Not a Note

i am going to be dead
sometime, as long as my blood is red
i'm just so fed
up with trying and getting out of bed
each morning i wonder why i am not dead

and it's sad
it's mad
it's fucked up, i cant add
to my troubles anymore i'd be so glad
to not be sad

but i cant stand
how bland
how each strand
of life's hair can seem so planned
to knock me down so i can no longer stand.

but don't cry for me
this is what i want, see?
it's crazy and stupid and carefree
and i hate to do this but i'm already out to sea
and i don't want you to cry over me.

they're are all just thoughts
like ink blots
in my head full of knots
where my own mind plots
to kill me with all of these wonderful thoughts.

ER

I am
waiting for the day
when you find me
in the hospital.

Laying there
barely there
my eyes
cold

you’d cry.
i know you’d cry.
what kind of monster
wants to make people cry?

these awful images
running through my head
so fast
I’m so scared.

What will happen
when I can’t
run away anymore?

Lamplight

the word "friend"
is difficult
to find meaning to.
friend
could be
anything
from acquaintance
to my rock.
in the simpler tense
i have friends
loads
of them can fill up
the great lakes
with their smiles
and their waves
and their grins
they are people that
know who i am.
who know i exist.
but there's one person
who stands above the others
when i am gasping for breath
dying to feel my pulse again
and so, so scared
that i am trembling
under the water,
the pressure
of my own pain
she grabs my flailing hand
my shaking fingers
and holds me steady.
she reminds me to stand
in water only 4 foot deep
reminds me that i am 5
she worries for me
constantly
falling back in
and some days i try
to remember how to swim
and she guides me
she picks me back up
and she gives me a hug
just when i need one.
and if friend is all i can come up with,
that is not enough.
this person is more than a friend
more than an acquaintance
even more than my rock
an unexplainable force
that guides me home when i am lost.
she is my lamplight.
my superhero
doubling over with her own pain
while i am still here struggling underneath her
and she still tries
my god she still tries
and i watch in awe as that hand
comes down for me once more
and i know that
i can't leave this world anymore.

Stop Sign

You need to stop thinking.
You feel like that would be the only way to escape
to stop feeling
to stop worrying
to stop reeling
over and over and over
you’re okay, alright?
you’re okay.
You need to stop.
Use your stop sign
use your methods
use your arsenal
so you can get through the day.
so that you, oh you, can live for once
so you can do all these things and
actually breathe on the weekends
actually breathe on the weekdays
use what you’ve got
you’ve got to try
you’ve got to breathe
you’ve got to keep going -
come on.
Please?

Some Days

Some days
I want to die.

And I don't mean to
be alarming,

that is just
a fact.

I'll wake up
to shouts

in my head
yelling at me

"you worthless
idiot. why are you

even trying? why do you
even live?"

and most days
I would listen

but some days
I do

what she tells
me to do

and I challenge it
as to why

I am an idiot,
why I am

worthless
and sometimes

I come up short
and start to breathe again.

It never lasts for long,
but at least sometimes

I can get through
the day without

scaring people -
without

scaring myself.
but then

there are days
where I just

don't want to try
at all

and then the shouts
get louder and louder

and I can't handle the
pain anymore.

and then
there are some days

where I feel empty
and I don't see

the point
but I still want

to feel something
and unfortunately

sadness
is mostly

that something
and I start

to do really stupid
things, like triggering

myself, and doing idiotic
things like that

even when I'm having
a pretty good day

and I don't mean
to, I just want to

feel something
because life is

pointless,
because life

is sometimes
okay, but

that is never enough
for me.

I wonder
why I can't

just function
like the others.

why I can't
be content

with being happy
for once

why i cant
just think

positively
like a lot

of them
tell me to do.

happy
is my

least favorite
word in the

universe. i dont
understand

why I can't just
do the things everyone

else does and be happy,
be chill, be content

with joy.
it hurts,

not belonging
anywhere.

But I'm still here,
aren't I?

That's a good thing,
that's pretty great

that's what they tell me,
anyway.

And I go along
with it, because

I don't want to
hurt them.

I don't want them
to be in pain

like I am.
But it's funny,

because my pain doesn't
seem valid

compared to
everything else

in the world,
all the other situations

I could be in,
yet the most perfect one

is where I struggle
to survive.

Double Take

I've got
an innocent face.
So pure that
you'd have to
double take
when I tell you
the truth
"that girl?
wants to die?"
a 
shit ton
of potential
can't handle
the weight
of life
is too lazy,
too anxious,
too different,
to fight

Circles

I am damn good
at drawing circles.
It's kind of funny

since it seems
I screw up
everything else.

just letting the pen
move on the paper
to create a thing

that other people
look at in
awe

it kind of surprises me
how one little shape
can hold so much jealousy

it's all I've got
sometimes -
that joy of circles

then again
i can screw that up too
from time to time.

Talking

I like the way
my voice sounds
so gruff
with a sore throat
as I read
the words
written on the
crumpled page after
only two days of use,
and I speak
like I havent spoken
for years
and the truth begins to
pour out of my mouth
like someone poked a hole in the
dam and everything all
that I know is getting wet
and I am enjoying it
because it has been
so wretchedly hot
inside of my mind
it's like a beast being set
free to run wild
like they are
and it's exhilerating
yet oh so frightening
and I start to cramp up
because I forget the lines
and I look down at the paper
disappointed
like it was supposed to somehow
telepathically
tell me what to
say tell me how
to talk
because I've become so
dependant on everything
else
and it's really hard
to stand alone
but I do it
anyways
with hopes that
people begin to listen
and I mean really listen
to what I have to say
for once
and I feel like that'd be a great thing
for once
to feel like I did something right.

Shakespearean Feast

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

No, you shan't.

But if you must compare me to something, let it be a rainy, cold day, when high hopes are lost, and attitudes darken.

When people yearn for that age old sun, for it's rays and warmth.

When people rage at my clouds and drenching downfall.

When people hate me.

When people write poetry about my opposite.

So if you write, comparing me to the blinding light, the sweat drenching heat, of that horrible old star in the sky, know that what you are writing is lies.

And that is all the people want to hear.

They refuse to listen to darkness.

They refuse to understand what they were born from.

They are addicted to the lies that make everything better.

So let them feast and be merry.

3

Life isn't fun

Not when you're me

Surrounded by people who don't like you.

And surrounded by people you don't like.

That just cancels out everything.

That just makes you a freak, a bum, a weirdo.

But nobody has ever told this to you aloud.

You're no mindreader.

You're no hero, either.

You're just a joke.

A sad, sad joke that no one will laugh at.

An unintentional bad person, is what you are.

A hypocrite of sorts.

You do not befriend those who "judge", but all the while you're judging them yourself.

You're better off without anyone.

You can't stand anyone anyway.

You're better off all alone.

But that doesn't make you content.

People

people
people
people

to keep it short
i dont like them

i dont like
how they make
me feel uncomfortable
how they make me
want to feel the
power of alone
how they make me feel
so insignificant
compared to everything else
like a speck of dust
in the vast universe with
no reason
no power
no real light
to live life
and sometimes
i just want to stop
them from continuing
to create
my everyday hell