It gets lonely.
But loneliness is ok.
Loneliness is where we find ourselves.
Where we learn who we are.
But when the loneliness gets bad.
I simply think to myself.
There's someone out there.
Who is just as lonely as me.
Things Left UnsaidSo many things were left unsaid.
I never got the chance to talk.
You were always yelling at me.
You talked me into things.
You made me do things.
You tricked me.
You made promises.
And never kept any.
And I trusted you.
With everything I was.
But the girl you knew is gone.
She grew up.
She got stronger.
She made friends.
Something you never where.
Friends don't use each other.
She could have cried.
She could have begged.
For you to stay.
But she didn't.
Something changed that day.
She became independent.
She doesn't need you anymore.
But you seem miserable.
Do you regret leaving?
Do you miss me?
Do you miss us?
You had your chance.
And threw it away.
Now I'm gone.
Now I'm free.
Part 1PART 1
I could feel the warm salt water splashing against my legs and belly as I ran. It was exhilarating. I loved the feeling of the sand between my toes and the wind in my fur. Which made me just want to run more. The warmth of the sun started to fade as it set. A small cliff came into view so I set of towards it. I climbed the damp, smooth rock as the waves crashed around it.
My dad used to bring me here when I was just a pup. He used to tell me that this was the most magical place. The sound of the waves and seagulls was so soothing. Like a sweet symphony. I would come here and find him howling though I could never tell what or who he was howling for. This was his place. Our place. That is until he left.
A world of porcelain peopleWe live in
a world full
is a living
day and age:
pick up your
at daybreak and
drape it over the
we are all
eyes open but
we are all pretty porcelain people
living in a pretty porcelain world
but our masks
(and reveal the ugly truth)
stardust. (you're beautiful)he's
out of orbit -
dust in his
veins rise and
each word that
drips and pools
defined like the
ribcage of a
baby bird, his
were not made for
this earth but
for the stars.
some days he
fades in and
out of reality like
he never really
wanted to be there
on those days
i just think
my god, you really don't
realise how amazing you are.
DisappearSometimes, when I'm sad
I remember that one time,
All I had to worry about was
If the bubbles I had blown, were about to
Sometimes, when I'm sad
I remember that one time,
I began to worry about the day that
My childhood would simply
Sometimes, when I'm sad
I remember that some day,
When I'm sitting with my husband
In the old old house... my days will simply
And that day,
The day when my heartbeat is
The day when my breath
Truly gets taken away.
That's the day
When my worries, my concerns, my fears...
Little GirlThere sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she sits on the ground
Keeping their distance and letting her drown
In her own worries and things she won't tell
Waiting for her mind to kill her as well.
LightLight pooled in the floes of her flesh
the warm tone of polluted amber
it ran down the window,
the stream broken in places by silhouettes
and other such distractions
it spilled, soundless
and flooded silken sheets
setting adrift the skin and breath and whispers of her
to steal away into the polluted dark
her sighs overflowed, sonorous
pouring into the amber and black
the constellations dotted along her
disrupted in places by the shadows of trees
and other such poetry
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
and one fall will not kill you.
i have never told you about the way
i can feel my pulse skitter to a stop
in my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear?
Depression isn’t true!
Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...
Just maybe not for you.
To the Struggling ChristiansMy cross broke the other day,
snapped off of the chain,
and nearly rolled away.
I caught it in my hands,
though it nearly slipped through
like tiny grains of sand
I'm a college student.
I attend a public school,
Nine hours away from home
and my faith too.
There's no emphasis on Catholicism,
no morning prayers through the Saints.
No “Our Father” to guide me,
no Mary to keep me through the day.
In fact it's the opposite,
grace comes in the form of drugs.
The new morning prayers
are deadly smoke to lungs.
I've never had a problem with Sexuality,
you know me.
You can tell this by looking through my old poetry.
Though what I cannot stand
is when you feel the need,
to invalidate one's Christianity
because of your sexuality.
They're giving me reasons not to believe,
in long list like shopping recipes.
Telling me what I already know,
begging me to tell God to go.
It's not easy to keep your faith,
when people are giving you reasons
to throw it away.
Though I'm lucky I sup
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:
I did not ask to be birthed
Into a cycle of stagnation.
I did not ask to be told,
That my dreams are achievable;
Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.
I did not ask for a failing system,
Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.
Nodding eagerly at one another,
As they wait for an inevitable death.
This I did not ask for,
And I am certain that most of you did not either.
But it is for that reason,
And for that reason alone, I say:
That it is up to us,
We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,
To create a system that is better,
Than the bitter shackles of the past.
Justice is what I long for.
Justice for MY people.