i stopped.

i stopped finding

soft, meaningful poetry

in your footsteps

and the cracked driveways

 

i stopped looking

for you

in crowded rooms

and my coffee’s reflection

 

i stopped asking my friends

if they were happy

they wear dark circles for makeup

and coffee stained t-shirts

 

i stopped living when i was sixteen

i’m looking for reason

no one can tell me where it is

or if it even exists

 

 

 

 

 

defined.

we so inclined to

hate, discriminate, hurt,

we classify

religion, race, status,

gender, wealth, age

stop rallying into one place

everyone belongs together

everyone deserves love

everyone is special;

equal

what you believe,

where you come from,

who you are,

what you will become,

doesn’t change the fact

you are alive

doesn’t change the fact,

you are a human being

accept your differences

even if no one else will

hold your head high

don’t stoop to their level

don’t hate them for being

fickle and naïve

love them

that’ll turn their heads more

i love you as you are,

and one day, maybe

the world will too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

women.

it always confused me

that girls noticed

a look you gave a cute boy

more than the cuts on your arms

that they cared

about who you liked

more than your thoughts

 

I started asking people

less about their crushes and style

I ask about their

wellbeing, beliefs, dreams, & fears

we can talk about boys our entire lives

right now, we should focus on ourselves

become the best women we can be.

 

 

 

brilliant.

 

and I love,

 

people who feel like home

and hold you like you’re theirs

 

driving around aimlessly

and singing along to favorite songs

 

laughing uncontrollably

and dreaming with my eyes open

 

first loves and ice cream runs

and midnight constellation watching

 

and,

if living is a myriad of pain

then at least have brilliant memories

to keep me company along the way

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bloggers.

A message to bloggers:

Do you know you’re special?

Do you know I admire the words you write?

I think of you as my friends.

We are the next generation. I think that’s hope in itself, because each of you are wise beyond your years and understand things better than many adults I know.

I cry with you when you’re struggling. I smile when you post lovely, happy stories.

I’ve been enlightened by many of you. Inspired more times than I can count.

You understand mental illness, pain, death, humor, happiness, or how sometimes I have the hardest time trying to figure out what color the sky is.

I never thought a couple people over the internet would be my friends, but you are and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

 

 

boy.

boy, we’re a mangled mess

we couldn’t love right even if we tried

you look worried for me

but I’m worried about you too

the silence is killing me

 

you said let’s talk soon

about what? our feelings?

when? when we’re dead?

we’ll dance in the fire, won’t we?

my heart is burning with longing

 

I can’t label what we are

friends, foes, or lovers

I want you to kiss me

and hold me tight

but I want you to leave my life as well