I am not like him
I am not like her
I am not normal

What I most resemble
Is a coffin
With a smiling face drawn on top

Happy on the outside
Dead on the inside

I am not normal

Dear Friend,

If thats really what you are... Can I still call you that? I'd very much hate to do so.

Thank you
Thank you* for treating me so deservingly with your coldhearted, excuse ridden backstabbing attitude. It means the world to me that you would destroy the little happiness that had built up over the past couple of days.
Life is hard right now, all I need is people there for me and supporting me and keeping me distracted and happy, but
Thank you
Thank you for treating me like trash, like I am nothing, and like you cant talk to me cause youre "afraid to hurt and upset" me again.
You seem to be doing a fine job of that already.

*Thanks for nothing,
Me.

“I hope I keep you up at night,

with spiders in your head.

Crawling through your tired brain

with all the lies you said.
Did you hang me in the closet?

Did you bury me in dirt?

You and I, you see, we share this beating heart of hurt.
Some of us are tossed aside,
sun bleached on the road.

A lie, a broken skeleton, to lie without a home.
A serpent twists through empty eyes,
winding through the nose.

I will live forever

in the ink  of written woes.”

3:27 a.m, Thursday, March 26, 2015
- j.d

There's a hole in my chest.
I hate the way it whistles in the wind,
singing its song of emptiness to the world.

There's a hole in my chest.
I hate the way I nearly drown every night
when I take a shower.

There's a hole in my chest.
I hate the way it looks like everyone
who has ever left me.

There's a hole in my chest.
I hate the way it stings.

When I opened the door, I hardly expected you to barge right in.

How dare you waltz through these halls,
like you've been paying rent?
It took me months to fan the scent of your perfume out of the air.
Even longer to wash out the stains in the carpet.

If you're so happy to be home

why did you leave?

It took me a while, but I think I finally see
all of the cracks that lurked beneath your skin.

I can't believe I ever saw you as perfect.

I write
because every time I tell someone I want to be an author, I get looks of malcontent.
I know I won't be as rich as doctor
because I don't want to be a ******* doctor.

I write
because every time I tell someone I didn't play football in high school,
but instead played bass in a band
and wrote poetry in the back of my classes
I get looks of confusion.
I didn't waste my size and strength
I used my mind and heart.

I write
because I've found more solace
in words
than in the world around me.

The scars of a working man.
On his hips hang his tools,
on his back
his family.
His wife
and his sons.

To be the backbone of America
the men in a dirtier uniform.
I'm not above the dirt on my boots
but under a higher calling
in a lower place.