Future YouI would like you to meet someone.Say hello toFuture You.Future YouSmiles and laughs.They are healthyAnd wealthyIn love and joy.Future YouCan take on the world,Sings along to every song,Is right where they belong;They just wish thatAll along,You knew it would be okay.Future YouHas so much to say,About how they gotTo be this way;But the main thing is‘Thank you’ forCarrying onDay after day.Future YouHas a life,A love,A light,And they say;‘Trust me,Everything will beAlright’.Future YouLoves themselvesAnd theyLove youAnd,One day,You willToo.
RespectRespect is somethingWe are all owedUntil we don’t deserve it.Be respectful of other people,And they’ll respect you.Respect everyone, regardlessOf their point of view.There’s a differenceBetween bullyingAnd ‘freedom of speech’,Of which I’m pretty sureSilencing others with hateWould be considered a breach.You’re not a little kid.You’re above bullyingAnd pushing and shoving;Life is too short -It should be spentRespecting and loving.
HauntedI see her there withCoal dust carvedInto the icy skinUnder her eyes,And on her lipsDance a chorusOf bitter lies.A skeletal hand of smokeClaws at my neckUntil I bleed;She tells me that the painIs just what I need.Her pupilsAre supernovas;Dying stars,And her bloodZooms in her veinsLike speeding cars.She looks at meAnd sneersAt what I am.She’s a snake,A liar,In the guiseOf a lamb.‘What happened to us?’She giggles,A ghostOf what I used to be.I reply;‘I may be you,But you are not me.’The sun comes up:New day.Yesterday is goneBut see it this way;The past is part of the futureBut the future isn’t the past.You choose which bits go,You choose which bits last.
The Kind of PersonI’m the kind of personWho would kill to rememberBut would die to forget;Who has done awful thingsBut finds solace in regret.I’m the kind of personWho doesn’t like peopleBut is desperate for friends;Who loves new beginningsBut fears oncoming ends.I’m the kind of personWho aches to be lovedBut knows love is a lie;Who wants to feel aliveBut is longing to die.I’m the kind of personWho dreams of a futureBut is stuck in the past;Who always plays to winBut is eternally last.I'm the kind of personWho smiles at the sunBut is burning with cold;Who wants to stay youngBut is already too old.I’m the kind of personWho expects the worstBut tries to keep hope;Who is good with a bladeBut will end it with rope.
Past Tense BluesWasesAre painful,So are weres;And it's the becausesThat make them feelThat much worse.
On WritingWrite for todayAnd like it’s allThat’ll be left of youTomorrow.Never write for popularity.Write with clarity, but‘Don’t make everything said’.Write a million things;An ode to the voiceInside your head,An elegy for the living,A carpe diem for the dead.Write to tellPeople goingThrough hell,To just keepGoing;They’ll find a way out.Don’t write for approval,Or judgement;That way misery lies.Poetry can’t be judged,Not properly –It’s subjective,Different toDifferent eyes.Write for yourself;Doesn’t matter if it’sGood enough forAnyone else.You’ll never be Shakespeare.But he’d neverHave been you;Pour your heart into it,That’s the bestThat you can do.
Anything You WantI could write you a sonnetBut, well, I’m no poet.Fourteen lines of words,That only mean as muchAs you believe they doCannot describeMy love for you.I could sing you a song,But, no, that’s all wrong.Someone else’s words,Or even my own,Cannot graspHow you makeMe gasp.I could draw you a portrait,But, no, wait,Art isn’t my forte.And besides,No pencil could showExactly howYour eyes glow.I could take you away,But, no, we could just lay,Here for forever.And no vistaCould ever compareTo yourStunning stare.I could give you my heart,But, no, let’s not startOn how bad a giftThat would be.Let me just say,My dear, today,I love you, just how you are.
