I really ****** myself up this time-
blood dripping into the palms of my hands
I started laughing through my tears
couldn't wipe them away
too busy trying to stop the bleeding
this broken heart has made scars again Mom-
but everyone around me is too busy to notice
or maybe I've just gotten better at hiding them-
hiding them behind this smile I like to paint
but see I never thought I was a good enough artist
the silence and the solitude like to tell a different story.
I turn the page,
watch as the silhouette of the last
makes it hard to read in between the lines-
too many pages of me have been unturned
too many chapters that go unread
there's a lot more to me than just a synopsis of this facade.
I click my tongue-
I make touch each one of my fingernails
Seems I am here, cognitive.
But from the view out of my retinas
all I see is blurred vision
a skewed understanding no glasses could fix
my far-sightedness in people has made me blind
there is no side to this story that can be unseen
expose of me, decompose with me.
I would like to waste away with you
but my views are too backwards
and it seems I am lost once again.
Reality makes me feel less real than dreaming nowadays
everything feels like such a dream
but most of the time it's just a nightmare.
I sit back and wish to drink this ***
the kind that's red and has little danny speaking tongues-
this lightbulb burnt out,
the hallways are lined with red
and nothing is shinning anymore
it's no longer a diamond
it's just all Kubrick zirconium.
watch me like your favorite novel
read me like your favorite movie-
never let me disappoint
but someday soon you'll get tired
and you'll pick something else
to fill the void of convincing yourself you like change
but nothing feels as good-
and the cycle repeats.
I would like someone to never tire of me
but these eyes have made way for more tragedy
and the bags under them make way for travel.
I will paint a smile upon my face,
tie a t-shirt around the open wound
so I can maybe stop the bleeding
and I'll pick up this part of me
place it upon my shoulder right where there's a chip-
because that's where it fits
that's where my heart is.

I'm waiting in the Starbucks line-
Homework due in an hour.
I realize my clothes don't match.
I also realize this is a lot like
what love feels like.
A letdown.
A constant urgency.
Insecurity that a deadline will not be made.
Making small stupid decisions based on your addictions.
Then the coffee I sip tastes like ****
all because the line to get it was super long-
too much ice and not enough coffee.
I drink it too fast and it makes me sick-
I'm thinking it was because of the pills
not so much the coffee this time.
And I continue to think about love.
How I never want to take that many pills again.
How I never want to play tic tac toe
with every negative emotion I have
I don't think I ever want to find love again.
Because this type of destruction should not happen more than once-
but to me, it's happened more than that.
Even the worst things in history are often repeated.
That's what being in love with you feels like-
A used history book too worn and used
to even show any inherent value-
But you love history and what it has to offer.
So you tape back the broken spine
in hopes of salvaging what you love so much.
But it's never enough to make it readable
it's never enough to use for notes later on
or to read your favorite chapter
and all you can think about is how wonderful it once was.
When you were pulling back each page
so filled with joy about what the next had to offer.
You had a lot to offer-
but all you saw was your broken spine
and torn apart pages.
I wrote my name inside the front cover
etched in pen so everyone would know it was mine-
but I guess my name faded and now it's all just smeared ink
you can't even spell out what it says anymore
maybe because I lost myself inside of you.
I'm again looking at how my clothes don't match
and how much time I took to put this outfit on
but the lighting in my room is dim
and when the actual sunlight shows more things
than the darkness of faded counterfeit wattage
you start to see the things you're missing-
like yourself.
You would like to send someone out to find you
maybe your parents or your friends
but they're all too busy in their own lives
so you look for yourself-
by yourself
and you wonder how you got this way.
How two nights ago you happen to be the same person
you were six years ago-
even the worst things in history are often repeated.
I'm starting to think taking this medicine
wasn't such a good idea.
But the only reason I did it in the first place
was because of how crazy I felt with you.
I didn't want to be crazy anymore-
I wanted love to work for once.
I guess you can't teach yourself something you've never seen
like how I taught myself to swim by watching my brother
and I taught myself how to tie my shoes watching spongebob.
No one ever showed me love-
no one ever put on that play for my young eyes to see
so now I'm searching and searching for something
when I don't even know what the **** I'm looking for.
I think I would rather look for myself instead-
I'm sure I never want to look for love again
but what happens when I try to love myself?
How can you achieve something so foreign?
God could be a fat, black, lesbian jew
and how would we know, we've never actually seen God..
That's kind of how I feel about love.
It could be a giant hurricane destroying everything
because that's the only love I've ever known.
I can read about it until my eyes are heavy-
I can watch it in movies until makeup is stained on my cheeks
but none of it ever means anything to me
in a world where I never mean anything to you.
Love is kind of like starbucks-
it's convenient because it's everywhere
and everyone is waiting in line to get a taste
most of the time it's not what you expected
and it's usually just bitter-
but sometimes you get lucky
and everything is sweet-
the way you wanted it to be
until it's empty.
I am empty.

