By. Lauren

There once was a time I could look into your eyes and actually see life.
Now it's just a fantasy.
No glimmer of hope not even of chance.
All I can see is death.
You are not gone from this world yet.
Where has your fun gone?
Once upon a time you enjoyed time.
Now all you see is black and white.
The minute hand never seems to move to you.
You do not hear the ticking.
Everything is frozen to you.
You do not see the play button.
Can I help you?
Just this once.

By. Lauren

That one slice can make a difference in your life.
That one second of release leads to two more of pain.
The once known freedom of the wind caught in your wings will soon become the feeling of blood dripping down you sleeves.
The once celebrated days of being clean will soon become the dreaded number of un satisfaction.
You will find yourself unable to count how many times on your fingers and toes as your body aches from those days.
You will find yourself in the days of regret viewing your scars.
Every last one tells it's own story.
As the scars fade the stories will linger.
Because on that day you started the tragedy that wrote your story.
Voices will begin to whisper when you hear that call over the intercom. Someone cared about your story. Sadly the whispers will outnumber the amount of care you receive that day as you enter the office with tears in your eyes.
Because that one second of release led to more than a lifetime of pain.
Every year on that day you will once again find yourself counting the days.
Even though those scars have faded.
Your mind still knows the tails of how you made it out alive. How you beat those demons. How you where your own knight in shining armor.

By. Lauren

My ears have engulfed more poetry than they've heard music.
They hear the beat in the words not the rhythm in the beat.
The words you write play a melody in my head before they are even read.
My eyes see poetry as a world waiting to be explored.
My eyes see words and read the beat.
Without poetry my mind is set ablaze.
My thoughts engulf me to the point I no longer feel without poetry.
Poetry keeps me sane.
Because poetry is a beat needing to be played.

By. Lauren

Little ears,
Be weary of what you hear.
The slightest whisper
Can change a
Life.
Little ears,
Stay warned
Rumors spread like wildfire.
As the blabbering sounds
Exit
Each little mouth.
Their tongues move too fast,
Little ears.
The rhythmic sounds
Flow out
Of
Their mouths
Faster
Than a  drip
Becomes
A leak.
Little ears,
Do not listen
For these
Few
Minutes
Could save your
Life.
Now,
Little ears,
Let it be known
The words you hear
Are
Boulders to your mind.
Every
Pop,
Crack,
Sizzle
You hear
Is
Another's battle to block out.
A word
Can change a life,
But
So can what you don't hear.
Little ears,
Stay strong
For
You are not
Alone.

By. Lauren

I have this problem.
When I have to hold the hand of someone who does not accept me they feel dead.
It's as if there is no blood going to their head.
I don't know if it is because I am nervous or if it's because they know who I am.
Their hands feel numb.
Lifeless,
If you're not gay,
I can tell by your hands.
I don't know why I have this problem
I just know it's always true.
When I hold your hand
I can tell you are gay
without a doubt.
You have life to you.
Blood in your veins.
A shimmer in your eyes.
And a smile on your face.