my love for you
borders on sacrilege
almost unholy

i could wait for you forever
but it doesn't mean i will
not if you don't want me to

The stars will align
The string players will go into third
The runners will be at their marks

But you and I
will never be in position

I do not write to spare anyone else's feelings,
but to save my own
It is the only time when I can be as honest as I please,
when I can speak what's on my mind in more eloquent ways than my stumbling and stuttering sentences

I have not the gift of the musical language the way Ravel does,
nor that of Tesla and the natural sciences
I cannot explain away why in fact the limit does not exist nor Pythagorus' innate ramblings,

but I can understand why Poe
was oh-so-miserable
and accept his love for beautiful dead women

I share Whitman's love of birds and their tales of woe for long lost lovers

Dickinson - hides herself -
the way I do - in her writings
and the ****** fly interposed itself in my light as well

Emerson and Melville tell tales of self reliance,
with Major Molineaux and Bartleby taking life by its reigns
but even Dante seeks Virgil's aid in finding hell

I am by far no writer of substantial merit
and have much to learn,
but that is exactly why I love what I do

I write to understand that which happens to and around me

I write in often vain efforts to find solid ground beneath my tired feet,
But most of the time,
I end up with paper scattered around me, full of words that I have yet to know

I write when I don't know what else to do,
even when I don't mean to find myself locked away,
scribbling meaningless words onto paper

I write to learn more of the errors of my ways,
maybe if I can gather my thoughts into one coherent phrase,
then I can finally accept my wrongdoings,
then I can grow

There is a sad realization that knocks me down with every ripple of its wave each and every time that my words cause grief or hurt

It is never my intention,
but even that is hard to believe

To say that i am sorry for them is pointless
I am not and never will be

How could I betray myself in such a way?

I write to escape
to understand
to create
to learn
to stand
on my own two feet
I write to be honest
among other things,
but most of all,

I write because it is all I know

Dear 6th grade,

One day you will realize that he is not the most important thing in the world.
One day you will realize that he already did.
Long ago, actually.
You were just too love-drunk to notice or care.

You are not in the picture anymore.
You never were.

Learn this.
Face this.
Accept this.
Live with this.
It shouldn't be too hard.

You been doing it this far.

What's your whole life more?

Sincerely, 12th grade.

i wonder what i did
to make Aphrodite punish me
in such a way
that i cannot have you

because the way you look at the stars
is not the way you look at me

They say the best conversations happen at 2 in the morning.
"Hi"
"Hi :)"
"How was your day?"
"I think I love you..."
"Really? I love you too..."
Too bad I never hit send in the first place.

I'm not asking you to trust me
because I don't know what kind of mistakes I'll make in life

I'm asking you to love me in spite of those mistakes
because God knows that I've done the same with you.

I miss you I miss you I miss you
I mistook you for
something that could make me happy

and together,
we set each other
on fire,
watched you melt down until nothing but
exhaustion was left.

Did you cry when you left?
Me, sitting there,
you, in-and-out of bookshelves,
trying to find
what?

The memory of us
walking these aisles,
looking for ways
to keep each other
grounded.

Present.

Present me with
a pair of socks to
keep my cold feet warm.
Your cold feet are frozen now.

And I sit there.
You, in-and-out of bookshelves,
finding your answer out the door
because I miss miss miss
mistook you for
someone who could make me
happy.

I noticed something was wrong when I stopped singing. This was my outlet, my way of expressing all of my feelings. Everything I had ever thought was brought to life by song. Then I stopped, and it was all your fault. No song seemed to describe how I felt about you. I liked you. I hated you. I adored you. I cursed you. But most of all, I loved you.

So I started writing. To cover up my feelings with metaphors and similes that nobody but me understood.

I've thought about showing you these writings. I knew you would understand them. You were so much like me. You knew my thoughts better than I did. But I was scared. Scared to show you how I felt because like you with the world, I was scared that you wouldn't accept me.

When I became aware of this, how I felt, I became distant. I didn't want you to see how I had grown to love you. I knew you would. You were like me. You knew something was wrong and when you asked me about it, I avoided you even more. This hurt me so much more than I think it did you.

I stopped singing. This one dead spark is what lit up a whole new world of mysteries and confusion about you and me alike. That was it. One simple thing.

