I've found all my poems (and sort-of poems) from NaNoWriMo, July 2014, and I want to post some of them... so here you go.

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I feel stunted.

Trapped by the fact that I’m still doing things that aren’t teaching me anything. Putting insincere effort into something I am no longer passionate about.

I still have room to grow as a person; to become better, more creative, and so much energy I need to release.

I have my outlets, but I’m still so far away from giving away all this hate and intensity I have collecting in the chambers of my heart, spilling and seeping out into my lungs like plasma. It will soon turn into a haemorrhage, an accumulation of blood, and it will take over and infect my whole body like some horrible tumour.

I need you to know all my secrets so I can release all these words, these silent physical poems, so my blood can slip away into the night.

And when I wake up and everything is real, my lungs will be empty of tar and clotted flesh, and my eyes will be bright like yours, and we can finally smile together.

I want every part of you. You can fucking take every part of me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But all I am now is what you make of me.

It’s shitty, and soppy, and I wish it would stop, but I can’t force myself to. I can't.

But, no. I’ve got to try. I’ve held back from more inevitable things.