Untitiled

You were an avalanche in my set way

I never knew someone could mean so much

You always brought to me a means to pray

I now realize you were my biggest crutch.

You tore out my helpless, lost, lonely heart

I cried for you a thousand moon light nights

You would not come to my bedside in aid

I would scream your name through my endless tears.

You brought a limitless amount of pain

I had to remove myself from your trap

You left me, again, to bring yourself gains

I cut myself out of your deadly wrap

But you knew I could not stay away long

My love for you still runs wearily strong.

Defining Cupiditas (Revision)

  Human beings try to relate to each other.

We try to learn from one another and discover new things about each other.

The problem is that we don't actually want to know anything about ours peers.

We may ask, we may wonder, but we never want to help. We never want to make a change.

  Human beings never try to have a heart.

 

  Society truly captures cupiditas.

We take what we learn about each other and use that for our own good.

The greed we have for knowledge.

The desire we have for pain of others.

The passion we have for everything we want but will never have.

  Society truly captures cupiditas.

 

  Take a moment to look around.

See the envy that encompasses every person's soul.

View the dreams that could come true.

Attempt to relate to what is happening around.

  Take a moment to attempt to escape from the greed that is cupiditas.

The Rooftop Garden

You crawl out of bed at 12:30 am.

You drag yourself up the ten flights of stairs.

You poise your hand over the handle to the roof and open the door.

The cold night air of New York City hits you with all of it’s power.

You breathe it in as you walk around this garden knowing you should be downstairs asleep.

It’s one of those nights again.

A night you are restless in worry and torturing yourself with imperfections.

You work your sleepy, panic driven self over to the low wall and look down.

You see cars lining the streets and people of the night crawling their way along the road.

You begin to think.

 The worst possible thing to do is think.

You hear your old friend saying that you won’t ever be attractive.

You hear your exboyfriend saying that no one will ever want to be with you.

You hear those girls in the bathroom commenting on how your “shirt hugs you in all the wrong ways and shows your stomach in unpleasing ways.”

You think about how bad you wish you could get back at them.

You think of the anger you have with God for letting you feel so terrible.

You start feeling even worse for being mad with God.

You can’t handle the need for perfection that society has placed on you.

You think it could all be over and no one would give it second thought.

You could trip right there and fall into the wind feeling thick as butter.

You think and think and think.

You feel your chest tense up and you stumble backwards falling onto the grass on this rooftop garden.

With tears streaming down your tinted pink, numb face you crawl to the door that feels heavier than a grand piano filled with bricks.

You open the door and stumble in your soberly drunken way down ten flights of stairs

You run yourself into walls and trip all over the trash scattered among the floor.

You force your way into the room sputtering helpless sounds of agony while you cocoon yourself in the marshmallow of a blanket.

You try to calm yourself down so you will stop hyperventilating and keep crying knowing you have to be up in six hours.

You have to drag yourself into those hallowed halls with those dreadful people.

You know you’ll receive comments about your size, clothes, face, and intelligence.

You feel so helpless in this large world.

You feel so lonely.

You feel hot, sticky tears flowing like blood out of an open wound.

You desire for this hopeless attack to be over.

You feel yourself get dizzy and see your vision tunnel until finally your body gives up and stops fighting the pain of imperfection and sadness.

As you pass out you think maybe this will be the night.

Maybe I will be finished with being in this hell called life.

Defining Cupiditas

Human beings try to relate to each other. 

We try to learn from one another and discover new things about each other. 

The problem is that we don't actually want to know anything about ours peers. 

 Society truly captures cupiditas. 

We take what we learn about each other and use that for our own good. 

The greed we have for knowledge. 

The desire we have for pain of others.

The passion we have for everything we want but will never have. 

 Society truly captures cupiditas. 

Take a moment to look around. 

See the envy that encompasses every person's soul. 

View the dreams that could come true. 

Attempt to relate to what is happening around. 

Attempt to escape from the greed that is cupiditas. 

Writing.

I'm afraid I haven't written in quite a long time.
I can't seem to collect my thoughts enough to write something worth putting out there.
I'm so lost in thoughts from life that surrounds me,
I can't find the time to think enough about anything, but simple sound.

Serenity.

Serenity.

I'm trying to find a serenity. 

I'm hoping to find it deep inside myself. 

Not as much a calm before the 

storm, but an ending to the wrong. 

Finding this serenity may take time,

As well as pain, 

And people to help straighten my way. 

But once my serenity is found I should have a light leading me to my Savior. The Lord that will help me choose relationships and lifestyles that will let me live in His light. 

In the end, my serenity will be found and I will no longer be lost. There will be an inner peace that will radiate out. My inner peace will allow others to find a serenity in themselves. 

One day my serenity will be found. 

((Written on September 15th, 2014 at 10:31pm.))

Goodbye.

There are times that you just float. You feel surrounded by water: still, calm, and cool. You know if you float long enough you'll sink, but you also know if you stop floating you'll never fly. One of the hardest things in life is making the decision to float, sink, or try to fly.

 I can feel myself floating. Beginning to sink. Never being able to fly. There's a brokenness to floating, but you aren't truly broken. Just slightly bruised with a shattered heart.

 When your breath stops and you start to sink there's nothing you can do about it. Your body stops functioning and you know it's time to go. 

I guess what I'm saying is goodbye. It's time to go. 

(September 12th, 2014 at 11:11pm) 

Another Untitled Love Poem

Loving me is impossible. 

I will push you away and recognize that it is my fault. 

I'm sorry if I hurt you, but know that I'm hurting myself too. 

I hate falling in love. 

Unfortunately I will always love you. 

(Written on September 11th, 2014 at 9:58 pm.)

Emotionless.

Feeling emotionless is worse than feeling sad. 

