Homeless man.

I can feel my baggy boy jeans 

falling just short of covering up 

my red and blue angels socks.

I can feel that my beanie 

Gives me the appearance 

of homeless man rather than a skater 

And once again the jeans aren't helping

And if only my socks wouldn't show

I don't wear makeup

I have skin like a war zone

My eyelashes were always too short 

My face too big for my eyes

My chin too defined

My face plagued by moles

My upper arms too big

My hair has split ends

And refuses to lay flat

And I bruise way too easy

Every day I feel like a hobo

And quite frankly look like one

But some how you love me anyways 

I hate being called perfect

But I could never tell you not to

Because maybe I like the world you see

And I'm afraid 

you'll get your vision checked

Because no Tinted lenses 

No smudged glasses

And no colored contacts 

Could make me look nearly as good 

As you see me now

(Guys I swear I'm working on something better than this and I know I haven't posted in a long while. but, I needed to fill the gap with something)

(^~^)/* goodbye for now.

Stone garden

Once I stumbled upon a stone garden

I hoped there would be more 

But there were only sad people

Reading sad names

And making sad faces

There were words Etched into stone 

In sad spots 

and sad places

Some of them had fought in a war

Where as others 

just couldn't take it anymore

Some never managed to be accepted

And others appeared as if they were only here to be tested

Some stones had cradles 

And rocking horses 

Stamped in them

Buried by there parents 

who only wished

They could still tap morse code to them as they slumbered in their bellies

Because that was all they got.

I wandered for a bit

But didn't stay for long

Because one day 

I'll have my own garden

And I can't imagine what words

will find their way

Into my stone

And to be honest

I'm afraid 

Afraid no words will find their way

And all I'll ever be is a blank slate

My mother said she wants to be cremated

But I promised her 

either way she will be under the dirt

And I will find her a stone

And I will carve in words

Because people were made

To be remembered.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time 

There was a girl 

And once upon a time her heart stopped

But she didn't die

At least not as much as she wished she had

Because it started back up at full speed just moments later

She found herself 

counting her heart beats at night

And hoping the seconds between them would get longer

She would hold her breath

But only for a few seconds 

Because she feared 

one day 

she would forget to breathe

She had told ghost stories 

for as long as she could remember

But now she wishes she were one of them

She writes ghost stories

But is too afraid to share them

Mostly because 

she could never live up 

to her own nightmares 

And although she is still afraid 

to hold her breath.

She has never been scared enough 

to stop writing or telling stories

But she is 

scared enough 

To write in third person