unfinished. maybe.

i don;t know, this might be finished, but it might not be. my poems seem to write them selves. and while this doesn't necessarily read like it's finished, there has been no more for a week.

my heart is beating.
beating me up,
beating me down.
the pain of it inside my ribs
i need it to beat
i can't be rid of it
but it's doing more
than keeping me alive.
it's making me live
through pain
with pain.
heartache has a whole new meaning
with you

why not

Why me
Why am I being ignored
Why am I crying
Why do I care
Why does it hurt so much
Why is something so many don’t care about so unacceptable to you
Why does it matter to me
Why are YOU so far away
Why do I still feel like the same insecure 15 yr old
When will I grow out of that
Why does it sting
Why do I want to hurt myself more when I am already hurting so much
Why am i hurting
How did you get close enough to affect me this way
Why can’t I just man up
Or suck it up princess.
why do i need a hug so badly
why do i want it from you most of all
Why
Why
WHY.

The questions never end