I am the useless child,
Who can't seem to do
Anything right,
Whose actions are never
What you expect them to be

I am the selfish child,
Who's ignorant and insensitive
Who only cares about herself
Who makes you wonder
"Why are you alive?"

I am the unwanted child,
Who has no place to go
Abandoned for being friends
With the monster
They call "Depression".

I am a child,
Who constantly disappoint you
Who made you ask questions
"What did I do to have you as a daughter?"
Whom you can't accept for being imperfect.

I am your child,
And I've grown tired wanting to be loved
Maybe I'll find where I belong
Somewhere far from here
Maybe it's in the paradise they call "Death".

The simple thing we ask for in life are never what we get. We surround ourselves with objects, people and in the end get attached because we all want to belong somewhere. Individuals would rather surround themselves with their enemies than face the music....

We would rather befriend the very thing we hate because we simply cannot be alone.
We would rather stay in a broken home, at least it is a home.
We would rather say we have friends when we don't because in this life you can never find a person who understands.

We find only those who will look past our flaws.
We hate death because it has no feelings, what we feel its not hate but admiration and adoration,,, we don't want to feel.... Because nothing hurts more than rejection.

Nothing hurts than letting your guard down and having life give up on you.

Alone
That’s all I am
in this open empty state.
And exhausted.
                                  So fricking tired.
Physically,
mentally,
emotionally
exhausted.
     And the glass feels half empty.
Though the sky is so full;
I can’t help but feel alone.
Because no matter how much love
is handed to me
faked
for my benefit,
for their gain,
it’s nothing real.
There’s nothing gained
only lost.
One more broken piece
of myself
handed away.
               One more wasted day.
useless.
And wasteful.
But hopeful, at least.
Maybe…
      Am I even     progressing?
Or am I moving
backwards?
to the crap that used to be…?
I can hold myself up,
but after so long
my strength goes slack.
     because I know what I lack.
I feel so dang alone
          and can any of us
                                  really,
                    ­                       make it alone?

I’m not one for writing about things that are useful
Things that can shape the world
Things that can help someone get on by.

I’m not one for writing about things that are relevant
Because whenever I write
You seem to have that presence.
That kind of presence that tends to etch itself on to the letters written
That kind of presence that tends to draw itself on to paper whenever given
And I hate it.

Hate it because your existence is all I’ll ever think about
Whether I’m busy attending to my own needs
Alone with too many words screaming in my head
Or anywhere in between
Hate it because you are the only one that seems to make it right
That seems to quell the angriest of storms
That seems to bring out the sun when the clouds hide it away
That seems to continuously extend even when I’ve given up reaching
Hate it because I never loved the idea of love

You’d think with all the love poems I’ve written
About how lovely it would be to wake up to your horizon
About how lovely it would be to walk upon sandy material with sea breeze all around
About how lovely it would be with our fingers intertwined
Because we both know yours fits right in between mine
About how lovely it would be with just you and me
That I would somehow love being in love
That my heart grows fonder with every moment spent

But I don’t
Its reckless
Its Foolish
For even the wisest of people grew without a heart.
Because they knew in order to live without pain
They would wish the bonds untwine
For they do not want a “yours” and “mine”

Yet somehow in the midst of being a cold-hearted *****
You found a way to stay and not ditch.
I’m too afraid to admit how deeply in love I am
Because I’m too afraid of losing something I had no idea I had
So please,
Let me let you know,
That I’m not one to write about things that can throw a life line
About things that can get you to say “You’re mine.”
About things that can be of relevance at this time
I’m more about writing about how much of a useless romantic I’ve come to find

you are like a white crayon
valuable with superseding other colors
you show authority when no one else would

and for you, my white crayon
may i never stray away from objectives
and may you always be simply
a white crayon
useless in the eyes of some, but when used in a correct manner
you become infinite.