Danger: Words may be larger than they appear.

Writing seems stupid right now, I'm preoccupied, About a girl, I can't seem to let go, Right now, Or at all, Ever, Maybe? I don't really know, I know I screwed up, And at the same time, My only fault, Was being excited, I feel stupid, I probably am stupid, But it's the only thing that makes any goddamn sense lately, Which is a lot, And that's stupid too, Since there's practically nothing going on, You still have me cardiac arrested, Playing rebel in my ventricles, Without even trying, I still refuse to apologize for all of, This, You're not fat, You're fucking beautiful, You're crazy, But I obviously like that, You make me feel stupid and nervous, And I probably am more than I am willing to admit, I don't know what to do, My brain won't shut up, My heart won't stop hurting, I wish they'd stop, I wish I could stop, Because at this point, Trying to figure it out, Is confusing, And hurts, Because I can...

She says 'I'm getting fat' I bite back the words, 'I'd still kiss every inch of your body,' And replace them with, 'You may be gaining a little weight but you're still very pretty' She makes me nervous, Still.

Quitting caffiene, Folding my laundry, Cleaning my room, This and many more, Are now the things I will do, Instead of writing my requisite poetry, Maybe, Or I might play more video games.

He can fly around, Pickup anything, Reverse time by running around the planet, And shoot lasers out of his eyes, He should be the coolest guy ever, And lots of people think he is, But there's a problem, Everytime I see him, He's too powerful, He's the reason I don't find gods interesting, Because he isn't, Superman does nothing but catch airplanes all day, And then go on to act like humanity, By bumbling around and acting timid, That's this alien motherfucker's view on humanity, Well I'm sorry that we can't fucking fly, Or be solar powered, Or have arctic breath, Is that shit ever useful? I mostly feel sorry for the guy, He obviously doesn't know who he is, Raised by farmers, He's trying to be a humble earthling, And denying what he is, For all intents and purposes, He is a god, He doesn't act like one, But he is one, I can't figure it out, Why is he so boring? He can do anything, And he spends his time be...

Get yourself some good people, The saddest thing I hear from new people, Is, I don't have any friends, My first thought is, Man, that is rough, And my second is, This is probably bullshit, I have known very few people who have NO friends, That's different from, A few good friends, Or one great friend, You need good people in your life, Because they will help you when you need it, When you're too afraid to ask for it, When you're too weak, They'll help you out without even asking for it, If you don't have any like that, Find some new ones, Everybody needs that one friend, Who knows what to say when, And when not to say anything at all, I can only hope I am as good to my people, As they are to me, I strive to be better, Because that's how I am, But it's not a competition, I'd list some names, But y'all know who you are.

Anytime I step back, It's all I can say, Huh? How did I fall into liking someone like this, So far away, And how, How is it that after talking so much, For so long, That is the only thing I really notice, The only thing I could call a problem, Everything else, Seems too easy, I'm waiting for the trap door, I'm waiting for something that isn't an outside threat, I'm waiting for an alarm that isn't coming, I don't know what to do about it, I normally would do something insane, Irrational, And stupid, And completely ridiculous, But you're over there, And I can't, I can't do the normal, Stupid, Leap of faith kind of thing, That I would normally do, You're amazing, And this is me jumping up and down, Wishing I had some way to show you, That I think that, Without just saying it, Or writing it, Again, And again, And again.

Twenty five poems and thirty days later, I still don't know what to write, So I sit down and write, And pretty words come out, At least some people call them pretty, I look at them and I know, I could do better, They tell me, That line was really good, And I politely nod, And then wonder why they aren't all that good, Why I can't spit epiphanies on command, So I keep writing, Whenever a good turn of phrase hits me, I slam it onto paper ASAP, A lot less lately than it used to hit me, Which leads me to how writing is like a muscle, But in your brain, You gotta keep using it, Or else you only get a trickle, Of the good stuff, That's why I started this 30/30 thing, And that's why with five and a half hours left, I still intend to finish it.