I stopped singing.

Dear No-One,

Someone has become your friend. Unfortunately, now Someone knows why No-One wanted to be a part of the Loneliness. No-One is scared and Someone sees it. No-One does a bad job of hiding. Or at least Someone is really good at figuring stuff out. No-One doesn't have to be afraid. No-One sits alone, in a corner, by himself, mumbling the dark sayings that come from his mind. The darkest parts. The deepest parts. Someone has brought a light. Let her place it. Someone sees. Someone understands. Someone tried to help. Someone failed. But Someone tried. Now, it is No-One's fault. All their own fault. No-One left to help now. Someone's gone. Anyone's gone. They're all gone.

Sincerely, Someone.

I long for a way
For you to see what I see
When I look at you

As I sit here in my room, I start to wonder if you feel the same way I do.
If it pains you to see me with someone else, like it does to me.
If you think about me 24/7 like I think about you.
If it warms your heart to see me happy like it does to me.
If when you see me, it makes your day like you make mine.
If you feel those huge butterflies inside like I do.
If no matter how hard you try, you can't get me out of your head like I can't.
If I send your heart racing with one look, like you do to me.
If you can get an impossible high when I'm around, like I can with you.
If you can read me like an open book like I can with you.
If you spend an incredible amount of time constantly checking to see if I call or text you the way I do.
If you want to be the only one to make me smile and laugh like I do.
If maybe you feel like the whole world can hear your heart beating loudly like I do.
If you can tell what I'm feeling, like how I wish I could with you.
If you just want to hold me and never let go, like I wish I could.
If you would wish to be with me all the time like I wish you would.
If you love me like I love you.

Fanfares resounding
the crowd all too big
cheers around me
you stand on the stage
but they're not clapping for you.

My feet carry me closer and closer to you.
after all these years I'm still yours
there's no doubt about it.
I'm with you now, together onstage
but they're not clapping for you.

and while I might be yours
even after all those ****** years
tonight
the fanfares, the crowds, the cheers
are all for me.

To say that I don't think of you is a lie.
To think that I don't miss you is blasphemous
And missing you is a sin that I have yet to confess
And I'm not Catholic so I don't know how that works.

But here's my problem:  I don't want to confess if it's not to you.
It becomes meaningless once it reaches the ears of someone else.

They tell me that loving God means that He's the only one.
I can place No-One else above him.

Is it bad to say that He was cast down the second I met you?
I don't think so.
I think He should be understanding of my longing.
Why would He create you if not to present you to me?

I'd like to think that that's the case; you are meant for me.

Sadly I don't think that The Lord and all His mysterious ways work like that.
I don't think He likes your place above him because He is a jealous God.

And now I can't have you.

He has struck us like the Tower of Babel and it's hard for me to understand you.
This is why I must confess, why I must reveal my sins to you, for who can forgive me except for the one who was wronged?

*God won't and I won't either.

We're fine right?
You and I?
Most of the time we stare at each other trying to find the right word to say.

But we don't so it's just easier not to speak.
Trust me.
It's not.

I think we forgot how to coexist so now everything is just awkward stumbles of "Hello's" and "No, you first's".

But it shouldn't be like this because we were fine, right?!

You, you were my best friend, my diary.
Diaries don't just grow legs and walk away so why did you?

I don't think you realized this, but I fell in love with you.

At least I think it's love because no one else makes my heart best like this.
No one else makes me break the laws of science and have butterflies in my stomach, terrorizing as they please.

Please tell me that you also feel this way because I can't stand it any longer.
I despise the thought of being the only one in a battle with my heart.

So once again, we're fine, right?

My father doesn’t exist.
At least not to me.
He disappeared years ago when he stopped calling.

