Being a poet, it's frustrating,
not having the perfect words
to explain how I feel for you

It gets a little harder, then usual
To hide how ghostly you feel.
Suddenly, you become more aware
That you haven't left your room in days.
You think more about your smile
And all the hurt pushing it up.
It's hurt a bit more,
To keep up with the fascade.
Suddenly you live in the basement,
In the room with no windows.
Searching for some little ray,
Any proof that the sun still shines.
To grab and throw up in the air,
To scream
"Look!"
*"I'm still here..."

word scrambled,
like poorly mixed eggs,
trying to follow a recipe
to fit my words together
but im a not a chef
i call myself a poet
but poetry gets hard
when you're trying to cook

ring ring
heart racing
can't be too eager
(wait)*
1 Mississippi
2 Mississippi
"Hey you"

it's so hard to write a poem
about my feelings
because to be honest with you
i don't understand them

but I want so badly to write
about the thoughts inside
because to be honest with you
it hurts to keep them in

i'm sorry that my words
dont make sense
that my thoughts aren't
coherent
i apologize
for every scribble of a note
that I work to complete
that comes out
like a toddlers drawing
hung up on a fridge
with a faulty magnet
soon fallen to the floor/
tears of a child
projected onto construction paper
but no one
looks for pain
written with a crayon

my words have had little meaning lately
rushed and harsh
like a quickie in a poorly lit parking lot
meaningless and soon forgotten
but spoken for a reason
like the motives behind that backseat moment
wanted and waited for
but looking for something much deeper
something rooted and real
but
impatient and unknowing
just taking whatever comes first
and yes,
words and *** are not the same
but I want them both
in the exact same way

it really hurts,
pouring yourself out
exposing things you're scared of
and showing someone you
and getting
"cool"

Oh, isn't it the best
when someone says
"trust me, I'm here."
and then the next day
*"Oh, just kidding."

They say you will walk past at least 10 murderers in your lifetime, or so I’ve heard.  What about loving one? Are there even statistics for falling for a murderer? I guess people don’t really calculate the odds of it, because, well, that’s just dark. What does that say about me then?

            My mom told me once after the topic of love was brought up, “Love kills so be careful.” It’s ironic how spot on she was. Though I have never been comfortable with the word love, for it’s a word too flimsy nowadays, thrown around like a beat-up Frisbee that is too soon discarded. In this case, though, I guess I can say love, because no one would voluntarily like a murderer. Only something as potent as love could hit you so hard to want to be close to such an awful person.

             To be fair, James didn’t intend to ****, at least I would hope so.

            “It just happened, I didn’t mean to”, he sobbed.

            The tears on his face truly did convince me, enough not to say anything, at least. The blood on his shirt should’ve scared me,  but instead his distraught face captivated me. In the moment, all I felt was calm.
          “James” His names came quickly to my mind, oh how I loved the way it rolled off my tongue, the name of a murderer.

          “I’m sorry.” A look of shock was plastered on his face, trying to make eye contact with me, he seemed too preoccupied with the blood on his hands (I guess you can take that in more ways than one)

