When he calls again,
Do Not pick up the phone,
do not wonder about lips that judge
ignorant of the fines he owes.

When he calls again,
Do Not throw the phone,
you have ran as far as runaway thoughts,
a shattered screen won't carry you further.

When he calls again,
Do Not scream at the ringtone,
the cacophony of broken sounds
will not chip away at the memory of his sins.

When he calls again,
when he begs for forgiveness,
DO (Not) tell this manchild that
to forgive is mercy,  
and only God grants mercy.

Growing old is gracefully (or not)
accepting the passage of time.
Generally speaking,
you have no choice.

Growing up is being slapped
in the face with the understanding
that you must be the hero
you have been waiting on
your entire life.

Growing up and growing old -
there's a difference,
but both will break your heart.

Bruised battered and delayed
The cage was open
But the bird stayed

Her words were beautiful
She spoke in a soft tone,
barely a whisper
She wrote about memories, dreams, laughs
and when he kissed her.

She didn’t have control over the pencil,
it just wrote.
and wrote.
and wrote.
Maybe the words would become songs with a beautiful note.

“Another boy” “I suppose”
They have seen more than her,
but not how her spirits rose.

Who did she want? What and when?
She wanted him, to love and then.
She sat there watching couples with their lover.

She wrote the truth that no one liked
but that’s what she did best,
wrote what no one would write.

Sometimes they were simple,
sometimes they rhymed
She wrote on her own will and time
They may not think it, but the strings of the heart she would pull
And just like her,
Her words were beautiful.

I need to scream
But can't seem to get these words out
It's hard to breathe
And I can't seem to shake this doubt
I'm feeling weak
My pain still lives within this pencil
Hard to speak
But I hope I can Repent still

It's hard to see
Heavy rain's falling from the clouds
It's hard to hear
With this thunder shouting loud
A scattered Breeze
Keeps hitting like a Knock
A steady Beat
Like ticking from the Clock

A torn up sheet
Still haunts me by the lamp
An Awful read
With its envelope and stamp
Hard to believe
The contents of your letter
Our mother's gone
When just last week you said that she felt better

How can it be
A complication with her heart
Wish it was me
This is tearing me apart
A horrid dream
I'm swallowed up by fear
Mamma don't go
Because I still need you here

They ask me who I want to be
I ask them what is wrong with me?
They say to be like others are
You can't become a faulty star
There's no way that you'll get that far
Be a doctor, be a nurse
Be a dentist, drive a hearse
A poet? please, you can't do worse
You can't make money just with verse

They ask me how I sympathize
With tear-stained faces, bloodshot eyes
Those who struggle with goodbyes
And quiet ones who analyze
Or far too much, apologize
They ask me how I am so wise

I say that I just talk to them
Find the lovely, hidden gem
But first, I say, I don't condemn
You are you and I am me
That is all we have to be
If we strive to be much more
We fight our own internal war
Don't be something for another's sake
Learn to dream when you're awake
Remember you're your own snowflake

They ask me
What makes you happy?
I answer short of patience
And just a little snappy

I say that sometimes nothing can
Like leaping out of fire
Just to land in the pan
I feel just as permanent
As lines in the sand
Hurting on the inside
I just don't understand

And other times I feel fine
As if the sun remembered
How to shine
It's like depression just forgot
How to poison every thought
Or pull my fragile heartstrings taut
And shatter every dream I sought

But I don't say this all out loud
In front of one big jeering crowd
Or with friends or all alone
Or even when I'm safe at home
I look into their eyes and say
Don't worry, friend, I'll be okay

He's too weak to cry, unable to try he found himself slowly becoming immune to his emotions. With his lungs incapable of letting the air out, and the pain buried within him unable to turn into tears, he bled in silence because he was too weak to cry. He wants to rip out his hair and scream the bottle of emotions filled to the brim... So much it pours like a stream. In those seizing moments his soul aches, his heart breaks raked with pain, despite writing poems of love, he became unable to feel. He looses the very emotions that made him who he was because he was too weak to feel.

She came to me broken,
shattered like a priceless vase,
she was whitering away right before my eyes,
like a long lost puppy without a home,
she said she fell in love,
we found each other in darkness,
with our hands held out we found our way,
but little did I know that her love was rotting day after day,
even though when I found her I was also half dead,
I ripped myself apart to make her whole again,
I loved her more than love thought possible,
but it was never enough,
she threw me away,
cast aside where I belong,
a worthless love,
now I lay broken,
now I lay dead