All the Poetry I have ever written about my life.

Crush

Every week, the same routine.

You say hi and tell me your name,

I reply in kind and smile at you.

You always smile back at me.

And before anything else can be said,

I have to go, though you're still there.

Then the next week, I say a little more.

And whence we've finally gotten into a conversation,

I have to leave again.

When will I ever know more about you?

When will you know about me-

About the darkness inside me.

About what reality is, and what is science fiction.

If you knew, you might say that I'm lying,

But it's real, what I feel about you.

Patterns

All my poems are real,

Unless they're obviously not.

All my stories are fantasy,

Unless they're a research paper.

All my stories have animals,

People are animals too.

I try to interpret my life through what I write.

But there's more to it than that.

It's all I imagine,

My mind, my retreat.

But for now, I feel lost.

So no more fantasy right now,

Only poetry for me.

I Mourn In My Own Way, Live With It

Writing was my mind,

The place where I retreated.

Where the world made sense,

And you control it all.

But that may be no more,

writing holds no pleasure now.

I used to hide from the world with my writing,

But now, writing gets harder and harder as life goes on.

Life and death make a cycle,

Coming to realize that is one thing,

learning to cope with it is another.

A life has gone,

one quite close to me.

And now I am at a loss for words,

The pen no longer swirls across the page,

but stalls and stutters in a most ungainly manner.

She would be proud that I had made more poetry,

But I wish she was here to read it.

*In honor of someone who I could proudly call my surrogate grandmother. I only met her twice, but each time she was wonderful in a way that I cannot put to words.

I Honestly Don't Know...

Every time you look at me

I look away.

Every time I look at you,

Secretly hoping you'll look back.

I know you play the piano,

I know you love the birds,

But I have no idea what you know about me.

I'm a mystery,

A secret only shared with four people.

I don't know how you would react if you found out,

But I don't want to be sent to a lab.

I don't want people to know.

I don't want my head cut open

And my ears examined like insects

To find out

Why this talent belongs to a human

Whose sight is still intact.

Somehow,

I wish you knew.

I wish you had read what I could write.

Seen what I can do.

I just don't want to be sent

To a lab

and sliced up like a beetle.

They didn't understand,

And neither would you.

I know that much.

                                       Story of My Life... More Like Story of Anger.

Please don't judge this too harshly, I wrote it during a rough patch in my life. Right after an event that injured my pride, and my point of view.

These hands were never meant to throw a punch

But to hold a writing brush.

My anger takes form

through brush strokes on paper.

Anger fills my veins,

with the need to destroy.

I may never throw a punch,

but on this fateful day,

I wished I could.

A Pathetic Poem

The world is spinning

And my mind with it.

My mind has gone

Eaten away by a secret so large,

It made the world quake when it was told.

The night devoured my mind

Like a tiny insect.

I never was perfect,

And I am even less so now.

My mind was my only admirable trait

And now it is gone.

In its place, I find a person

I never knew.

And never will.

My mind is gone,

Leaving only my heart.

Which lies in tatters

And threatens to rot.

I will never be the same again,

My transformation has already begun.

No one can stop it now.

I am no longer me

I am the essence

Of one Who is hanging on

To a nonexistent humanity

By a fraying rope.

The rope has broken

And I have not yet grown my wings to fly.

But this thing that is falling,

Is not a human.

But one who has been freed from humanities shackles.

An animal.

Consumed by the night

finally free.

The shackles that hold all humans

Are gone.

Just an instinct is left.

I am not tame

I am a bat.

Life and Death

A/N.  I know, this isn't poetry, I'm making an exception!

Death...

A vile fellow is he, visiting those both great and small, good and bad, we all come to the same end. He comes to visit, but is not a welcome guest, as I have learned today. He comes, and steals the part of our being that makes us alive, and never returns it. Many know what suffering death can cause, but it only causes the suffering of the living. The living must live on in mourning, and the dead are at peace. Our time will come, that is the only certain thing about life, that it ends.

But what if this were not to be? What if we lived on forever without injury or illness? What if everyone in the world was this way? We'd be in more misery than whence we had started. Living on, never resting, never knowing what might happen. Wars would go on causing much discomfort in families, strife would rule the land, and since none would die, more would be born but with no one to replace. There would be no certainty of what was to come, no respite from the issues that make up humanity.

But what if there was no life? If there was no life, there would be no death. No one would ever live, or die, none of our everyday issues would exist. But our universe would be a boring place, nothing to characterize it except rocks and volcanoes. But then again, no one would care because no one would exist.

I think we're better off the way we are, with life and death. Even though it hurts when death touches you or a friend, it's all for the better.

Thanks for looking through all that terrible stuff, feel free to review!  I need some major help with this stuff.