        “Go home, take a shower, It’s gonna be fine.” He was always a blunt person, never one to use soft words. Something I always admired about him, his ability to not care how people responded to him. I leaned more to just say what people want to hear. We were a good fit that way.
          “Okay, okay. Go home, take a shower, it’s gonna be fine.”
           What a cute smile.
             Now most would be concerned if a murderer smiled at you, but I was smitten with the two dimples that appeared. It was almost as if nothing had even happened.  
             When he left, my thoughts wandered back to when I had first met him. As a senior in high school, life had been hectic, but meeting James at my first real job seemed like the best thing that could’ve happened. Like most high school romances, it started with awkward glances and short text messages.
           Hey.
             Heart pounding, and waiting for a response.
             typing…
             Oh, no. He probably hates me.
             Hey you.
              Dead, I’m dead. He’s just the cutest.
              typing…
              Oh no, that was probably meant for someone else. He’s  probably gonna tell me that I need to stop texting him and that no one likes me.
              Wanna hang out on Saturday?
               What? This Saturday? We’re officially married now.  Wait, what do I say? I’m probably gonna sound like the biggest loser ever.
               Sure!
              Wow, sure with an exclamation mark, I am the worst.
              Great!
Officially dead, he’s the best.  Great with an exclamation point! We are legit married now. I wonder how he is going to propose.
             That Saturday had gone well, and I was convinced that I was deep in like with him. As it came to be, a year later and here I am saying that I love him. You could say that it went pretty well. He came to my graduation and I to his. He proudly showed me off to his friends, boasting that I was the smarter than any of them, and then we went to his house and watched Star Wars.  
              A smile on my face and our fingers interlocked, he looked at me at my graduation and whispered into my ear, “You were the prettiest up on the stage.” His face was so genuine and sincere; my heart could barely contain itself.
           When  I went to visit my grandma for a month, he sent me a letter proclaiming his love. In a time of texts and emails, it was such a cute surprise. There was nothing sappy written, for we weren’t that type of couple, the kind that is just romantic ***** and such,  but at the end he wrote,
             Love, James
          ,and it made me smile so much. It was such a small gesture but yet meant so much to me.
            Now can you see why I forgive him so easily? There were no signs, nothing to indicate that he would snap.
       The morning after James killed, I lay quietly. A man came to visit me.
        “James didn’t mean to, I promise. He told me, I know it’s true. Please don’t be upset with him.” But the man didn’t want to hear it.
“How could anyone be so careless? How could this happen. She was so young and so beautiful, why would anyone do this?” He didn’t want to believe me, but I knew that James hadn’t meant it. I knew that in his heart he was truly sorry.
            I didn’t see James again until the end of the week. In a room full of people, he pushed his way up to the front to see me. His face was pale and tears ran down. I wanted so badly to reach up and brush away his pain.
          He leaned down and whispered “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I didn’t  mean to.” His eyes glanced down to my neck. They had put makeup to cover the bruises from his hands and the **** on my temple from hitting my head on a railing.
           “It’s okay, I still love you” my words never made it, trying to comfort him, but soon he was gone and I was left alone again. I could see my mom crying again.
           She had warned me, “Love kills.” But I didn’t take it as a warning, more as a promise. They say you pass 10 murderers in your lifetime, but I feel in love with one and I never did make it past him.

you asked me to prove that I was serious,
because you couldn't believe
(oh how confounded you were)
that I could ever be speaking the truth.
I like you
I had texted to you some Tuesday morning
and you just send me back
haha
and the conversation went on because, well,
that's just how you are (which is okay)
The second time we hung out you tentatively held my hand
as if any second I would ask you to stop
"I like you"
I whispered as you held me in the parking lot,
(I was scared your friends thought I was weird)
You just pulled me closer and kissed my head
and past it we went again..
You texted me the other night, right after my midnight snack
Do you really?
and I sat and thought for a long time
..if I didn't like you...
I wouldn't yawn as much
because I stayed up until 2 thinking about you
..if I didn't like you..
I wouldn't curse so much
every time I embarrassed myself (as I do so much)
..if I didn't like you..
I wouldn't write so much
trying to understand all the thoughts overwhelming me
..if I didn't like you..
I wouldn't smile so much
every time you glanced over at me from across the room

trust me,
I like you
..if I didn't..
you would know.

Flashing lights sweep past your face,
illuminating something you don't understand.
A beat so deep your core is rocked,
and everything sounds like an oscillating fan.
A thousand people around you,
jumping out of sync to a song with so many meanings.
and for *just a moment, you are not you,
but a lost soul glad to be home.

I gave too much, for all too little
dinlemek
in the end, it was okay.
استمع
Nothing lost, nothing gained,
ακούω
and nothing left to say.
बात सुनो

But
Почуй мене

If I speak, will you listen?

Waking, I am left with my thoughts,
to contemplate myself, my being.
Questions of "What am I doing?",
Often tend to leave me fleeing.

