my heart say "write about love and pain"
my mind says "write about logic''
my peers say "write about something cool"
my parents say "write about discipline"
my school says "write about knowlege"
my friends say "write about whatever"*

my hand says "just write"

you asked me if you smoked too much,
and i said no,
because i know what its like,
to have something that lets you escape.

you asked me what my high was,
i instantly knew and  replied,
just keep smiling,
and ill be alright.

tired of wasting thoughts on this.

people cry when a lion is shot in another country
but no one cares about
the 17,500 people trafficked into the U.S. each year.
we care more about Miley's latest hair choice,
than the thousand of homeless teens.
nobody wants to put in into perspective,
or think about it.
because maybe if we ignore it long enough,
it will go away,
as if sitting and watching Netflix,
will somehow provide starving families with food.
but, we don't talk about that,
because it's not "socially accepted".
if you care about anyone but yourself,
you're not normal,
how is it that Justin Beiber gets more airtime,
than the people trying to change the world.
everyone talks about how terrible the world is,
but so few are willing to do something about it.
oh well, i guess,
go back to youre blissful ignorance,
who am i anyway,
to make you ponder such things.

if love is blind,
i guess i'm deaf.
*** all i can see,
is you.

i want so bad to talk to someone,
anyone,
about this thing eating away inside of me,
but im so afraid that somehow,
saying it out loud,
will make it real.

sometimes i wonder if i made you up,
if somehow,
from my innermost thoughts,
you were spawned into existence.
the other part of me,
somewhere out there,
walking,
breathing,
thinking,
somehow knowing that i need you,
as if i called you,
from incohesive musings,
and untraceable cries.
in the womb i spoke,
and you heard,
responding instantly,
saying nonsense,
its impossible,
you are you,
and i am i.
but i heard the falter behind it,
as if an unborn child,
could comprehend anything,
nevertheless something so important.
but no matter,
because i found you again,
and i'll listen,
for something i haven't heard in a long time,
not since the cord was cut,
and **i became alone.

Words to me are like paper planes,
some fall instantly,
some go on and on and on,
but in the end,
all are forgotten.

a young me tattooed your love on my heart,
never knowing that it would last forever,
never knowing how much regret she would have.

now its too late

misty words lead to foggy days
stumbled lines lead to straigtened ties
aching bones lead to creaking chairs
lost library books lead to fines

society: be different!
me: okay! walks outside
society: whispers freak

funny how a childhood game can be so insiteful,
so full of irony and shadows,
teaching a young version of us,
words borne from ignorance lead to gallows,
but many didnt listen,
many couldnt see,
that what's just a game to them,
is reality to me.

i never really noticed that there were no colors here exept for red.
i guess that makes sense,
we all bleed out our feelings into words.
our innermost thoughts intermixing with logic and meaning,
creating something beautiful.

push me until i fall,
in love,
with the cliff

i wonder,
how many will disappear before we're all ghosts?

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it,
does it make a sound?” George Berkeley once asked.
Making me wonder,
"If I'm gone, but no one's around to remember me,
was I really ever here?"

he's like a scab,
meant to be left alone,
but i want it to go away,
so i pick at it,
keep coming back,
creating a scar,
with no one to blame,
but me

i'm tired,
of writing about a
d
r
e
a
m
that will never happen.

Which side of the looking glass
am I even in?

when thinking takes to much thought
and Sane is something I'm not,
guidelines of right and wrong disappears,
speak of the devil and he appears,
teasing and taunting,
scaring and haunting.
afraid of everything I see,
trying so hard not to be me.
losing all control,
missing every goal.
until the morning breaks
continuing these aches.
never be the same,
playing the same game.
*over and over and over.

I see a siren,
Sitting upon a high throne,
The boys worship her,
Unaware of their missing thoughts,
Unaware of their blind love.
They call her a mermaid, a god even,
But I know better,
Because I watch from afar,
I can't hear the beautiful deception.

I'm scared of being weak,
Afraid that someone might see.
Someone might call out my flaw.

So I stand up and fight,
I hide behind words of spite,
All because of insecurity.

I never look behind and see,
Never see the trail of hurt following,
Not hearing the cries.

My name is Bully.
I make myself strong,
No matter what.

Turning my eyes away,
To afraid to say,
I'm sorry.

