Life is like a journey,
That’s what they always say.
Like a winding path you draw yourself,
Whichever direction you sway.
I may be comfortable in my shoes,
But not in my own skin.
Happy where I am,
But not where I have been.
Life is like the blowing wind,
Sometimes it will knock me down.
But life is like the sun, as well,
It will always come around.
I’ve met new people
I’ve lost old friends,
I’ve made lifelong memories,
I will tie up loose ends.
People fall in love,
Maybe time or two,
And if they are lucky,
They will find someone like you.
For the one that always cares
The one who I call mine,
I could look into your eyes for hours.
“Forever” isn’t enough time.
I will hold your hand forever,
To your heart I will stay true
Because everything I thought I had lost,
I have now and forever in you.

From such a young age,
We are taught to give….
And I’ve always wondered,
What does it mean?

“Giving” might be giving gifts to friends.
Is a shiny, paper-covered box
With a blue ribbon and bow
How I’m supposed to say I care?

Is “giving” looking in my wallet
For some spare change during church,
So I have something to show for
When the plate is passed to me?

I’ve discovered, sometimes “giving”
Was when I let my sister sit shotgun
Just to hear mom and her argue while
I’m passing time alone in the backseat.

After all these confused years,
Can I even say what “giving” is?

I have no pretty wrapping paper.
I have no money to put on the plate.
I’m too old to argue about the front seat.

I guess “giving” is when I see the old man
Struggling with that door to the flower shop,
And opening it for him while he grins
From underneath his golfing cap.

Maybe “giving” is asking the young mother
With loads of bags, and kids,
At the corner grocery store
If she would like any help today.

“Giving” is probably handing that woman
Without a home or even a car
Some cash, or maybe some food,
Because she needs anything she can get.

“Giving” is not what this world is these days.
People have forgotten how to share.
See, the problem with this “giving,”
Is that nobody gives a **** anymore.

An unwritten story
That will never have words.
A sentence waiting to be spoken
That is never going to be heard.
A quick glance in your eyes,
Just as swiftly, looking away.
Talking to you every day, but
Still not knowing what to say.
Alone time together?
We’re just friends, so it’s fine.
What are you thinking?
That you want to be mine?
I hate that you say you’re imperfect,
Because you’re everything to me.
What more could I love in a person?
What is it that you can’t see?
Hearing your ridiculous laugh
Always brightens up my day.
I’m shutting out these thoughts, though,
Because they’re useless, anyway.
We’ll never be together
You’ll never feel the same.
When I’m gone in August,
You’ll probably forget my name.
Until then, I’ll catch stars in your eyes
Only when you cannot see.
I will write some rhymes and poems
About what could never be.

When he gazes at me,
I am a puddle that has melted
To the ground
For his stare is so intense
It could break even the strongest steel.

He tells me jokes every morning.
Just to see me smile
Just to make me laugh
Before we begin our days.

We have these deep conversations
That nobody else could get me to speak.
He knows that I keep myself held high
He knows that sometimes, I just need
To break.

He understands where I am coming from,
But he won’t always let me win.
He knows when his argument is valid.
Although he hates to fight,
He knows how to.

He holds me every night,
My hands close,
But my heart closer,
And whispers in my ear how much he loves me.
Not because he needs to.
Because he wants to.

I trust him.
And I don’t trust anybody.
He is completely honest with me,
Just as I am with him.
And for once,
Just this once,
I believe him.

Home,
I’m going home,
Words I hear all the time.
Words that I envy,
Syllabic distress…
Jealousy.
What is home?
For you, it’s the place
You’ve lived for eighteen years.
The place where both parents
Welcome you with open arms.
Laughter
Smiles
Hugs
Kisses
That’s not my life.

What is home?
The place where I moved
When I was thirteen?
A brown shingled roof that hides
Hurt, divorce, a mixed family
That will never get along?
Screaming, yelling, fighting,
Something different every time, and
They wonder why I want to leave

Everyday.
Every ******* day.
I have to have this conversation
with you.

About what an idiot you are.
How ******* pretentious you are
to think you could ever have him.
Do you think he even notices you breathe?

Probably not.
Maybe you should try not to
That might get someone's attention
you pathetic little piece of worthlessness.
You should be ashamed of yourself.  

How arrogant can you be?
To think you would ever be considered
worthy of his time and attention.
He is everything you lack.
Everything you will never be.
You are a monster.
He is everything that is good.