Not understanding if you're upset, broken, or destroyed. 

Not being able to feel an ounce of happiness. 

It throws you into this terrible void of being lost and you don't know what to do. 

I'm tired of feeling emotionless. 

I'm tired of wanting to leave this terrible town and escape to some other world. 

Maybe one of these days I'll stop being emotionless. 

(September 6th, 2014 at 9:38 p.m.) 

Dare To Dream

Do you ever get that sinking suspicion that your whole life is a lie and all your dreams will fail you? 

Should you dare to dream when you don't know what will come? 

If you let yourself try to live won't you just end up falling? 

If you let yourself try to love won't you just end up broken? 

So, again, I ask should you dare to dream? 

Should you try to love in impossibility? 

There are so many risks involved, 

That will break you down in all. 

We all end up alone, 

Ten feet under, 

Forgotten about by the breath of life. 

So, in closing, I must say, it is a better option to leave your mind quiet than to dream at all. 

(September 5th, 2014 at 3:20) 

Being Human.

The thing that makes us human is what I hate most about being human. 

We feel:

We feel pain.

We feel suffering.

We feel sadness. 

We feel lose. 

Even the good feelings we have cannot counter the bad. 

The feelings of hope and joy. 

They can't take away the pain we feel because of love and lust. 

They can't take away the heartbreak we feel. 

Nothing can take away the stabbing sensation you get from depression or the emptiness inside you feel when you realize you'd rather die. 

I hate being human because humans have to live life full of tragic pain. 

(Written August 25th, 2014 at 7:21 pm)

That's What They All Say

"You're just a naive child." 

     You know that's what they all say.

"You're being young and dumb." 

     Does that really change the pain? 

"You're being so dramatic." 

               I wish it was really that way.

"You're just looking for attention."

                     When will this go away?

"Stop being foolish."

                     Stop breathing now and                        

                       everything will change. 

(Written on August 11th, 2014 at 8:26 pm) 

Untitled.

There's a feeling you get when you fall in love for real the very first time. It's sickening how lovely it feels. 

That shakey feeling each time you touch your love. When your lips meet the first time, like two strands of ivy finally growing together, you feel indestructible. You keep falling harder and your love turns into a passion. It sparks like lightning hitting a tree and in that moment you know you're in love. You, a rose with your lover a cage of thorns around you. You can't escape the passion, the love, the hate, the trouble. You're surrounded by a cloud of lust that you'll never break free from. Not until you're content with your prison. 

(Written July 24th, 2014 at 11:05 p.m.) 

This Boy

This Boy you see has a hold on me.
This Boy you see stole my heart from me.
This Boy you see controls my being.
This Boy is my everything, but I feel like his nothing.


He knows what he does to me.
He knows how I need him.


I know how he craves me.
I know how terribly I want to be with him.


He is my drug and I am his.
Forever addicted to the fire that's within us.
We're connected on some internal level,
never able to leave each other,
no matter the pain in question.


This Boy is my addiction.
This Boy is my torture.
This Boy is my lover.
This Boy is my forever.


(Written on July 6th, 2014 at 11:45 pm)

My Drug

There's a drug,

That I'm addicted too. 

You don't shoot this drug. 

You don't inhale this drug. 

You don't smoke this drug. 

You don't drink this drug. 

This drug is in a different form.

It takes shape in words,

It takes shape in actions,

It takes shape in promises. 

It's the moment those words mean nothing, the actions aren't there, and the promises are broken that you realize how addicted you are to this drug. 

It's time for me to cut myself off from this drug that's locked it's claws around me. 

Even if it kills me, I am better off without this drug. 

So I sit here and wait for the tears to pass, the shaking frustration to be over, and my life to continue on without withdrawals from you. 

Because you are my drug. 

(Written on July 2nd, 2014 at 8:55 pm))

Perfect Girls

People say that perfect girls only exist in movies, but that's not true is it? 

I look around and I see girls with perfect bodies. Perfect clothes. Perfect faces. Perfect hair. Perfect make up. Perfect cars. Perfect home lives. Perfect houses. Perfect grades. Perfect relationships. They are seamlessly perfect. 

So why can't I be perfect?

I'm ashamed to post a picture in a bikini. I'm ashamed to post any unfiltered pictures because of my face. I have more relationship problems than Romeo and Juliet. I'm barely happy. I can never tell when someone in my family is going to break and start a screaming match. I'll never be comfortable wearing what I want. I'll never have a decent car. I'll never have the grades I need. 

I am the opposite of perfect. 

So I ask God why? Why can't I be like these other girls? The problem is He never answers me. He shuts me out. Doesn't listen to me. I'm not even good enough for God so why would I ever be good enough for anyone else? 

 

(Written on June 30th, 2014 at 7:45 pm)

Tortured

I will never understand why people torture themselves. 

They reread old, love letters.

Look at old, happy photos.

Watch old, joyful films. 

Remember old, grace-filled times. 

Many humans believe they are holding on to these because of the memory which such items bring.

But I'm smarter than them. 

I know they hold on to the past to use as torture. 

Torture is the only word to use. 

They relive the good moments that they will never have again. 

They replay the bad times that constantly repeat. 

Torture is the only word to use. 

They break themselves down. 

They kill themselves on the inside. 

They will never be able to be happy because they are torturing themselves with darkness and hatred. 

I torture myself with the person I used to be.

Written June 30th, 2014 at 11:02 p.m.

Miss.

I miss a lot of people,
But a lot of people don't miss me.
It's incredible to think this is how my life shall be.


You love someone wholly,
They seem to love you true,
Then leave so suddenly
Making a fool out of you.


Someday I will learn
To give up earlier
So that I don't miss anyone
And then everyone
Will miss me.


(Written on June 29th, 2014 at 10:40 am)