To My SisterYou dress like a Disney Princess,And play with pretty dolls;Your laughter warms our hearts,Your smile lifts our souls.You stumble when you walk,And you can’t say my name;You dance to invisible music,Everyone says we’re the same.You have curly blonde hair,And big brown eyes;A smiling flower of a face,And chubby baby thighs.You will grow to be big,And you will change;You’ll learn the world’s scary,As much as it is strange.If I could give you one tip,And know that you’d follow it,It’d be: be who you are,Live like there’s no tomorrow.Don’t strive for beauty,Don’t live for lies;Find beauty in living andKeep putting beauty intoOther people’s lives.
To See You AgainI’d swallow bleach just to see you again.I’d drown in blood and choke on death,I’d release my dying breathAll to see you again.I’d swing from a rope to see you again.I’d let go and join the black sky,I’d scream, scream until I dieAll to see you again.I’d down a storm of pills to see you again.I’d rewire my veins and run lights,I’d pick unwinnable fightsAll to see you again.I’d embrace red flames to see you again.I’d play in roads and with knives too,I’d kiss guns like I kissed you;I’d have to,To see you again.
Those Green Eyes (Or: Don't Lie to Your Kid)Those green eyes -The green of joyThe green of hopeThe green of love and acceptance -Were always full of lies.They first lied when I said,After a nightmare at four amWhen I was too small to reach a light switch,“Will you ever leave me?”And those eyes said,“No.”So,Why did those green eyesShut when I needed them most?"Are you okay?"“I’m fine.”Every lieWould be a red lineOf poetryThat I would etch into myselfGiven time."What’s wrong?"Those green eyes melted.“I’m fine.”Those green eyes did shineAnd I knew what it was -I was young, not stupid -But I indulged the lie,For those green eyes."Will it get better?"I asked one sunny SaturdayAt ten in the morningAnd those green eyes looked away;“Of course.”“And you’ll be here forever?”There were no words.I made up my own affirmative.Those green eyes -Emeralds -ShatteredWhen they sawHow I’d rubbed myself rawW
It Isn't BeautifulI used to cut myself.Some of the marks faded,But some stayedAnd now I’m forever jaded.People have kissed my scars,Others have turned awayBut here is what I have to say;It isn’t beautiful.When it hurts to walkBecause your thighs are bleeding,When you can’t talkAbout the help you’re needing;It isn’t beautiful.When it’s boiling outsideBut you have to wear sleevesBecause of your bloody littleReprieves;It isn’t beautiful.When your friendsAre scared of you,For you,Of the things you do;It isn’t beautiful.When you feel so worthless,So down and out,Used up and empty,And all you do is shoutBut nobody hears,Because you silence itWith sleeves;It isn’t beautiful.When they find outAnd you see how much,How deeply they careAnd they hate themselvesFor not being aware;It isn’t beautiful.When they take it away,And monitor youAnd you’re itching all over,Desperate for it,For one last hitAnd you
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,"You are what you eat."But hearing that sole sentenceallowed me to finally understandwhy I amwhat I am:Nothing.
Summertime (For the Quiet Kids)People think I’m lonely,People think I’m sad.I’ve been called lowly,I’ve been called mad.There are worse thingsI could be than quiet,There are more harmfulThings I could do,Just because I’m different,Doesn’t mean I’m not right too.Books are my buddies,My four walls are my friends.Green Day are my preachers,AC/DC are my teachers,Dancing out of my speakers.I talk with my penAnd I sing from the soul,Sometimes it’s diamond bright,Others, it’s black as coal.Summer is here,I can feel itSweating into my pores,And whilst some might go for beaches,I go for so-called bores.So when you see someone,Nose in a book,With a faraway look,Don’t pity them;For they are in their own kind of sunshine.
.and this beating in my chestmight just be the banging of someonetrying to break free.
