All I want is a distraction
to slow the panic rising in my chest

why are all the poems I read
about love?

It's about her, isn't it?

The new one.

I don't know the specifics, no would I ever want to.....

I hope her lips tasted
sweeter than
my words
ever
did

I don't think I've ever longed to taste something
-someone-

or feel the brush of a light feathery touch
across my skin

more than now
...her...

I know you're here.

But have you faded far enough
that your ears and eyes can't
hear me?

Hi.

how was it
that the same lips that ensnared his affection
could ensnare the silence
of death?

But what with?
a stick
a stone

How about
my broken heart

it matches
the shattered pavement
anyways

Once put aside, it never dies,
but lives fervently on.

Tis but a shame that love will droop
when thine effort carries on.

Well, that makes sense.
Waiting can be hell but if there is a prize, I'm game.
Competition? Yes. I can sacrifice.
But when you go away, I'll be so sad.
But I'll wave and smile
As you go off
To fulfill your dreams
And that smile is on your face
Permanently

White feathers
stream from Elsa's mattress
Snowfalls in Germany

Hold on,
little girl

that car handle can
double as an anchor

your sanity can't fly out
the w
           i
                n
                      d
                           o
                                   w

if we can close it first

hold on
hold tight

the window is latched

safe?

yes.

hold there,
with all your might


keep holding on
to the door handle

because one day
it will open

"Home is where the heart is."

My heart has been on vacation,
got lost at the station,
missed it's connecting flight,
has come down with a plight.

It's missed the school bus,
forgotten how to trust,
spilled coffee in its lap,
fallen into a trap.

It's still playing dress up,
afraid still to mess up,
losing its car keys,
crying after a tease.

If home is where the heart is,
a place where a warm hearth is,
then mine has missed the boat
for I'm still just out afloat...

Apparently
Just because I write poetry
That isn't always the happiest
I'm emo.

Not that I mind the label.
But it's a vast stereotype.

Normal people can write, can't they?

Normal people have heartaches, don't they?

Normal people may write better than speaking, mightn't they?

I'm just your average teenager, nothing much to see, just pass ahead.
But if you stopped long enough to read not only my poems but me, you understand.

How every poem you think is about death is, in a way. I'm not drowning in my wanting to die and my lust for the attention of others, no.

I'm drowning in your eyes, the feel of your cheek against mine, and moments I can only imagine because I know they will never come to pass.

I'm not emo.

I'm just hopeful.

I couldn't stop myself from hoping, there, I said it.

But do I mean so little to you......these tears won't be repressed.

Don't hope for things, dear children.

Hope hurts.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you
Oh, please don’t take my sunshine away.”

HOPE
is like sunshine.
Here one moment, gone the next.
Shadowed by clouds,
Hidden by the moon.
Sometimes comes in small installments.
Through a windowpane
Or the cracks in a door.
It’s always there.
But sometimes we can’t see it.
And what little we see
Is overshadowed by stormclouds
Of doubt. Is there anything
superior to rain crying in the
sunshine? Crying because
HOPE
has finally shown itself.
This is one of the
Only natural exhibits
of true beauty.

When God punishes you for no reason other than the fact that you simply weren't capable of moving yourself a couple hundred miles...

tis but a spoken masterpiece
that sitteth 'gainst a rock,
yet silver tongues hath sharpened swords
they've yet to learn to shock.

heed, harken, with steadied palm
that which betwixt us lies,
for time, being time, seems true, but thus,
endears solely desecrate flies.

You call me a dreamer
Who's the one who says "I love you"
To a complete stranger
Every day?

If I'm the demon you say I am,
What does that make you?

You have to realize that your convictions and desires to work toward being a better person and not regretting your past mistakes apply to others. Trying to move past problems you've created with others within your history but putting others down for trying to move past theirs doesn't make any sense.....what do you really believe in?

Becoming she who hurt you until you couldn't breathe for the tears...and causing that for someone else

I am a wrapper
a safe guard
a wall.

I am the outside
that won't let
me fall.

I am the cov'ring
the foil
the start.

I am the paper
that protects
my heart.

Sometimes, I stare at the ceiling
what's there can become a metaphor
in little over a metasecond

cracked paint,
peeling away and revealing the surface beneath

dry plaster,
crumbling in some spots where you can hardly tell

It's funny how when a poet needs to vent
they can find something-ANYTHING-
to write about.

I cannot sleep, for I'm nursing a sheep,
A coughing, sputtering lamb;
I cannot rest, for I'm doing my best
My medicinal best that I can.