It amazes me that even though
you know you don't have a chance in hell
you still make up these
little fantasies in you head.
You still write poetry about it.
You mind keeps convincing yourself it isn't so
but your idiot heart won't let you forget.

It's a little cute.
How impossibly naive you are.
It's time to end this little charade
and just give up.

You could turn off your feelings.
Or you could just stop thinking about it.
Or you could really show you care
and **** yourself.
Stop the embarrassment.
End the nuisance.
But suicide would be pretty pointless since
you are already dead.

Everyday.
Every ******* day.
I have to have this conversation
in my head about you.

I want to scream it so loud
that you can't help but hear it.
But the truth is, I know
you already know I'm right.

So I stop talking.
I look away from the mirror,
away from my reflection
and continue with my day.
Praying I take the advice.

*******.

That's the first word that came to mind
when I met you.
"What an *******. I want nothing to do with you."
It's funny how things change, huh?
Not the you being an ******* part.
That's still true.
But now all I want
Is to be around you.

Inconvenient
Why are feelings so inconvenient?
My luck, I guess.
That's what I deserve for playing make believe.
For all of those time I fell into a daydream
Where we love each other
and everything is alright.
We'd be together and my fears
of being alone would be gone.
I'd get to wake up in the morning
next to your warm body
your head on my chest
listening to my heart saying thank you
for being alive.

Dreaming
I like dreaming.
A dream is like a blank canvas.
When you drift away,
you arrive to a giant mass of white
getting to stab at it with your brush
until it fills with color.
I love when I get to paint.
There is always
sunshine
rainbows
and you.

Reality
I wake up and get slapped in the face by reality
I'm forced to look in the mirror
And see everything I've been afraid of.
Nothing will happen. With us.
You've got your eyes set on someone else.
And I've got mine set on the softness in your eyes.

The fact that I'll never have you
is what I've come to accept.
It's what I've come to know.

But that can't numb the feeling
of tiny knives dancing around a fire
burning in my belly
every time I see your face.
It doesn't dim the light I see
when I work up the courage
to look you in the eye.
It doesn't stop me from wanting
to wrap myself in your laugh
and just melt.

From wanting to walk in front of you
and shield you from the
hate
ignorance
and dagger-like words
being thrown your way.
From wanting to walk behind you
and catch all of the pieces
when someone crashes through
that beautiful puzzle
called your mind.
From wanting to walk beside you
our fingers intertwined
with a promise of never letting go.

Always
I'll always have a place
in my heart for you.
For all of the moments
when you chased away the rain clouds
on my stormiest days.
The way your shining smile
never fails to create
a speck of beauty
against a dark silhouette of ugliness.

Instead, I'll just dream
and hope I never wake up.

Just breathe.

That's what people tell me.
Angry? Just breathe.
Emotional? Just breathe.
Sad? Just breathe.
Breathing will relieve you.
But what if breathing is what you're most afraid of?

What if breathing feels like a million lit cigarettes
dancing a tango all over your body?
What if breathing feels worse than not?
The most basic act you need to perform
to stay alive is what gives you a longing to die.
Ironic, huh?

Deal with it.
Things could be worse.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

As much as people would like to think
I'm doing this for attention, I'm not.
I would never put myself through this
for a few minutes of spotlight.
I wish I didn't have to give myself a pep talk
every morning just to walk out the door
because I'm too ashamed of people looking at me
and seeing what I see.  

As much as people would like to think
I feel sorry for myself, I don't.
I feel sorry for the friends that choose to stand by me
wanting to take away my hurt but not knowing how
because I'm too arrogant to accept their help.
I feel sorry for my mother whose own sadness
I've failed to find an answer to.
I feel sorry for both of my parents,
because they live in such small minds that
being my true self would be too much
and crush them.

As much as people would like to think
I should just deal with it, I can't.
Maybe I don't know how.
Maybe it's a puzzle I can't find the pieces for.
Maybe deep down I'm just selfish.
Maybe I let myself get this way.
Maybe I like feeling the pain.
Maybe I'm scared of what I'd feel instead.

Maybe I wish I wasn't such a coward.
Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to let
the shiny sharp silver take the ride down the river
of my arms and watch all of my disappointments
and failures and ugliness and mistakes
drip from my skin to the concrete.

Maybe I'll deal with it.
Maybe I'll stop being selfish.
Maybe I can find the strength
to muster up a weak smile,
and fool everyone.

Maybe I'll just breathe.