i guess friends to me
are the people i trust enough
to not ask me who i really am

i don't wear my heart on my sleeve,
or beat around the bush.
i don't let you fool me,
or pretend i like you when i don't.
i don't ask your favorite color,
or hug you everyday.
knowing this now,
will you still say you love me,
each and every night?
knowing this
will you still hold the girl,
who keeps her heart in a locked box,
in the fear of it being broken?
knowing this,
would you still hug the girl,
who hides her secrets deep,
in fear of letting too much out?
knowing this,
will you still truly love me,
the way i always thought you did before?

i have these different people,
that all live inside of me.
and i wait and wait for the day when just one does.
when i have one heart,
the same wishes,
one vision,
all hope,
but today several still interchange everyday.
i can't be an author, an athlete, and an admirer of botanists.
i can only be an athlete for an hour
then at night, an author,
and from 12-2 an admirer.
when will the many people combine so i can just be one?
so i can be all.
so i can finally be all of me,
all at once.

only 5 words,
yet 5 thousand couldn't begin to explain.
the intent of these words is to remind someone,
but i think really we are looking for something else.
reassurance i presume.
so, when there is no response,
one tries to hide the brokenness they feel inside.
this feeling is technically irrelevant,
because one knows it means nothing,
but some humans have the tendency
to overthink all things in their life.
take me for example,
taking the time to write this poem

i am stuck here.
wrapped in the stupidity of the unforgiving world.
i grasp on to every word, laced with hope,
and i hide things inside me to keep myself from crumbling.
my happiness radiates like a bright ray of sunshine,
and my sadness falls into the shadows, thankfully unnoticed.
i live in this world to be here.
i happily eat up all inspiration
and hope to be the bright blue of somebodies orange filled day.
my life like the seasons,
i am unsure of how long it will last,
and winter always turns into spring eventually,
but creatures die in the winter
and i'll die too one day

i'm not exactly sure why i hide certain parts of myself from some people.
i guess i'm just giving myself a secret to keep.
it keeps me sane,
and makes me feel like i still know something about myself
that the world doesn't have to.
they always figure it out though...

i fall recklessly out of reality
as quickly as i face plant into it,
stuck somewhere between truth
and my constant dreaming.
oh why? i ask my large imagination
do i constantly let you wander?
it leads me to dangerous tunnels of regret
where i am trapped in the black nothingness
of pain i have unsuccessfully tried to heal
"keep it simple" he orders
and as true as i know it is
i can't bring myself to listen to his words
so once again i lay here
overthinking every small part of my messy life
once again relying on a blank page
to cure my constant thought build up
that digs and scratches from inside me