Mama was young, and she knew no demands
For how to care, it was told;
Mama was scared, and she left them to stand
And to freeze in the shuddering cold.

Baby girl died, it was frosty and bleak
Under that black food bowl she lay;
Baby girl died, she was so unique
The size of a child's shoe, she bayed.

So here I sit nursing a poor coughing lamb,
Here I sit nursing a sick deathly man,
Here I sit hoping-just maybe- he'll live,
Futilely promising my life for his.

You'll be wearing Camo
I'll be wearing that navy blue dress
I rarely wear
Because I'm so self concious

And what happens then
Will transfer your smile
To my lips
In whatever means
You choose

that temptation for me didn't come in the form of drugs or alcohol but the intoxication of others
i admit i found solace in their lips and their hips and everything inbetween
but is it wrong to want lust when love has ****** you?

sometimes i leave my icebox open on accident and
it makes my house absolutely freezing
how come we have to pay
to turn down the heat

But what if I can't?
Am I just fooling myself
in thinking that I'm
any different
from the girl next door?

I mean, I look the same.
And act the same.
But inside, where lies
a cavernous gap of
dust and ashes
and deadening roses
lies a multitude
of sparkles,
just waiting to be
let out into the light and
shine.

Even if you didn't have the body of a god...

The screaming in my mind*
can't be drowned out by the music
anymore

if the crumpled paper
graced the rippled water
with the severity of a Siberian
and the grace of a Grecian

if it soaked up the
gel beneath with the pull
of an underworldly sheen
and an overworldly strike

if it did-
so what if it did?-
what would that mean
to you?

If you loved the thought of me as much as you love the air you breathe
with the passion of a hundred lights of night fire
with the greenness of a parlor fireplace

If you waited for what is clearly yours within the skin that traps me
with the tenacity of a tigerlily
and the brutality of a butterfly

If you wanted what lies beneath the cold hard marbles beneath my eyelids
with shyness befitting a lion
and coldness that wisps from deep within the earth

If you did
why are you
so far
away

I feel like I'm betraying you
Slighting you
Pressing you
I feel like I am asking you
For more than you can give.

I feel like I've astonished you
Bewildered you
Scared you
I feel like I have pushed you
Farther than you wish to go.

I wish you'd just tell me
How you feel
What you feel
If you feel
I wish you just push me away
Instead of leaving me hanging in despair.

I know you don't mean the silence
Or the emptiness
Or the cold
I know that if you read this
You'll feel guilty and think I'm too bold.

But I'm telling you right now that I can't think much more
On the time we should be spending
On the hearts we should be tending
On this rent we should be mending
Before my heart begins to crack.

His eyes....
He'd see a whirlwind of sheet music and splattered neon paint
His ears.....
He'd understand what I mean when I wish him well
His heart...
Would he let me in?

I'd like to pretend for a moment that I was a poet.

My words could mesmerize
and my glance could be seen to be more philosophical
than Socrates and Plato bound together
in chains of writing
and time

My very breath would wisp along the lines of insanity
and my heartbeat, keep time with the frenzied
dance I keep my toes working through
on this tightrope
I have strung
so tight and high

And my heart?

It would be taken.
And it would be happy.
And not confused.

If only you let me....
     I'd take you whole, make you mine, and never ever stop.

If only you let me....
     I'd build us a teleporter and whisk you away, even though you know I don't like leading.

If only you let me....
     I'd be the One.

Then there's the question.

Will you?

Would you be
Standing
With your toes
Peeping over the stone
To gaze down
At the river below
Waiting for their turn
To splash their way
To heaven or hell
-doesn't matter which-
Because if so
My job
Has been rendered
Null

my roommate told me i was talking in my sleep
again
when i woke up i checked my phone and was surprised to see that the messages we had exchanged weren't actually there
i had a ******* dream about you last night
it felt so real i could almost feel your eyes on me as i laid in bed wondering what the hell could have caused it
for the first time in a while i have my **** together
and now i just keep waiting for that dream to be reality
don't blame me for checking
i've got nothing to lose

