I Will Pack Up All My Life

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)

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)

on another night I have to spend without you

the brightest one of them all, with hope in the air

even with my friends around, I promise you

to use the knowledge given to me by past lovers

and once the sky lights up with fireworks again

I shall call you and tell you all my love, as

the first thing in the new year should mean

the whole world, and nothing does, like you do

• Mel, my light - zero (me)

I'm sitting at a bus stop almost alone and I haven't been this calm in months

The same bus passed three times already but it's not what I'm looking for

And this should be it, this should be reason enough to write

but it's not

For I've been tired to my core and all I've wanted

Is to be held by the one adult person I let myself be known

For I need something bigger than my name. For I need someone who knows better than I do

But it's all futile and I can't bring myself to ask her for kindness

But it's all without point and I can't write anymore

"Nomen Omen, just like Moliére" - Zero (me)

the more I've yearned for you

the more I would look to the moon

on these nights i couldn't stop smiling

I told the moon all the things I love

about you

and now you know about most of it

and somehow with it I've found

myself smiling at the sun so much

more often than before, I would tell it

that I'm happy to be awake,

that I am happy to be in love

• may the moon keep you warm while I can't - zero (me)

there seems to be a universal understanding

of the fact that no good life was a good story

good lifes make good examples and I make

poetry and bonfire stories that can't go unheard

and I am glad for all the harm that was done

to me and only to me, for maybe it was better

to make my life worse and my poems relatable

noone reads poetry when they're alright, and

more so noone ever writes poetry when happy

maybe the stars aligned in this way for every poet

maybe god made us with a bigger purpose, than

any mortal happiness, made us for eternal things

written in ink and lived through in our own blood

- zero (me)

[ I finished writing my poetry book and I just know I will hate all of them in a year or two. I am never proud of my poetry. my mind is a burn book ]