You don’t exist.
At least not to me.
You disappeared years ago when you stopped calling.

my feet are cold
but i can't seem to to gather the strength that it takes to go and get a simple pair of socks.

i'm tired
i'm alone
i'm sleepy
and i need to finish my college applications.

why don't i have my life together yet?
why do my counselors expect me to?
i'm just a child.
i still cry when I watch scary movies.
i still need my mom to **** spiders for me.
i still have stuffed animals
and after years of knowing You
i still need Your approval.

i guess it's all my anxiety taking over,
but i've begun thinking about what i'm going to do when i leave,
when You leave.

what will happen?
will i cry?
will You?

i seem to cry lot lately.
i wonder if it has anything to do with our impending graduation.

i've had better days than this.
it's a shame they all involved You.
i'll never be good enough will i?
that's alright.
i've grown accustomed to Your rejection.

sad, isn't it?  
because no matter how hard i try,
all of these ****** poems will always lead me back to You.
i don't think You could care any less.

You make me want to die.

Sometimes I sit and wonder what people say about me when I'm not there.
Am I the bad friend?
Am I the one that everyone regrets meeting?
The way that you avoid me makes me think that I am.

What did I do wrong?
I'm there when people need me, but that's just the thing;
I'm only there when people need me.
I make Mr. Cellophane look like the elephant in the room.

See, I just don't get it.
I know that this sounds selfish, but when will somebody finally start to care about me?
When will the time come that I don't have to message first and then not even get a reply?
God, not even my "best friends" talk to me on  daily basis.
Or even a weekly basis.

I'm like a public water fountain.
People are glad when they see me, but it's not like I'm their first choice
They were probably too broke to afford a better choice.
I am a placeholder.
I am temporary.
I will never make the final cut, but do you remember when you said that you would always have time for me?
Well you and I must have different definitions of the word "always" because time is up and wow, it went so fast.

So the next time that you complain about having no friends, I want you to remember how I was there.
Me, the nonexistent friend; I was always there to pick you up when you needed it and even when you didn't.

I want you to remember every 2 AM conversation,
Every fear that you told me,
Every deep, dark, secret desire,
Every ******* lie that you uttered.
I want you to remember how you pushed me away; how I came back the first couple of times it happened, but this time I won't.

I won't be your ego boost and I refuse to satisfy your sadistic need for attention because I am not the bad friend.
I have never been and never will be.
And maybe I'm thinking too much or maybe I'm not.
Maybe this is all true or not
And maybe one day I'll have the courage to tell you this to your face.

But sometimes I sit and wonder what you say about me when I'm not there.
Am I the good friend?
*Am I  the one that you regret meeting?

...
but you're not here
and i'm not there

and it hurts
to think of

Why is it that love and suffering makes poets of us all?

When suffering,
we are told to get rid of what makes us feel so horrid
and we do,
but hold onto the memory for its sheer poetic beauty

And love?
Love *****.
It's a whirlwind of emotions that you can't exactly pinpoint
and even though I am guilty as well,
I have yet to understand why we would want to subject ourselves to the pain of writing it all down,
of immortalizing it.

Why is that love and suffering makes poets of us all?

I'm lost in this heart crushing sea of emptiness that resonates from you.
Like the waves of an ocean
it ebbs and then crashes again
reminding that I may touch the sand
but I'll never hold it in my arms for more than a few seconds.

Please don't look at me like that.
I wasn't the one who delivered the first blow, the first push.
It was you!
Yes, you with the wide eyes and closed heart.
You who singlehandedly brought me to my demise.
All it took was a glance and a couple of words from your lying mouth.
Nothing more, nothing less.

i spend a lot of time
thinking about the stars
and even more time
placing you in them

i used to hide here
in my writing
but i can't even do that anymore

i'm so tired
of waiting
waiting
waiting
for you

and words
that never caught up
to your mouth

Your body feels strange next to mine

what once used to fit perfectly
now feels forced with
weird angles
and arms
badly intertwined

i watched You all day

You looked down
fingers blurring up my sight
it was silent
but i heard every time
Your thumbs thumped against the bright display
someone else's words taking You from me

oh Lord
don't you think it'd be easier
just to let me go?

i don't understand the point of it all
don't understand why i choose people
that won't ever give me
all i give them

don't understand why it's
happened three times
in the span of
six years

You're right next to me
but i'm not really there
am i?

the door is ten feet from us
and Your body feels strange next to mine
but i don't understand
why i never  
get up
and
leave

It was a letter.
A middle school type letter where you had someone give it to me.
You were saying that you loved me.  
Or that you could've loved me had you not been so busy with all that was going on in your life.
How terribly tragic.