I really hope you're happy.
Seeing you makes my heart ache, and I don't understand it. You know me, I like for things to fit into tiny little boxes. And we don't fit in any.
Part of me wants to hate you for being so selfish. Friendship only hurts the weak of heart. Yet you have one of the strongest hearts of anyone I have ever been blessed enough to know. I really want to pass this hurt off for anger. It makes me feel better about the situation.
I did nothing wrong. We both know it. But walls were still erected and I just can't seem to wrap my mind around why. Why you kept dating someone else when your feelings for me were stronger. Why pushing me out of your life was what would make your relationship better. Why you don't answer anymore. Why you're not here when I need you.
I may not have wanted you in the same way that you wanted me, but you have to admit that we had-arguably, still have- a bond. There's something about our relationship that is so comforting, so *****, so real. I felt like from the moment that I met you that I could tell you anything. Your support is sorely missed.
I'm sorry I've messaged you. I can't help it. When a piece of you is missing, it's hard not to reach out. And not to guilt you, but I've needed you in your absence.
I've been growing so much. In fact, I wonder at times if you ever come back to me if we will even meld the same way because I'm not the person I was when we last spoke. Hell, I'm not the same person I was six months ago. You'd be amazed, and proud I hope.
I miss our conversations about philosophy and car rides where we shared music no one else listens to. I miss our essay text conversations and musings about a better world. I can't have those conversations with anyone else. No one else quite gets me like you do.
Maybe this is all coming out because I'm grieving. Did you know my grandpa was sick? It's been so long since we really talked that I can't honestly remember. He died last week. I feel so empty. My friends keep trying to help me through the process and keep asking me what I need, what they can do for me. I honestly have no idea. No one understands me enough to help me through- not even myself. It's been rough.
And to top it all off, today I saw you. Of all days. Coming fresh from a seven hour shift, with a test tomorrow, not having slept well the past week, and grieving like a *******, I saw you. With her. The reason why. My heart doesn't feel like it's beating. I just feel cold.
But I kept walking. It's not her fault, it's not mine, it's not yours. That's what I have to keep telling myself. If not I'll go insane. But I want someone to blame.
My boyfriend sees you and talks to you more than I do. Do you have any idea how much that stings, for us to walk past each other and for you to greet him and not me? I don't think I deserve this treatment, I don't know if we were ever friends. Friends don't alienate each other over someone else's feelings. Friends don't hurt each other. Not for two long years, not by saying "well, contact me if you need anything but other than that let's just not stay in touch."
Do you know my mom still asks about you? Tells me I should reach out and that "he's such a good guy and was such a good friend-more than that at one point- to you, of course he'll respond!" But you haven't. Not once. I respect it, of course. Maybe the you I remember is slowly becoming an idealization because we haven't talked in so long. But I couldn't be any more lost.
This is the part where I feel like I need to update you on how I'm doing and assure you I'm great and tell you you don't need to reply or even finish reading this, but I'm done apologizing. I've done nothing wrong. The strength it would take to even send this to you isn't in me right now. I don't think I could take another disappointment of seeing "read" on a screen again.
So I really hope you're happy, and I mean it. Last we talked you weren't- far from it. And you know I worry much too much for my own good. Imagine how badly I worry about you when we haven't spoken in two years.
Stay happy. Keep filming. And stay smiling. That's ultimately all I can ask.

I just wanna be a savior, just once.

I wanna help someone become who they are
because I can't. Can I do that for anyone? Do I hold that power in my words?

*When the sun goes down
I'll hold you through the night
Protect you from the monsters
That you keep inside
Cause you’re a nervous wreck
And nowhere feels like home
But if you give me a chance
I’ll never let you feel alone

There are those times when certainty comes easy.
Why have they fled
The panting hands of my clock
That are sprinting to catch up
With them?

That black and white circle is like
A racetrack from hell,
One no one can ever escape
And a race one can never win.

So how is it
That we find the strength
To keep on running?

It'll be hard for them to realize. I flatter myself in thinking that but I believe it is true.

Now they're free from the drama. Perhaps that breaking point was what I needed to realize that I'm doing them more hurt than harm.

They never asked to get involved with me, to let me drag them down, to make them think they did something wrong.

The only thing they ever did wrong was to let me in.

And I loved every sainted moment.

I just wish I had been strong enough to contribute to them like they contributed to me.

They're going to blame themselves. Loving them from afar, watching them grow, learn, and love from a distance will be one of the hardest things I've ever done.

But I wouldn't have hurt them like this if I didn't know
that they'd benefit massively.

.....goodbye.

If I write about how much heartache and depression I'm facing
I'll never get noticed
anywhere

simply because in order to catch someone's eye
you have to write about what's
real

and apparently, all the hurt I experience on a daily basis
is simply a figment of my
imagination

Just because it looks like I'm paying attention
doesn't necessarily mean
that I'm not pondering Shakespeare.

Roses are running through my irises,
pentameter bleeds through my veins,
and inwardly,
Macbeth reigns.

So know that when you look my way,
I may be listening in...
But more than likely, you will find
Shakespeare will always win.

