I cannot be creative and write for shit.
You lose the beautiful moon when you focus all your attention on all the different stars that pretend to be diamonds.
There is a war going on in my heart.
These feelings are clear
but I know you are no good.
I have to learn that just because I miss you, that doesn’t mean I need you back in my life.
The scariest part about going to therapy is sitting in the waiting room with a bunch of people who appear far more disturbed than I feel.
I feel like I have to audition for your love everyday.
I’m not acting when I tell you that I love you,
so why can’t you give me a call back?
It’s nights like these where the star shine reminds you that your childhood is gone, ultimately unattainable, but you sit near your window and stare up at the sky with squinted eyes in hopes of catching a glimpse of the little person you used to be, maybe finding a morsel of innocence to keep in your pocket for years to come.
The DIY poetry journal I made. Each ripped paper has a secret of mine glued on to the cover. I think it came out pretty good for my first try.