maturity.

There's people that are going to be coming over tonight.
Courtney's friends, they're older, most of them are anyway.

They talk about shows and causes that they stand for,
some don't eat chocolate.
some don't eat meat.
some don't wear wool.

They discuss humanity. Things they don't like, things that they do.

They are exclusively open minded. They picture every angle.
They love viciously, finding insulting things under every rock.
They fell in love with ripping off blindfolds.
They fell in love with love but they recoil from romance. 

They battle with their own thoughts, they tell stories of the times they nearly drowned.

I want to be like that. maybe I am.
maybe I'll never be.

I don't know.

stars and dots.

I don't have scars on my wrists or legs. Though I wish I did.
I never felt enough self loath, or sadness
to do it deep enough to leave those marks.
Though I know so many that did. Their lives ripped
through their heads, and the spent so much time crying.
They spent so much time feeling alone.

They look for each other it seems, they pull up each others
sleeves and pant legs, with tears in their eyes they
marvel at each other. They share this, understanding.
Though they say they're ashamed.

They are ashamed. They hid them in places
only they or someone they trusted would see.
They hide them. But they are as valiant as won wars.

What brought them to that moment?

...


They tore at their own skin!
They did it as if it ws the only thing that would fix it!
It didn't work! It didn't help! They sat there alone!
feeling empty! Who was to blame for that bullshit?
They should have never felt that way!
Why was no one there? Why didn't anyone help!

7 billion people in this world and not one of us is
able to make a kid feel like they're worth
a pain free life? that not ok! Nor will it ever be!
Why didn't they think that they were lovely,
that they didn't need to do that?
Who told them that they deserved that pain?
Why wasn't anyone there?
Why didn't anyone knock on the bathroom door?
Why didn't anyone call? Why didn't anyone listen to them?
Why didn't anyone know?

 

my arms are full with the pieces of last week

She wrote me a letter. I let it sit on my bedroom floor
in fond but distant memory, never lifting a pen.
When she asked why there wasn't a letter back so I wrote one bitterly.

Sarcasm dripped from the crooked lines,
Scribbles ripped the center.
I read it, I ripped it apart.

She wrote me a poem and I typed a loath letter.
I typed, filling the page with the feelings I thought I felt and had kept,
ignoring the dust that rested on top.
I read them, I cringed and took them away.






 

Friends, anywhere that thunder stays. Exploding insufferable south. Away forgetfully; thinking away nothing.