I've wanted to die since I was Seven-
see everyone always told me things would get better
that as time passes so would the hurt.
But it's now 13 years later
and the hurt is still present.
Still painted across my face
like this smile I wear
to show everyone how ******* good
I am at faking it.
My whole life has been a fiction novel at my lips-
the happiness has always been just a white lie.
If time heals all wounds
why am I still in so much pain?

Sacrifice yourself for the ones you love
for they will only stay long enough to see progress
and as soon as the shade becomes your eyesight
you cannot find anyone else here in the dark.
Everyone is too busy trying to find
that light that was once inside of you
but it's not there anymore-
it was burnt out but those who said they cared
when they were only harnessing that glow to use to their advantage
all in order to see things better
and now all you're left with is this darkness.
No windows with the sunrise to peek through
because no one seems to be able to see through you anymore.
No phone to use to guide you
because people stopped reaching out a long time ago
so you figured you no longer needed to hear the silence
that clings to you like dust
like dog hair on your black pants
and there's no lint roller strong enough to keep it off
so it stays and you keep looking at it
wishing you didn't get yourself into this mess
but at the time it seemed like such a good idea.

You break once because of someone
they will break you again
and this is the one thing life has taught me.
People will hurt you-
they will lead you in with intentions of change
and then proceed to ask you for some money
because they know the change was never there in the first place.
I wish you still didn't owe me money
and I am picking pieces of myself to give to you
in hopes you will see how much of me you've torn apart.
I'm standing here with my heart in my hand again-
looking at myself in the mirror
wondering why I so badly want everything to end
wondering why it always comes back to this
and the cycle keeps continuing until I am nothing.
I guess we are doomed to repeat our past
because this feels a lot like when I was a kid
and I had to pass out or fake sick for attention
but I don't have to fake these things anymore-
they happen to me now anyway
and I guess this is just my sick twisted fate.
Karma came back around and now she's looking for a fight
she's already won round one
I guess she's looking for the belt.
Take it-
it will only end up around my neck anyway.

People like me strive for stability.
The kind of person that can be-
the calm before the storm
because I am a hurricane.
Name all your destruction after me
and remind yourself why you love it so much
as soon as it leaves
and you are left cleaning up the mess it made
inside your chest and ingrained inside your mind.
These letters I paint across a page
are just empty broken homes
and chaos amongst your feet-
so walk with me.

Run-
but only if you think you can endure such a thing
remember only someone special can keep up with me
I'm not too good at the chase
so you'll have to be prepared for when I don't follow.
I'm not one to keep things against their will
and if you do not want to keep me
I will not fight for your grasp around my throat-
let me go.
Wake when the chaos ends-
hope that every memory you grew old with
isn't washed away in the rubble
and remember to make room to rebuild
because I will make a mess of you
no matter how badly I would like to make you beautiful
and re-piece together your brokenness-
I have too much work to do on this home.
On the home I made out of my body a long time ago
and etched everyone who's ever hurt me
on the front porch like my address
they contribute to the broken parts of me
they've all taken a part of the blueprint
and I can't fill in what was there
because I honestly don't remember
that was way too long ago
and I am still searching for someone
who will remind me of what I have lost.

I think I can stop looking now-
I think I have found the things I'm looking for
and they were never inside of someone else
they were inside these line I write
where nothing can turn to something
in a matter of seconds.
Where these teeth stay clenched
and these fingers are always moving.
These things inside of me were never actually lost
they weren't stolen or taken away from me-
I guess they were just misplaced.

I am walking a tightrope
that I am continuously falling from-
my feet try to move but I see no balance.
Gravity and I have never really been friends
too busy falling, never keeping my feet on the ground.
So I walk-
jigsaw puzzle for my feet below and head above.
I try to conjure what it would look like
if I did in fact make it to the other side.
But I realize that's another part of me
I will never get to face
because my body will not ever let me-
my fear overpowers my skill
and I cannot hold on any longer
not with these two feet I own
or these two hands
too busy trying to hold up everyone else
long enough to make sure they're back on their feet.

I'm tired of not being in control
so as these emotions become too strong
and I become too weak
falling to my imminent destruction becomes routine.
Consistently pushing away anyone who tries to help
and any chance I get at happiness
I make sure it never ceases to exist again.
Control was never in my nature
so anger consumes me when I am the lesser
when the animosity takes over-
there is no coming back for me.
My mind goes blank
the only words I can spell out for myself
are regret, so this pen bleeds ink
just so I will remember these words
cannot be erased from someone else's mind
that these episodes will constantly become re-runs.
I'm getting so ******* tired of this show already-
always wanting to turn off the tv or change the channel
but I can't afford cable
this is the only show that isn't static in my ears
the only show worth watching.
Sometimes, I wish it would get cancelled
and fade away from the listings
so I don't have to see it anymore.
But the episode gets played over
I still cry at the sight of them-
I still let the plot lines dictate my emotions.

