ConflictingOne time I said"I'll never go back."I'd never takeThat risk.But now my viewsAre shifting againAnd the conflicting emotionOverwhelms me.I heard that youMight want me back,And I wish I couldSay no.But if you ask,I know I won't,Because I knowI can't.I don't know whatThe hell to doBut put myselfEven more in debt.It will hurt more inThe end if IAgree to yourDesire,But I'd die if IHurt you like youDid me many monthsAgo.
The KnotThe knot was tied,But not how you think.The knot was tiedBecause of love,Not money,Not fear,But painful love.The knot cured the loveI possessed to the extreme.It knotted the allure,And it knotted the shame.Eleven months led to the knot.Eleven months of kisses and love,But the twelfth never cameBefore the noose was knotted.
Follow Your Heart"Follow your heart,"I've heard many times,"It'll lead you inThe right direction."But my heart is flyingIn countless directions,So how can I followAll of it?It is brokenInto a million piecesFloating, weightless,Through the air.I can't keep trackOf where the pieces go;Some float away,And some love the dark.Some stay motionless,And some go to you;They want to cureThe tear.But what is the pointOf this clumsy poem?Of the metaphors and all theConfusion?It says that ICan't follow my heartBecause it's alreadyToo broken to trust.
The CanvasMy canvas started white,And bursting with potential.I could be a Da Vinci!(A girl one, that is.)As I aged,Bits of pink appeared,Random yet calculated,Like the mind of a child.Envious greenEtched itself on the canvas,Shining alongsideThe pink.The blue came inAnd covered the pink;It was less random andLess calculated.The black hit the canvasLike a hammer, quite hard,And nothing else could be seenAgain on the canvas.
VodkaI sip my vodka,Clear, smooth vodka.With girlfriends at the bar,I drink away my fear.She whispers in my earIn a tone coated in humor.In my attempts to be fit in,From my lips the laughter burst.I pause, confused,To discover from where the laughter came.Digging inside,I find nothing.I find nothing in my hands,Nor the fingers or the tips.My arms are empty,Helpless and lifeless.I spiral downAs I realize my legsContain nothing,Not even jello.My toes will no longerSupport my weight,And my feet are definitelyNo better.The most empty placeIs the hole in my torso,Where my stomach and heartShould lie.Instead, sitting there,Is the vodka I drank.I did it myself,I swear!The vodka is me,so tasteless and dead,No support group could everSave me.I will forever beThe vodka I drank -The poison that IInjected.But I hope you're happyWith the reason for this:It's you who suggestedThat I bring myself to drink,And I'll never escapeFrom the poison that you gaveMe wh
I Inhale, I ExhaleDay in and day out,I wander,aimless,Through my day which is filledWith deadlines and expectations.I file through the dayThrough paper and through people,A smile, a laughTo keep others happy.I act like nothing's wrong,like I still have life inside.Like I feel like ICan breath through another day.I pretend to talk,To gossip, to have lifeOnly to give lifeTo the beings around me.I inhale, I exhale.I lived through another day.And continue to hideThe fact that IAm hiding allThe time.
BreatheWhen you took my hand,Smoothly yet nervously,My heart skipped a beat,And I recognized my humility.But your grip grew strong,With hands clammy with sweat,And I realized I couldn'tGet awayFrom the sweet soundYour voice makes,Caressing me with the twistsAnd the turns.I could neverRun away from the hurt.Run away from the sting,And the agony in it all.Because loves is an open woundThat you continue to scratch,And you'll never let itBreath.
OkayI write to keep'My mind off you.Not to entertain,Or to aid another one.To be honest, not even for message.Only to helpKeep the emotionAt bayYet I fail to even do that.
From the BooksPeople gain pleasureFrom what other people lack.You may think this is cruel,But these behaviors are learned.As a child, you skipped'Round a circle with friends"Ring around the Rosie"And laughter unite as one.As you discover the truthResounding from this,Don't be too hard on yourself;Every good pupil uses his textbook.