Imagine me.
Desperately pining after you,  yearning to grab your attention every time I saw you only to find that you were too busy for me.
You once said you would always have time for me
You once said you loved me.
What happened to that?

I kept that letter.
Kept it with all of the poems and notes I'd ever written for you.
They're nothing but old pictures now.
Frayed at the edges, but still full of precious memories that hurt to look at.

It is okay to be weak sometimes.
It is okay to cry sometimes.
It is perfectly fine to just let your worries go away for a while.

So I will be here with tissues and nothing else you need for when you ask me.

Or even if you don't ask
I will be here.
Please know that.

It hurts me to see you so full of emotions that you don't know what to do with
because I know how that feels.

I'm sure you've had just as much practice with bottling up emotions,
like I have,
but look where that's landed us.
Crying in school, hoping they won't see.
Secretly wishing they will.

We didn't deserve that pain
Or at lest you don't.

Tell me what makes you weak.
Tell me what makes you cry
And I promise to try to make your worries go away,
even if for only a while.

If I should die -
                           it'll be because I'm no longer needed.
You'll have found your purpose in life
                           and mine will be through.
I don't have a favorite flower
                          so when I die,
I want to be buried with every poem I ever wrote about you.

You won't need them anymore-
                           because after I'm gone-
You'll lose interest.
                            I'll be nothing but a dream-
a long gone memory that you'll remember in the dead of night
and thinking that I'm just a nightmare,
                            I'll be shut in once again-
laid back into the coffin that you nailed shut.

There's no sense in keeping skeletons in your closet.

I'll love you always
Till the end of time itself
Forever is real

everything hurts
and I don't know
what to write about
anymore

Summer is almost over.
I have one week to get my homework done and get my sleeping schedule back in order.
That's gonna be a little hard.
My hair has grown, refusing to let your fingers be brushed out of its tangles.
Buts it's purple now so at least I won't be able to see you in it.
All summer long I thought of you and plenty of other people that I'd left behind.
I thought about why you didn't hate me.
I thought maybe you were insane.
I thought maybe I was insane.
Either way, school starts in a week and I have yet to prepare myself to see you everyday.
I'd grown used to your absence.

i am dying
burning alive
and my simple tears
will do nothing
to save me

Why am I like this?
What have I turned into?
You're all I think about
and I feel like a lost puppy most of the time,
like I'm waiting for you
to seek me out and find me.

Why?!

What is it about you that has reduced me
to repeated I love you's
and I miss you's
and I can't wait to see you's?
I have never been so honest about my feelings
to anyone before
and this terrifies me.

The power that you have over me,
that I have given you so willingly,
terrifies me.
And now,
you're all I write about.

I like to write about what I see
happening around me,
the people and things
that matter the most to me,
and my thoughts
so thank you!
You have made writing
so much easier for me
because you have blinded me
to everything happening around me,
you are what's happening around me.
You are all that matters to me
and I cannot stop thinking about you!

I cannot stop thinking about you!
I cannot stop thinking about you!
I cannot stop thinking about you!
I am starting to think that
there is something wrong with me.
This cannot be normal.
This is not healthy,
I should know;
I was always a sick child.
And this is so strange to me
because the only way
to make me feel better
is to think about you.

On the days that I spend
too much time alone in my room,
where I hate the world,
when I want nothing more
than to just go home,
where I spend hours in bed,
clutching a pillow and wishing it was you,
on the days that I miss you,
I think of you.
I think of you.
I think of you...

I don't know why I'm like this.
I don't know what I've turned into,
but when I think of you,
*it all makes sense.

I've not written in a long time.
I'm sitting in a room surrounded by people who don't care about what goes on around them.
I sit among them wondering what the Hell I'm even writing about.
Nonsense, nonsensical words that mean nothing but the life that I give them.
What
          do
               they
                       all
                           mean?
You write almost everyday.
I know because you tell me.
You sit in rooms surrounded by people who have such deep, longing, arduous passion for what goes on around them.
You stand among them.
Stand because you greatly outshine them all.
Play, play, playing notes that breathe to life when you tell them to.
You learned to control them.
You
       give
               them
                         meaning.
                                           Like
                                    you
                    ­          do
                      me.