How Am I To Write Of Things So Beautiful By Themselves

how am I to write of things so beautiful by themselves

there are yellows lights outside and blue fluorescent lights

there was a man on the bus who was so obviously an addict

he's found a teenager's phone by his seat and told his every move to a woman he didn't know for

"he's had too many problems already to steal anything really"

there are yellow nights of laughter and blue strangers who weep in churches

there is a part time job of mine at a flower shop

and I can't explain how throwing out stem cuttings makes me the happiest I've been all week

the world's poetry writes itself and I feel useless in my craftsmanship

"poetry in breathing" - zero (me)

i think I will die wondering

what you all really think of me

maybe on my funeral

give a speech that's literal

my last words probably will be

"I don't think you even knew me"

I'm so afraid to tell you anything

I guess I will die wondering

/

the spring had came

what have we became?

I don't tell you anything anymore

we're right back where we've been before

looking out the window

I think it's even worse now

to contemplate my death

think of the last breath

when the sun is shining until late

it's something I grew to hate

/

so many questions in my head

and poems you will never read

why the hell do you even like me?

I ask myself that constantly

it's not that I don't trust you all

it's just that I can take the fall

once I'm gone you cannot cry

don't take the fall, just learn to fly

/

you tell me how you see me, still

it does not make sense to me

the most random of compliments

what have you even meant?

it just proves to me furthermore

how little you got to know me for

I know that it's my fault

your trust came to a halt

I wish I could tell you what I think

and when I try I just shrink

in on myself and just decide

it's gonna come out when I die

• you never knew me/things I don't tell you - zero (me)

[yes, it's a draft of a song. yes, i probably will never finish it. yes, i'm not okay. yes, that's the only reason i came back to writing]

gone are the times

when you couldn't sleep

not knowing where I was.

and now this home again

is just as cold as i have

remembered.

I come back from the snowfall

to see my brother leaving and

to you sleeping soundly as ever

and I cannot be upset at any of that.

but I just wish growing old wasn't so hard

• "turning seventeen" - zero (me)

i will pack up all my life

and leave memories behind

writing a few notes to friends

to make sure I am forgotten

I know I will die one day

my mum raised to believe

if I spill my blood it will be okay

but I won't do this here

I won't rot away

in the same fucking place

who made me die in everyway

i can't Die here- zero (me)

(writer's block hit me like a truck and my life has been so chaotically stoick I hate it. also it's a song draft not a poem but we will ignore this fact)

I choose to silence myself most days

I choose the end row of the train

I choose the seat on the back by the window

I choose to sit on the noisiest wheel

I choose to suffocate

I chose however to tell you today

I chose to be an idiot in love and be loud

I hope I'll make my mother proud

"choices" - zero (me)

done with my reputation as a poet

medicated just another synonym for forgotten

• no idea - zero (me¿)