I wish I could say beautiful things.
I know it seems like all of my thoughts come out in the middle of the night,
but maybe this is the only time I feel brave enough to say them.
I want to say beautiful things,
I want to see beautiful things.
This world is what we make of it,
it will continue rotating on the same axis,
whether we choose to participate or not.
We all want to find love,
so we write these poems hoping the beautiful words will come,
maybe they won't.
Maybe we write as a cry for help.
Maybe I write for a lot of reasons,
but maybe I just can't tell you.
I can say beautiful things,
I need to remind myself everyday,
that this universe is bigger than me,
bigger than my issues,
but it does not make them any smaller.
They are what they are,
and we are what we are.
That's all there is to it,
and I think that's a beautiful thought.
We can change our worlds,
but we cannot change our realities.
We cannot change the beating in our hearts,
without stopping it altogether,
we cannot stop our hair from growing,
or our eye from blinking,
we cannot.
So I'll continue writing my poems at night,
to release these demons from my fingertips.
Hoping the beautiful words will come,
but praying that someone will.

On the day of my funeral I don't want many things
except to have my family there and all that they bring.
The sky will open with grayish-blue clouds
that say the heaven are open without a doubt.
the breeze will begin to make the green willow trees sway
as my soul whispers "see you another day."
poems will be read and songs will be sung
but I will tolerate no tears because i am the one that has won.
now I suffer from no struggles or worldly doubts and fears
I fear not the people of the earth, but wipe away their tears

While I still have the emotions.
I must write them out.
Because soon, I will once again become so stout.

I continue my writings from my other day.
I protest that I am fine, of which I am.
All I ponder is do you think I am some scam.

Are you going to run n hide or accept, forward motion.
Carrying your pantheon heart and my own carnivorous groan.
Will you walk this walk or throw a stone.

This the last of your poems unless you decide to stay.
Tomorrow, maybe you will make me cry.
After the fact you are just a girl, and I just some guy

I don't wish for you, it would not be fair.
I don't wish for us to fall in love, you might not want that.
I don't wish for my own happiness, that would be vain.

I wish that I could write beautiful poems for you.
I wish that you would cry after reading them.
I wish that you would keep them folded up in your back pocket.

I don't wish that you will be happy forever, where would that leave me.
I don't wish for all the money in the world, I could not buy talent.
I don't wish for a cure for cancer, there would still be death.

I wish that I could make you happy when it's raining.
I wish that money would cease to exist solving a pretty amount of problems.
I wish for a cure for life.

Have you ever really wondered
What poems really are
It's something hidden inside of us
That we carry like a scar

It's simply raw emotion
That we're molding on each day
'Til the words come out perfected
And we know just what to say

The pen then meets the paper
Like two strangers from afar
Without any sure direction
Like a helpless falling star

It tells us who a person is
Or who they strive to be
It tells us of their *******
And the words that set them free

Some will simply make us smile
While others will make us cry
Some will make us laugh out loud
Or leave us asking why

It's more than pen and paper
It's a burden inside our heart
And if we cannot set it free
It will tear our world apart

Little smile
Written on a sheet of notebook paper
Guitar strings
Plucked by a boy who's midnight hair masks his true personality

Shy kid of 17
No visible emotions just strings
Guitar strings

You look at him with broken promises from past lovers tattooed to your pupils
While the only thing made permanent in his are music notes
And though those are there for you too
The cons outweigh the pros

An open mic night
Who could've guessed that what I was planning on as
"just another open mic"
might have turned into this

But things don't always go as planned
For me they almost never do
And while I usually try to view the glass as as full
More times than not things turn out the opposite way
Leaving me...
Half empty

So think of this poem as your warning
I know more than anyone that sometimes it may seem like my baggage is deemed too heavy to carry
And if it appears to be too much for you
Just do me a favor and let me know before I unpack into your space

Guitar strings caught my attention
Loose threads on the sweater of my unraveling attention span

Take a chance
Take the plunge
Let yourself fall into a new romance
Don't think
Just.. Do.