Hot water pouring down my back,
in a shower of uncertainty
Standing still and all alone,
with a pressing sense of urgency.

But as always, I shake it off
and soon begin to dry.
The ending of this sentence,
is nothing, but a sigh.

I wish my words were poetic in your language,
*Because they're just pathetic in mine.

it's hard to express a feeling you don't understand yourself,
to explain an emotion unknown to you.

it's like asking a child why they're crying for a toy,
they don't comprehend, they only know that they want it.

honestly, i've stopped attempting to locate this mindset
or at least the origin of it.

I have learned to stop asking questions,
and rather, search for answers.

lay down on my chest and cuddle with me, the smell of smoke and breath enveloping us.*
*happiness wrapped in blankets, lit by games plastered on screens.

quiet, calm and loving
your voice gives me life

soft, slow and caring
your hands give me love

all i ask is that you
never let me go

when i was younger , i feared of the monsters under my bed,
but now I'm scared because they all came to live in my head
and the hunger, it screams to be fed,
and I'm weak, so soon my skin turns red,
and I'm wondering now if it i'd be better off dead?

Mothers day, to me
is just, another memory,
gone to waste.*

A day to stop and pause
and remember a lost cause,
only to move on, again.

Because to me, mothers day
is "my mother left me" day,
so, not a joyous occasion.

And try as I may, to hear
the words, "but another is near"
it's just not the same.

Because while I found another home,
my heart still tends to roam,
to other places.

And my thoughts just can't forget
about the life that I didn't get,
no matter how bleak.

But still I try to push past,
and make the smile last,
even if it's fake.

Because I know that someone loves me,
even if she did not birth me,
and now I call Her  *Mom.

scared to be a second choice, because what will you do, if she comes back?

ah, at least,
relief!*
at the end of another day,
my pen
waits for me!

poetry is addiction, more than anything else
just substitute the smoke of a cigarette
for the eraser shaving of my thoughts
and instead of scarring my thighs once again
i cut open the wounds of my heart
bleeding my thoughts into words on a page
and just like any addiction
no one truly sees
that writing relieves
the constant pressure of trying to be something*
i am not

three letters

that don't really mean anything

but somehow describe

*exactly how I feel

Let him in
Want him out
Don't know the words to say
All alone
Not by myself
The darkness came to play.
Hear my cry
On deaf ears fall
The pain is here to stay.

Poetry doesn't HAVE to be sad; just filled with EMOTION.

Don't give him everything, for his sweet nothings.
His whispers in your ear will all slowly fade.
Don't settle for just anything, when you deserve EVERYTHING.
You are more then your flesh and bones, you are smart.
I know it's easy to fall for lies of the need to be Beautiful,
But you don't have to conform yourself to be something you already are.
You are worth it.
You are Amazing.
You are You.
And, yeah its cliche,
(and god knows I hate cliche)
But you are perfect just the way you are.  
Don't forget that He doesn't make YOU.
Am I saying, never love?
or never let anyone in?
Not at all/
Just don't let anyone make you think that you NEED to let them in.
You don't need anyone to "make" you perfect.
You are YOU.
a Queen.

blue breezes and trees sway,
wind blows every care away.
cold twisting and turning to warm,
birds and bees begin to swarm.
never overwhelmed, just busy,
and playing until you're dizzy.
girls and boys will do no good
would play all day if they could.
sniffles and sneezes, a minor pain
who cares, now that winter is slain?
we cheer and shout that winter is done,
the frozen battle has been won.
victors are Warmth and Sunshine.
Summer and Winter intertwine,
bringing forth something...new,
all for the pleasure of me and you.

Today was a good day.
I'm slowly felling better.
I am as Spring is.

Slowly, the sun shines longer,
the flowers feel safer,
and the warm feels
nice enough to stay.

And, yes, some days it may rain
Just remember, The sun
will always shine again.

searching for a word to explain my mood right now; not antisocial, more of just *withdrawn