I remember the day you gave me the first set of red roses- you did it on New years because you always said Holidays were easier to remember-
I remember the feeling's I got-
Passion.
Excitement.
Anxiety of being treated with such love.

I remember the second time you gave me red roses- it was after we broke up for the third time- you promised we would work it out this time.
I remember the feeling's I got-
Sadness.
Love.
Hope.
Anxiety at thinking It wasn't going to get better.

I remember the last time you gave me flowers, my favorite daisies, you were moving across the country.
I remember the feelings I got-
Depression.
Lost.
Confusion.
Anxiety at knowing this was the last time we would ever have to fix us.

I don't blame you for retreating and hiding away.
I don't blame you for not wanting this to work out.
I do however blame you for making me feel worthless in the process.

I do blame you for the fact that I will forever question any man who gives me flowers and whether for not he is going to leave and never come back.
Anxiety.

Snow is not supposed to be blue.
But it is. Tangled
in her locks so blue that the seas become envious.
The hair of the girl I thought I loved when I
thought I knew what love is.
But I don’t think that anyone knows what love is. We
hope and pray that the phrases that we string together with
flowers and promises can represent this idea that we
dream
about grasping in our trembling fingers since the day we came into this world
kicking and screaming.
We’ve been trying to figure out how to feel love and tackling the freezing fear of,
“What if I never find it?”
As if love is inside the treasure chest buried beneath the world,
Accessible to those who can find the map and find the spot marked with an X.

X is such an ugly sound.

It’s the sound of listening to her argue with her ex-boyfriend about their ex-relationship
And about the ex-problems that they had in their past ex-together and
it’s listening to her slamming the door to her bedroom in a tantrum because
sometimes love is not enough.
But if love is not enough, what is?
And what about love is not enough and can it be fixed and
mended like your mother kissing your knee after you fell outside
playing tag
with the neighbor girl with hair so blue
you swear that the gods made it from a summer sky itself?
If we are too young to understand love at thirteen when
your crush kisses you in the darkened gymnasium at the middle school dance then
how can we know that love is what we feel at six years old for the
fathers when they play hide-and-seek in the yard with us and
know that there is an absence of love for the
mothers that turn us aside and build fences between us
are those fences there to keep me out or to keep her and her anger in?
So, logically, if we don’t know love at six or thirteen then
when do we learn what love can be and how do we learn what love is?
Is it trial and error where we have to wait for “the one”
or is it just a guessing game, a gamble, and
hope that the person that you have so many
similar interests and hobbies and passions and beliefs and feelings with is
a person that you are in love with?
So do I love the girl beside me
sprawled out in the morning snow?
With hair so blue that the seas become envious?
No.
After all, how can I?
I don’t even know what love is.

Why do I wake up in the morning?
A question I ponder occasionally.
If not for the morning daze and slow turning gears within my brain,
I’d ponder it every morning.
Nonetheless, this question,
“Why do I wake up every morning?”
Stays on my mind.
If you’re reading this expecting some words of wisdom,
A pivotal string of words to set you on the right path,
Then I’m sorry,
You best keep searching.
Truth be told,
I have no clue why I wake up every morning.
Now, don’t misunderstand,
I’m not a man lacking a passion,
Lost in the world,
Or spiraling down into a hole of despair.
I’m simple a man that has come to a realization.
A realization that I’m walking down a path with no defined destination.
I wake up to prepare for work or school,
Trekking through a day of daydreaming and battling my inner vices within the confines of my mind.
Why do I do this?
Why bother?
What’s my motivation to continue with my days?
Seems I wake up every morning to question more of my reality.
Seems I wake up every morning to just keep walking down this limited and undefined path
Because truth be told,
I don’t know why I wake up in the morning.

Words trapped in a web of deceit,
Ready to be eaten by a hateful society.
Quick on their feet, so fast to judge;
And I sit and I think,
What should I do to stay true?
But also avoid the painful realities
That lie before me.
How do I find a new way to better days?
The web is strong,
But it's not indestructible.

i am a cloud that's been forced
into a shape and labeled "girl"
and it doesn't. feel. right.

i'm not supposed to be in this body
this soul doesn't fit in any skin
i was a ghost in another life
someday i will be again

i could just be a black cloud
i could just float around whispering
to kids who feel trapped
like i did.

i could enfold them
let them take rest
give them a minute away from this mess.
but i'm stuck
here, and so are the words in my throat.