Without exception to every situation they call love,
I wish things were different.
If only I were more, or less, or simply enough
what could’ve been?

Maybe no hearts would ache, no eyes would weep.
If fate weren't so unkind, there wouldn’t be words written right now.

[  ] I don’t know why I’m like this.
[  ] I’m sorry.
[  ] I never meant to hurt you.
[  ] The cruelty slips out,
[  ] and I pretend it’s not mine.

[  ] It’s not on you.
[  ] The storm’s always been mine.
[  ] I’m just someone
[  ] who forgets how to breathe
[  ] until it’s too late.
[  ] And I need help.
[  ] I always have.

[  ] I’m unraveling, quietly.
[  ] I don’t sleep right anymore.
[  ] I don’t smile the same.
[  ] And I’m scared
[  ] of what I’ll lose
[  ] once you see too much.

[  ] You’re the only calm I’ve ever known.
[  ] But I know how this ends.

[  ] I’m not mean because I hate you.
[  ] It’s never been that.
[  ] I just push
[  ] so you’ll run
[  ] before I ruin you.

[  ] I can’t save myself.
[  ] But if I scare you off,
[  ] maybe I can save you
[  ] from becoming part of this mess.

[  ] I want you to stay.
[  ] God, I do.
[  ] But if you stay,
[  ] you’ll see the worst parts
[  ] the ones I bury
[  ] under shaky smiles
[  ] and half-laughed jokes.

[  ] I don’t want to be someone
[  ] you pity.
[  ] I don’t want you
[  ] to hold my pieces
[  ] like they’re yours to carry.
[  ] You don’t deserve that.

[  ] You’re my best friend.
[  ] The only one
[  ] who ever made the dark feel less cruel.
[  ] The only one I wanted to get better for.

[  ] So maybe I need to go quiet.
[  ] Disappear for a while.
[  ] Figure it out.
[  ] Alone.

[  ] Please forgive me
[  ] for being too broken
[  ] to be held.

[  ] I love you.
[  ] I’ll miss you.
[  ] I’m sorry.

Sometimes when the world feels too bilow,
I cover up my ears.
I fade into the shadows,
And wipe my dripping tears.
Nothing ever seems to be policanary,
Always moving further on,
With no destination…
Tune out the jabberwocky.
Ignore the noise.
Maybe I’m a crybaby,
Or am I poised?
Listening to all the shouting,
Drowning in all the loudness,
Shuddering at my plonious thoughts,
That fuel my fears.
What am I to do?
I must continue,
To push through,
This kilomuny, trepidary,
Oligarny, relinbary,
Foolish jabberwocky.

You say my grades don’t matter.
You say, “I love you no matter what.”
Then why am I invisible?
Why do they only see the red numbers on my sheet?

You ask me, “Is everything fine?”
What do you expect me to say —
that I’m f**d up?
That I dream about leaving?
That I keep a blade in my front pocket?

You say I don’t share,
but you don’t pay attention.
I play the piano till my fingers bleed,
I scream songs that reflect me,
I even talked to you.

Maybe it’s because you liked me,
never loved me.
Maybe I’m so flawed I can’t see,
or maybe it’s both.
Maybe we’re both flawed —
we’re only human.

There was a girl who danced in the rain.
No one understood her or cared for her pain.
She danced out in the puddles all alone.
No sun in sight, for it had set long ago.
She used the thunder booms to dampen her screams,
As she pondered through the pitter-patter, what everything means.
Sometimes the others would spray her with a hose,
Knocking her glasses off her nose.
They’d shatter,
Masked by the pitter-patter,
They’d laugh at her,
Since it didn’t matter to them.
She was going through a storm with winds like a hurricane.
All that the others saw was a girl going insane.
All that she wanted was someone to listen to her cries,
But all that anybody did when they looked her way was sigh.
She danced throughout the night,
The lightning lit up the sky.
She would have danced till the end of time,
If he hadn’t stepped into her life.
He took her hand,
Stopped her from spinning around.
The rain fades away from where they stand,
And she finally feels found.
The girl who danced in the rain,
Found a partner for her ballet.

They say April is a month of rebirth, a month of healing.
What a lie. April is a *****—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—giving you just enough hope that you can stop and smell the roses, only for it to unzip its outer skin, forcing a thorn to strike you in the eye.
They say death comes in threes, but they don’t tell you that April’s showers of misfortune come tenfold, never ceasing, leaving you gasping for air.
Eventually, the storm will stop, as it always does, and I’ll be there in fields of wildflowers, soaking up the sun. After all, I’m good—just a little tired.