made up dreams seep into my paper as I write you letters that you will never read. the rains soaks these boots I wear and parts of me can be found in the river you tossed me in.

Hello, my name is Hayley Cox. Colin is asleep right now but I hope when he sees this it puts a smile on his face…that sincere smile that puts all the light in my world. The one where his brown eyes light up like sparklers on the 4th of July.

I just want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world and nothing is ever going to change that. I would never hurt you. Until you stop doubting it, I’m not going to stop reassuring you. I hope you found me in dreamland. Love you cookie monster.

-your donut princess

I got my copy! Did you get yours? Go check it out and submit! You could be my next ‘Poetry Editor’s Elect’.

My So Called “Father”

Confessions from my past try to communicate with a bullet lodged deep inside of my skull while I dream of holidays that have come and gone. You never showed up to anyone of them…

Birthday cards and Christmas emails signed “Love Dad” were written by a woman you decided to run away with. 8 years of therapy for childhood trauma all went out of the window the day I sat in court and had to listen to you confess your love for a son whom you hadn’t seen since I was 4 years old. You smiled after you opened the smoke filled closet door “you learn your lesson this time?” you asked as I tried to regain my composure (to this day smoke filling a room gives me the kind of goosebumps that don’t go away too quick).

There I stood in a courtroom and gave the true story no one had heard. Showed the scars from my childhood and gave a detailed description of how you blamed me for cracking my skull open at the age of 3. Lucky for you the judge felt bad for you, lucky for you the officer held me back and lucky for you that I haven’t stabbed you in the spine like you did to me. 

Raised by a single mother I told myself I’d never be anything but perfect to a woman. I’ve failed that promise more than once but what keeps me from turning into you is that I don’t run away. I will never treat my children the way you treated me. I hope that the dreams in which I couldn’t run away become the dreams in which I watch you drown in your own pathetic lie you call a life. 

My so called “Father” is no more a man than a tiny school girl with a pool noodle between her legs speaking in a burly voice. My hope is to be someones forever and to be the reason my children smile when they talk about their daddy. 

I’ll delete my words until the piles of letters fill my lungs with new ideas. 

I’ll count your love notes, like the tiny lines on my skin…

I love you cookie monster

Found the skull here. The poem is mine.

Happy Birthday To Me

It’s my birthday! Kinda would be cool to see like a bunch of “congrats” and shit…sounds selfish but it would mean the world to this lost boy. So here’s to being young and dumb at 19!

Embrace the pain the world has to offer you, that way no one can ever tell you that you weren’t strong enough to fight and that you don’t know what it feels like.

I replaced thunderstorms with my emotions. The channel 4 news had no idea how to cope with it.

I practice failure
more than success.

Disappointment runs deep
inside my body.

Tension rises when
everything seems perfect.

I am sorry
for being human.

Don’t fall in love with a writer…we will never let you forget it

Don’t Judge People Like You Judge Books

I’m one stressful moment away from hanging my soul back up and going back to the days where I wrote about nothing more than the pain that I “couldn’t” get rid of.

Someone one told me “you just write about pain to get attention”…something about my life not being stressful enough to complain about.

Tell that to the three year old me being shoved in the closet to suffocate due to the candles smoke at the door.  

Or explain to the four year old me that the cracked skull I wore on my shoulders was nothing more than an accident that your father told no one about…after throwing out the bloodstained rug that once covered his whole apartment.

Tell that to the nineteen year old me sitting behind these words as he tries to juggle being a lover, a soldier, a son, a brother and so many more things.

Tell that to the grown up me trying to figure out how not to lose his grip during the best possible moments of his life. Explain it to me as I sit here thinking of the past and reading the reports from my childhood stating that “young Colin show’s signs of control and anger issues (not to be overcome anytime soon). Symptoms of post traumatic stress are being shown…..” 

Don’t take one look at a person and judge them like you judge the covers of the books sitting on your shelf. You don’t know what their smile keeps you from knowing. 

The only thing I want in a dozen this Valentines day is donuts

(via originalgaly)