Flowers bloom
The sun shines bright
The outside seems alright

But you're there
All bottled up inside

Storms don't last
But yours felt like
Clouds of dust following you
All year round

All you wanted was to shine
But all you see is their squinting eyes
So you stayed behind
Waiting for the crowd to be kind

So you wished
If there was another universe
Where your feet wasn't chained to the ground

You started your first day
Thinking of new beginning
But you stayed inside your head
And ended up running
"Maybe I couldn't"

Strangers and friends
Didn't differ that much
Gone faster than the wind
They wouldn't look back

I used to like when he hugged me outside my car for
four minutes, how he wouldn't let me leave even if it
was cold outside and i was only wearing flip-flips, always
after our lips were red and chafed and my hair was a god-awful
mess on my head,

I used to like it when he listened to odd future, when he complained
about how ugly he was when I knew he was beautiful, how he was
worried that I would care that his skin was rough, that his skin was rough
that his skin was rough, but I loved his textures, his angles, his curves, never
smooth, never flat skin.

I used to like his baby cheeks and defined jawlines, how nothing ever mixed
with him, but he was milk and paint and oil. Baked potatoes with broccoli and
thyme, rosemary cloves.

I can't point out where all these things ended.

When I started to complain when he held me for too long in front of the door because
I told him he couldn't hold me in front of the car anymore. It was too cold.
When did my lips starting staying pink instead of red, when did
my hair start staying perfect, when was the last time I had held his hand
without being afraid of some boring, ridiculous reason, when was the last
time I laid in bed with him when was the last time I thought that he was the
best thing to ever happen to me, where do these thoughts go?

Overthinked, thanked, thunked? Did I wear beyond use, does my love have
an expiration date?

This is a poem about the night you dropped acid
this is a poem about the night you told me everything and  meant it
this is my self doubt
this is a sweaty palmed handshake
this is a speech you gave the class you only half believed in
i do not amount to much
i believe this as well as others but i am trying to equal to something great
this is a hallucination
this is a ****** overthinked poem
this is a representation of me

Trying to capture my feelings into words with meanings.
Trying to outcast the melancholies that surpass the evenings.
I can feel it pounding ready to explode,
So much love fumed in its area that it’s such a heavy load.
Water drops shimmers, sparkling the eye, that smile can’t keep telling those lies.
What are we really doing?
Running into circles stuck thinking should we give up.
We can’t leave each other alone, maybe its luck.
I just want to be emotionally stable
But we keep trying, fighting for a label.
I just want all the love I give in return,
I just want to be loved the way I earned.
I overlooked pretty much anything because ultimately I am just terrified of being alone.
I knew I should’ve kept my guard up, I felt this coming way too soon.
I overthinked and made scenarios, guess I shouldn’t have expected.
Breaking my own heart knowing this would be so hectic.
Tired of trying just to end up in the same position,
It was you I was missing, just wished you would’ve just listen.
Put yourself in my shoes, feel it from my perspective,
Constantly getting hurt though I’m so selective.
Patiently waiting on my time,
No matter how pure my heart is and how I’m so kind.
I’ll look back and realized that it was really me who wasted my own time.


-dpk

Everyone's a poet when they're heartbroken or depressed.
Every word is overthinked and pressed
Currently obsessed with the thought of self growth and expression
Fighting a battle between you and yourself
Running and hiding, your only vice is your words, your phrases, thoughts.
They're the only things keeping you alive.
So everyone's a poet when they're heartbroken and depressed, because those are the ones who have the most to say.
The stories to share, of their hurt and despair
Those are the people sitting up at 3am with a knife and pen.
Carving their hurt into their skin, while their blood drips their story
Those are the poets, the ones with so much to say, the ones with so much to hide.
These are the people who don't feel sorry for themselves, or feel any less deprived
Of a true life of happiness prosperity and growth
But truth be told they hide the facts under oath
So everyone's a poet when they hit rock bottom
Because it couldn't be worse than this
But everyone's a poet when they rise and make a difference in a life that's filled with ****