nothing,
Not a sliver of escape in sight,

There are no corners,

No refuge from the onslaught of gazes.

The birds come,

Landing briefly,

Their wings heavy with the weight of both freedom and confinement,

Dipping their beaks into water,

Picking at scraps,

And then, without a word,

They depart,

Gone again to the wild,

Leaving only the scent of freedom behind.
I, too, am a wild bird in a domestic zoo,

Half caged, half free,

My spirit soaring beyond the bars,

Yet tethered still to the eyes that watch me.

A swirl of blood, rain and sunlight,

Cigarettes smoldering in the woods,

Guns echoing where dinosaurs once roamed,
Beer spilling from broken mugs,

Footprints tattooing the muddy earth,

Where trees stand like silent witnesses.
Calm lakes, a mirror for troubled youth,

Roaring rivers hum a distant tune,

A German shepherd's bark echoes through,

Messy handwriting scrawled on weathered pages,

Anguished cries caught in the wind,

Blue jeans torn, like faded memories,

Toothy grins hiding the truth behind soaked shirts.
Bruised legs, open wounds

Tattered shoes that never stop running.

Half-hearted confessions slip through the cracks,

In the language of partially completed machinery,

Where love, like rust, clings to forgotten gears.
What feels like me?

The ache between the silence and the storm.
Never knowing the truth to the cyclone within.
Running from the past on two broken feet.
I will refuse to cower any longer.

You fall asleep on the phone, I stay silent and still

I watch the clouds roll over the hill

Wonder how long before you let me in

To the place by the mountains, covered in snow

The frost on the windows, the cold biting your nose

You need your space, you crave their love

You sleep on the phone, and my hand aches for your touch
I hope you think I matter as much

As the boy in your dreams, soft and frail

Nights like this make me feel like I’m in hell

But hell would be warm, this love makes me cold

I hope we’ll be able to die when we’re old
Sitting in chairs by the fire, hearts full of desire

Grandkids aplenty, stories to tell

Not just a house on the hill, but a love that lasts

And when it’s time, we’ll be the past

A hole in the ground, where we’ll rest side by side

And the gravedigger will fill the void where we once lived our lives

You were young, barely 16.
****** into a world of hate and pain.
You were sensitive and fragile.
Too soft for this world.
You took your life in front of the room we shared our favorite class.
The cops said you did it the night before.
I cant get the image of your cold body hanging from the gutter out of my mind.
Why did you do it?
Were you scared?
Were you sad?
Were you bullied?
The cops said the only two things you had on you were your rubix cube, and the signed ticket to the play we saw together.
You were always playing with that **** rubix cube, showing it off and messing around.
I won’t be able to look at one ever the same.
I still have the picture i took of you with the cast members.
The smile from ear to ear as you went through and showed me each signature and told me who they played in it.
Every day i see something that reminds me of you.
Should i follow in your footsteps?
Today marks a week since you took your own life.
Im full of sadness, guilt and anger.
How do i move on from this.

this site and writing poetry was a great outlet so that i didnt **** myself, and it helped me to figure out who i am and what i wanted in my life. i genuinely think that writing poetry saved my life. that being said i dont need it anymore, hopefully i never have to come back to writing poetry, because if i do it means that i am doing bad again.