One minute
I believe I'm okay.

But then I
take a moment

and I think,
and the tears

come again.
So fast

they can't be
stopped.

I still remember
third grade.
When poetry was made
of rhymes...
Oh, the good times.

We were taught the sun
was a happy thing
and we would sit on a swing
smiling at its wonder,
unable to wait for summer.

And I know while
the sun's wonder
does indeed bring summer,
it also gives way to thunder
and rain.

Now that I'm older
poems have grown colder
and I know sorrows
are not conveyed
in rhymes.

Looking back
on all our
past memories

I'm convinced
we were in love
in a past life.

I thought
I knew you
so well -

like the
back
of my hand.
But every time

I look
at my hand,
there's a new

bruise,
a foreign
scratch,
a scar

I never had
before.
So the truth is,

I really
don't know
the back
of my hand

all that well.
So what does that say
for you?

Stolen moments -
a touch of hands.

Does it belong to me?
To you?

One thing is
for sure:

I'm falling
and I can't stop myself.

I just hope you're there
to catch me.

I firmly believe
there's no
life after death,
so I can't
console myself
with the fantasy
that you're in
a better place.
But I hope,
for the first time
in my life,
that I'm wrong.
For your sake
and mine.

He's a nice boy with
a pretty face - I never
had a fighting chance.

Remember when we were little?
We’d take every opportunity to see each other.
We did all the classic stuff:
Pillow forts and pizza and old Disney movies.

As we got older
We did it together -
All the classic stuff:
Late night talks and awful cakes and new Disney movies.

We grew up together
When I was mad at nothing
(The world perhaps)
You’d let me rant.

When you were sad
I’d let you cry on my shoulder.
When we were having a hard time
We always knew to turn to each other.

We were best friends
I loved you - in a best friend kind of way.
But we grew more and things changed;
And now you’re gone.

Now I’m watching you grow up
From afar.
Without me -
With her.

And it hurts more than I care to admit
But dang, it hurts.
And it’s tearing me apart.
Forever doesn’t last as long as we thought.

Now I’m seething with pain
And my vision goes red
When I see you with her and not me -
Your new best friend.

I'm not just
the shy, quiet girl
that cowers
in the back.
No.
I'm so much
more
than that.

Sometimes I feel like
I’m falling up the stairs.
Defying the laws of gravity,
Making my pain
Just another unknown.

Weightless,
I plummet to the stars -
My arms reaching out
To grasp them.
To be one of them.

And my fingers are so
Close -
An inch away.
But then I remember
I’ll never be as great as them.

Then I drop back to Earth,
Away from the stars
And I’m stuck again -
At the bottom of a
Lawful world.

Heartache.
It's worse than
the knives,
the broken bones,
the bullet holes.

The pain
drives you insane,
eating you alive,
consuming
your brain.

The aching shows
you're close
to breaking -
whithered away,
weak.

The idea of anyone else
causes you
to push everyone away,
until it is only
yourself.

The only thing worse
than a headache
is the ache
that started it -
the heartache.

When words are chosen
over fists
as weapons,
it's almost worse.

The pain and damage
inflicted by words
never fade away.
The scars and bruises
never heal.

And it isn't fair
That with one mistake
I become the most
evil person
to walk the Earth.

And I can't escape
the torment -
It happens at the
one place
I cannot leave.

It happens
in the place
that's meant to be safe.
The one I cautiously
call my home.

One day
you'll fall in love
with me -

that's just how
the stories go.

You'll feel nothing,
then boom!
All at once.

And you'll be
plummeting down;

I can't promise
I'll be there to catch you -
but I hope I am.

Again, that's just how
the stories go.

The guy gets the girl,
and the girl
finds her prince.

I have nothing to write about.
My life is as boring as a stone's.

But even a stone
has a story.

The way it's been
weathered by the river

or the rain.
The countless microorganisms

that once lived under
its protection.

It has a love story
with every surface it's touched.

Every stranger that's picked it up
had given the stone a new journey.

Maybe they made it pretty
or gave it a new name.

Friends, nature, the uncontrollable,
hard times, and new experiences

shape the stone.
Just as they do to me.

So at the end of the day,
maybe I do have something to write about.

Of course
it hurts.
When it comes
to you
I always hurt.

I thought I'd break
this time.
Knowing I'm not
good enough
for you.

But I'm realizing,
when all's said
and done,
it doesn't hurt as bad
as I thought.

There are no
protections,
no barriers
in our brains.

I would take
sticks and stones
over words
any day.