The words that dropped from my lips were laced with glamour. An unseen mist but breathed in by my beloved was all that I could emanate with what few syllables I could utter. What joy is there in isolation?

Their words were the briefest perfume I ever chanced to smell; brief, but honest. You can never hide your inner breadths and the breaths that keep you held together like a foggy glue.

Blue raspberry and then fifteens and suddenly my whole being is enamored of a scent that is not my own, swirling wisps of a greater, higher being. Alone, yet conformed to a blue caterpillar's wanting to leave his wall-less house yet too afraid to step one toe into greener grasses.

What beauty is there in smoke that infiltrates the mind and bares the soul? Reader, I'll tell you. It is the minimum of affections we are bound as beings to release, the inner crevices of the mind breaking free into a form more beautiful yet formless, more intricate yet dispersed than the mind itself. How is one to define this glory?

Inhaling these words as they are increases my inevitable downfall, and I can more clearly visualize my ideals crashing on the shore of my rising chest like bombs on a beach. Yet words, words, flavored words.....everyone believes them.

I want the blood I shed to mean something.
Is it bad that I wonder what people would say, how they'd react if I was gone?
I'm not being dark. I'm musing.

I don't want to be a thorn in anyone's side, I don't wish for attention that sometimes I forget I need.
I'll be sitting, music blasting out the demons, and realize I've forgotten to eat. To sleep. To breathe.

It's to the point where it's almost not sad anymore, you know? Like I've forgotten how it was before this cloud became something that'd stay with me forever. And it's at coasting, numb points like this where I honestly don't even know if I want to feel better. What is better, anyways?

And they always tell me I have so much to live for. And I do, that's the only reason I don't go. It's not the fact that I'd miss so much about my life and everything that I have before me to accomplish.

I don't want to hurt anyone by leaving, even though my hurting would be over. This is the one area where I wish my incessant selfishness would take over.

So, pardon my venting, pardon my sad songs, pardon my black and white photos. There isn't much silence, happy music, or color in my life right now. And I'm okay with it, as much as the pain stabs, it's more of a dull pain.

Maybe one day I'll understand how it is to feel again. Maybe. No one would have even known  if I hadn't had an outburst, let my selfishness take over in a thundercloud of confusion. It won't happen again, I can't let it. I can bottle feelings. Letting go is harder. They didn't know, it needs to be that way. They need to be protected~<3

*And she cried,
"Kiss it all better, I'm not ready to go
It's not your fault, love
You didn't know, you didn't know"

I wish I knew how to ask you for what I need
But I can't.
Just can't.
I want you to show what you feel more often, and if necessary, use words.
I want to feel wanted, to feel like I'm just as huge a part of you as you are of me.
I don't think you'll ever comprehend what I feel about you.
Lightning.
One day perhaps you'll finally understand. But will I be too drenched in waiting to be able to accept your giving me what I've been waiting for for weeks?
I just want paragraphs. Words.
I want you to tell me what you feel, how you feel, why you feel.
I want to know you inside and out, the way I hope I am letting you know me.
But then there are words.
And we are at an impasse.

did anyone ever care about my flowers?
i never watered them
as they should have been
i drew them in gentle, attentive
detail and kissed every petal and leaf
i smelled their virtue until my arms
ached with the repose of memories and triggers

i never watered them as they should have been
for that would have required
slicing them.

She keeps saying I'm not trying to get better.

I don't even understand why I'm like this, why my emotions are so demanding, why my skin aches to be carved into designs and swirls of the brightest hues of red.

If I knew, I'd explain.

But apparently, information that slips my lips is nonexistent. I'm not trying to get better, I don't want to get better, I'm not accepting the help she tries to offer...

Would it hurt you a bit to just listen? I can barely speak as it is, but when I do,the yelling overpowers it.

I just want a hug. And friends.

And death.

With no Tom Hanks to bring you home
A lover, not a fighter, on the front line with a poem
Trying to write yourself a rifle
Maybe sharpen up a stone
To fight the tanks and drones
Of you being alone*
Writing does help, I guess.
But what matters more
Is when she tells you
She's actually reading it.

But I think if she was,
I'd be embarrassed.
Who cares.

Everyone can read me like a book anyways.
My emotions are out there, and I don't hide how I feel for others.
And I'm good at waiting, masterful, even.
Maybe one day I can write myself into my own dream,
One we can share in together.
But until then,
My ink is my protection.

There's no such thing as "not enough time"

There's "enough" time

You just have to be willing

To share it

Are you?

When you can remember apologizing a thousand times in your head
*But can't remember if you said it out loud