Untitled 1 (just some of my writing from my freshman year of high school)

[busker]

Untitled 1

Black tides roll over the beach as hearts collide with a black hole to create nothing inside of everything, reminds me of the way you breathe. Heavy with the toxins, my skin feels as if it is peeling off like the leaves that fall from the trees in autumn. The dead wind howls, I hear your heart but I am deafened by your voice crying out for someone to love. Watch the pendulum on the clock break the glass between the space of time, the echoes do not sound but the layers of scars will show.

There are prose poems and there is free verse. And then there is just plain boring old prose. This is plain boring old prose.
Apart from the cliches of leaves falling from trees, there's also the hackneyed 'howling' of a 'dead' wind. Why is the wind dead? Replace the 'dead' with 'colourblind' and it is just as nonsensical.
In summary, this is a woe is me journal entry, not a serious poem.

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I’m happy that you can put it all together, I have had a couple people tell me that they don’t really see any path when I write at times, or even understand why i write something in a certain way. I also thank you for taking your own time to read my old write, I was only about 14 when I decided to create this little piece so it’s not my best attempt.

How old are you now? 
The crit you get as an adult is different than the crit you get as a non adult

I just turned 18 a couple months ago

I would suggest a few attempts at formal, metrical poetry to sharpen the saw before you turn to free verse