A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.

I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.

I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.

we use words
to communicate
words spread love
as well as hate

to lift you up
there's a fair amount
to bring you back down
if you get too proud

words when we need
to make a point
hoping that we can
knowing that we won't

words with hidden meanings
show our inner feelings
words that we imply
in our daily dealings

words are here to say
what some struggle to display
words we use for greetings
before you’re told to go away

when it comes to words
we cannot ignore
just what they do
and what we use them for

“A perfect quiet child”
They called me
Don’t call me mature when I was just scared and unhappy

I was not an adult
Why did you treat me like one
And now you dare to wonder
What happened to my head
Why I’m always in bed
It wasn’t just my father
It was everyone else too

Stop saying I’m an old soul
I’m smart
I’m just ******* terrified
I’m miserable
Trust me
You don’t be envious of that
Or at least if you knew why I’m like this way
You wouldn’t be

Love.
How simple that word is except it has been misunderstood; illused,
Media portrays it everywehere.
So much so, it's shoved down our throats.
Some say love is forgive and forget; blood runs thicker.
But what about the one who manipulates, anillates, and isolates this thing.
This little thing called love.
L-O-V-E
it puts the L in "love me just as I am,"
the O in "Over and Over please forgive me,"
V in whispered in the "Very unpredictable challenges that come" and E.
E as in"Every day remind me with those sweet tender nothings. "
We wish for the old timey love but instead we now wish,
for the love where we grow old, and it doesn't matter what time makes us look like.
The love where we don't want to get the phone.
The love where we pursue through the tough times.
Where we don't give up after just one fight.
Or we misuse our words.
Kind of like the word love.
I've heard it gets misused a lot.

You would never know it,
The constant pain I feel,
Because in the light of day
It almost isn't real.

Sure, I'll play, I'll laugh,
I'll sing some songs,
But that pain is always lurking
Because it's been here all along.

And when the darkness comes
With its all-consuming power,
It slowly takes my soul
Hour by dreadful hour.

But they tell me that I'm strong enough.
They swear that it gets better.
They say, "If you can just hold out
and bear this stormy weather."

They tell me, "You will be happy one day.
All you need do is fight."
But what they seem to forget
Is after each day comes the night.

And so I act along.
I play my part
While this crushing darkness
Slowly breaks my heart.

When someone you truly love dies you are overcome with all
these strong emotions like rage and guiltiness.But the one that always wins is
sadness.You try so hard not to cry during the day just to go home at night cry
uncontrollably a river of sad filled tears. You think of all the good times you two had
and then you sink in to an elaphant sized depression.Knowing you can never do those
things agin for as long as you live.Every days a struggleit feels as if your dragging
two billion pounds behind you.You struggle every day to keep you head held high
when it feel as if your sinking in to a black whole of undiscovered territory.You feel
so weak almost as if you were carved out of ice. The sadness varies between days.Some
days you feel fine others you feel like some one has reached in your chest and
yanked your heart out and stomped it to the ground.

Why do i write?
To help me through the sleepless nights?
What do i gain?
A way to verbally share the pain.
How does it help?
Gives me a way to express myself.
Poetry gives me a way to share my many thoughts
and the many battles that I've fought.
Why do I write?
Just because it feels so right.

Wouldn't you miss me?
If I dropped dead.
Wouldn't you kiss me?
If this 's all I said.