We Didn't Get That Chance Because I

I Wanted To Tell You Everything. And That Hurt Because Some Things Were Too Scary. Some Things Even I Didn’t Understand. How Could I Tell Someone—someone I Was Really Talking To For The First Time—everything I Was Thinking? I Couldn’t. It Was Too Soon.

I Hate Not Knowing What To Believe Anymore. I Hate Not Knowing What's Real.

I Could Picture Life—school And Everything Else—continuing On Without Me. But I Could Not Picture My Funeral. Not At All. Mostly Because I Couldn’t Imagine Who Would Attend Or What They Would Say.

That’s What I Love About Poetry. The More Abstract, The Better. The Stuff Were Your Not Sure What The Poets Talking About. You May Have An Idea, But You Cant Be Sure. Not A Hundred Percent. Each Word, Specifically Chosen, Could Have A Million Different Meanings. Is It A Stand-in ―a Symbol For Another Idea? Does It Fit Into A Larger, More Hidden, Metaphor? ...i Hated Poetry Until Someone Showed Me How To Appreciate It. He Told Me To See Poetry As A Puzzle. Its Up To The Reader To Decipher The Code, Or The Words, Based On Everything They Know About Life And Emotions.

I Swear, Guys In Groups Are Capable Of The Stupidest Things." "like War," Kellan Says, Heaping Napkins And Ketchup Packets Onto Her Tray. "and Jumping Off Rooftops." "and Lighting Their Farts On Fire," She Says.