Because that would be weak,
And I'm not weak.
No matter what.

Make up your mind.
I'm tired of waiting.
You think it's a game
Soon you'll realize
**It's not

How can I help you see,
When I ,myself, am blind.

Someday* I''ll wear a genuine smile,
but for *now,
I'll just wear this one.

Why do I cry?
I'm not sad.
It's because I feel empty.
But the tears prove I'm Not.

Happiness is not a choice.
Sometimes it's here.
Sometimes it's not.

I recently read a poem saying
Why can't the world be rid of emotions?
And I thought,
*Well, that would be boring.

Nobody...
Nobody wants...
Nobody want me...
Nobody wants me here...

I'll...
I'll just...
I'll just go...
I'll just go now...

Quiet calm in the night,
An owl fly's through the forest,
A mouse runs from death.

If only I could let you go,
Then maybe I could see.
Why I ever thought,
That you could mean so much to me.

You never even glanced my way,
But still, you stole my heart.
I know that we can never be,
But I still don't want to part.

I think of you each night and day,
Though I know you think of her.
And even though I get that,
It never fails to hurt.

But, now I must make it stop,
For you will never know.
How much I really loved you,
For today, I let you go.

"One good thing about music, when it hits you,
you feel no pain," Said Bob Marley once.

We are a society of addicts, not in the literal sense,
but in the sense that music is controlling our lives.

We tell ourselves that we are okay, We're fine
But we can't go a day without our headphone.

It's like music has inter weaved it's fingers into our brains,
As if letting go of it, would **** us right along with it.

Music is great for making us believe in things that aren't real.
It reaches into our minds and whispers to us.

Music, to me, is manipulative, it changes us,
It shows us how our lives could be.

Now, I'm not saying that I hate music,
That's not my point at all.

I'm just saying that maybe, just maybe,
Music isn't the answer for everything.

And, I know I will probably get hate for this,
But that alright.

Because, I understand what it does,
I understand the influence it has.

And, I'm not asking anybody to give it up,
Because that's not fair.

I'm just asking that sometimes,
Take the headphones off.

And Listen,
Listen to everything around you.

Instead of focusing on the music in your ears,
Listen for the music all around you.

Because that, to me, is the true music,
The music so pure, and so true.

The music of nature, the music of people,
Everything around you that makes a sound.

Listen to that and the maybe, just maybe,
You'll understand.

But, until then, just keep going,
Keep listening to what makes you happy.

Because if that what you need to make it through the day,
Then it was worth it.

Because really,
Who am I to tell you not to.

They say " You can't "
I say " I can "

They say " You'll never be enough "
I say " I've always been enough "

They say " You'll never add up to anything ''
I say " I'm here aren't I. "

You just have to remember that there will always be someone to criticize you.
You just have to stand up and say "No, I'm tired of what They say,this is what I say.

does it really matter what I write in this box?
if it never makes a difference?

does it really matter what I have to say?
if no one really cares?

does it matter if I  write one poem or a million?
if they don't really mean anything?

does it really matter at all?

No.

because I'm just another shadow, wanting to be in the light.

Can't breathe.
She's looking at me.
What do I do?

Can't move.
He's standing so close.
What do I do?

Can't talk.
She asked me something.
What do I say?

Can't sleep.
Tomorrow I'll have to do it again.
What will I do?

Can't eat.
He's staring right at me.
What do I do?

Can't Breathe.
My heart is going to **** me.
Oh well.

Society.
  Killing.
    ******.
      Slaughtering.
        Stabbing.
          Shaming.
Voices.
    Whispering.
        Chanting.
           Yelling.
             Screaming.
               Crying.
People.
  Desperate.
    Alone.
       Hurt.
         Separated.
            Angry.
America.
   Segregated.
    Spiteful.
      Poisonous.
        Murdered.
           Undignified.

I'm not very good at poetry,
or expressing myself.
I don't always say the right thing,
or anything at all.
Not everybody likes me,
or thinks about me.
My name isn't known by the world,
or reblogged all the time.
I'm not really the best at everything,
or anything really.

But, I'm me.
And to some people that's not good enough.
But, To me,
Its all I really have.

All I really have is myself.
I may not be famous.
I may not be rich.
I may not be a supermodel.
But I'm me.
And that's all I need.