i want to write something people can resonate with.
for most of my life, i spent hours in book that i cried with or laughed to.
but now it is my turn.
i want to write for the ones with swollen hearts that are full of love,
i want to write something for the kids who were never enough,
for those spend hours sitting in the shower because the water frowns out the sounds of their tears,
i want to write something for the ones who have spent nights upon nights dreaming of ways to leave this world,
i want to write something for those finding bliss in baggies and hope in a pill
for the children who have found companionship in literary hero’s,
for the ones who twist words and rhymes,
the ones who for countless hours have manipulated vowel sounds and consonant endings.
i want to write for the ones who still believe in the magic of pixie dust,
for the ones who’s pixie dust only lives in hard bound books and in aisles of forgotten book stores.
i want to write something for those who appreciate the weird and find comfort in the uncommon.
i want to write for those fighting every day for that loaf of bread in the grocery store.
i want to write something people can resonate with.
because i’ve been there
so here it is,
here’s to you.

It may be news to some
That I am not that dumb
You say im not the brightest
But you havent even the slightest
The words from your mouth can deceive
But most find them hard to believe
Your words are always sour
You often abuse your power
But at least I can say
That I am not old and gray

if you’ve seen him.
you’d know,
nothing gold can stay
and this is why,
i can’t wait for the day,
where you turn foe
so i can love you,
endlessly

the hands of the ghost of the future
rest their palms on my shoulders
i’m startled but i’m not surprised
because there’s nothing there
i’ve been eating nothing
i’ve been acting as if there’s something left for me
but there’s only length
i’m a
no future
ice chewer

Please stop calling me nice.
I am not nice.
I will not be contained to a single word,
When my bones are built from metaphors
And my lips leak similes.
I am a fireball of emotion, splitting trees and men in two with my passion for my art.
I am a slurry of terror, creeping up on you at night that curls your toes right before you fall asleep.
I am not nice, I am anything but
I am alive with the summer heat that burns in my eyes and the sunlight that flows through my ribcage.
I am a warrior, a fighter, a solider in disguise.
I am the moon that hides it face in the day, only to showcase it's purity in the night.
I am the stiff wind that knocks the shallow air out of your lungs on a cold, January morning.
I am the tick, tick, tick of the buzzer right before its majestic song.
I am the obscene, the extraordinary, the menacing things in life.
I am not confined by a single word.
I
am
not
nice.

It's 5:25 pm and I am sitting in class,
Alone.
I am daydreaming of 11:27 pm when I'll be able to hear your low voice, singing me to sleep with your soothing words.
I am longing for yesterdays conversations and last month's visit when you cradled me in your arms.
I am craving the warmth of your skin against mine when I am shaking out in the cold.
I am listening to a lesson about god knows what,
But I am sitting here, unable to shake your firm grasp over me.
I've written a lot about you.
You're the only one I want to be thinking about
At 5:25 pm when I am sitting in class,
Alone.

I found your bracelet in my underwear drawer.
I put it there because I wanted it to be surrounded by delicate things,
And it reminded me of the way you pushed back that blue hair
With one fell swoop.
It reminded me of the gentle way you'd wrap me
In your arms and whisper in my cold ears,
"You're my best friend."
It reminded me of the way you so softly laid in that tub,
Porcelain skin shining and glassy doll eyes.
You were delicate.
Like the way those soft pin ****** lined your fleshy skin
I wanted what was left of your delicacy,
To be surrounded by beauty.
Because beauty is only found in pictures now
And delicacy is only how you live inside my chest.