The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I'm so sick
Of saviors
Because saviors get tired
They get tired of making you smile
They get tired of listening to you cry
They get tired of you
And eventually scream
"You're too much"
I'm sick of men preying on vulnerability
Becoming a woman's center
Making him her happy place
Confusing her heart
Because baby,
Saviors get tired
And they stop caring
They stop calling when you need them
And they give up
And let go
And leave you broken again
Because
Saviors aren't saviors at all
They fake a healing ceremony
And then they leave
And you're worse off than the start
Saviors are fake *******
Cowardly men
Who have no control over their hormones

I'm so sick of saviors
Just leave me be

You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken

Who knew
She'd be so influential
That she'd trap you
That she'd make me evil
In your eyes
She's probably made you delete my pictures
Throw away my gifts
And she's probably
Gripped her claws
Into every fond memory of me

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

I feel sad today
Morbid
Do I have anything to offer
I think of everything you said about me
How you broke my trust
I hate me
So much