Who are you?I am a girl who loves rainy days.And staying home.Reading and writing alone.I know it's quiet,But that's the way I like it.I am the kind of girl,Who doesn't like being the center of attention.Who prefers shadows.And doors instead of windows.So you can't see through,To me.I don't want you to see,Who I really am.I am the kind of girl,Who may have grown up too fast.And gets stuck in the past.Wondering what I could've done.To change things.I am the kind of girl,Who questions every inch of the world.Who holds a thousand words.But will only speak a few.Because I am scared of you,And what you'll think of me.If I share an opinion.And you think differently.I am so many different things,So many different girls.Some scare the heck out of me.And others are people I wish I could be.Some are quiet,Some are loud.Some are insecure,Some are proud.I am not sure who I am.I am just a mess.Under stress.Trying maybe a bit too hard to impress,My peers.And conquer all of
Bitter LifeI'm calling out loudly,But they look past, proudly.My sober, bitter wordsFall on deaf ears, unheard.I'm falling down fast,This breath may be my last.This hurts, and I'm dying,But no one is crying.
Foolish...You can't undothe damage done-You can't relivethose lonely years-You can't resuscitatesomeone who haslong ago since drowned...And you cannot menda broken heartwith the useof a simple "I'm sorry."
I am a MouseI am a mouse.I am quiet, I am nothing.I am a book that nobody has read.I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
LungsMaybe ifour lungsexhaled moneyinstead ofcarbon dioxide,we'd valuelifea little more(or maybe we'd just go broke).
CobwebsThere arepartsof my mindthat aregrowing cobwebs,would you liketo be the oneto dust them off?
AlcoholicYour tux is the colorof a coal miner’s faceafter a long, hard day of work:something you’ve neverhad to experienceYet you talk as thoughyou’re just as worn out;your trivial chit-chatis turning syrupy with every sip,although your sentencesaren’t getting any sweeterAnd you grab another glassof the effervescent liquid,hoping the sea of black will blend together,and it will be dark enoughfor you to fall asleepAnd as you walk tipsily to the bathroom,the overpaid opera singerbelts her last high note- a bit too high;your crystal glass shattersinto a thousand piecesAnd with it, you shatter too.
Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
Young LoveI was so youngwhen I first heardthe beats of my heartpulse lightly upon my ribcage;my toothpick bonesquite fragilein comparisonto the powerful palpitationsAnd I was still youngwhen I heard againthe throbs of my heartpound forcefully upon my ribcage;my metal bar bonesquite strongin relationto the butterfly-wing beatsSo you better hurry, boyas my ribs are becomingthick as steel,and you’ll soon need a metal cutterto reach my heart(And I don’t want to get damaged in the process of being loved).
Atelophobia Atelophobia The word sticks to my tongue like cotton candyThe sweet, fluffy combination of lettersstruggling to embody a correct connotationAnd even the dictionary definition seems sugarcoated:"Fear of imperfection."Is that what they say when I'm up until 3am,editing my English paper for the umpteenth timeThe tick-tock tick-tock of the clockpromptly proliferating the roomAnd I just sit there changing good to great,and peaceful to quiescent,hoping that my teacher will be drunk in his bungalowwhile he grades my chicken-scratch calligraphyAnd he’ll see stars instead of how horrid it isOr is that the word they use,when I struggle to consume a 25-calorie chunk of chocolatebecause I just know it will go straight to my hips,or when I step on the scaleand watch the black dashes zoom bylike a carousel spinning,And as the twirling and whirling makes me sick,I know throwing up still won’t make me thinAnd is that the term they mutterwhen I'm sob
Mason JarSpeak my nameto the cavern walls,let me hearyour beckoning callsAnd I'll save the echoesin a mason jar,and open it to listenwhen youare f a r.
Railroad TracksYou drawrailroad trackson your wristhoping themetal-made grooveswill takeyou somewherebetterBut these tracksyou're chugging along ononly put youon a trainthat is zoomingtoward a deep,dark tunnelAnd at the end of this tunnel,there is no light.
BulliedCold words on my mindLike grey waves tasting a beachWashing me away.