Control has never been something I was good at
but somehow this tightrope I walk
has become such an occupation
as if people are waiting for me to fall from it.
I walk steady now-
awaiting the moment I fall
I worry when I stick out my neck
for those watching my downfall
that this tightrope will become just a noose
and this show will turn into the news
reporting on what I could've done better-
repeating my mistakes like re-runs.
Time has been nagging at my feet again
I guess it wants to speed up my downfall.

It's kind of a sick twisted fate-
when someone turns out to be everything
you have found in someone else
but you also collectively hate.
It turns your mind into a constant state of confusion.
This obsolesce was never planned
and I never planned to dislike you as much as I do now.
How does one go from appreciating the very core of a person
to dissecting and disliking every part?
I'd like to think it's second nature
and the second you become who you've always been
when the mask was ripped off and I saw you
I realized I had been trapped behind a wall
of disillusionment in hopes to fix
what will always look so much better broken.
You are a mere child amongst men-
constantly desiring something so out of reach
always trying to get what you want
until it is within your reach
and you realize you don't know how to keep it
you're not very good at keeping track of time
and everything you say has to be depicted
like a novel of truth you are telling
when you use your words with such a dishonesty
that it's honestly laughable.
You have not made sense on more occasions
than you have.
Your words are your muse
your security blanket
when in reality, most of the time
they are fleeing from your lips
and they are used in the complete wrong context.
I'm glad I could help you be okay
I never asked for any help from you
so I wasn't surprised when I never got it.
Always trying to mend brokenness
so maybe I will feel whole,
when in the end I just feel like an *******.
But you are actually the *******-
and I should've trusted myself about you.
Should've reminded myself that nothing is within your reach
because your arms are carrying too much insecurity
to even try to hold someone else's hand.
But ******* you're trying-
and you have been
just not with me and I'm glad
because I found something now
so ******* special to me.
So thank you for not giving me what I truly deserved
because it showed me neither are you.
It showed me I was better than what you gave
and you said you cared but I never saw it.
Never felt these things you said you did.
I'm glad this sick twisted fate
worked out into my favor
because I can never imagine being with someone like you.
With a mind a bit too free and a demeanor
a bit too conflicted about **** near everything.
Learn to walk-
realize I did a long time ago
and I'm surprised I didn't sooner.
Maybe these steps will lead you
to where you think you need to be
Until then-
watch as I learned to dance
when you're still just crawling
one day, it will be back to me
by then I hope you'll be running.

I wait for the dust to settle-
it has stirred up into my lungs
and made a mess out of my ribcage.
I'm having trouble speaking
awaiting a breathe of fresh air to enter my lungs
but it never does
awaiting a clear thought to enter my head
but it never comes.
Time is the biggest contender
I wish this was me coming clean
you'll need more than just
a one-man crew to fix this mess.
But I don't want to be fixed
you cannot keep
what doesn't wished to be kept
and you should not fix
what works better broken.
Constantly on the brink
of being beyond repair
but nothing stays new forever
and shoes look better worn.
So walk with me
let no space enter between us
because I can't handle anymore dust
please don't go-
it will collect when you leave.
I'm only trying to empty myself out
so I can breathe again.
I choke on these words
they're all I have anymore
I spill them onto a page
and watch as they are taken away.
Passion isn't as prominent
when insecurity likes to bottle it
I'm having trouble convincing myself
to believe in anything anymore.
Trust is a four-way intersection
and no one seems to want to go.

When the internet became prevalent
I was enthralled by it-
curious as to what life had to offer
and how everything fit into one box
a ****-load of information in one place
a journey to discovery I never had before
except in books and news stories.
I always stayed up late on my dad's computer
tower below me-
humming, humming as I swayed feet
dangling from the computer chair
I was just a small child.
Age 8-
browsing something called a history
it showed me everything my father did.
I wanted him to be proud of me
so I tried to mock his interests
until I found his ****.
"BIG ***** BLONDES"
"*** GUZZLING *****"
My eyes widened-
I was going to throw up.
I regurgitated the anxiety of my life
onto the computer screen
I became entranced by discovery of the fuckery
keeping tabs on the tabs he had opened.
Age 10-
found my dad was on a dating website for hookups
found his ***** emails to other women
and more ****-
that he paid for.
Building up ammo to throw in his face
until I was awake middle of the night
saw it right in front of mine.
Looking out my bedroom window
two ****** in the hot-tub
one on either side of my mother's husband-
all naked.
I shut my eyes and walked away.
Laid in bed and thought about how
my mother was asleep in the next room.
I would like to think this is the reason for my trust issues.
Why social media scares the **** out of me
because this day and age there's consistent
access to the fuckery-
a window of opportunities.  

My first boyfriend would never let me see his phone
I didn't really want to
but every time I got near it
maybe to check the time
or hand it to him when it rang
he got nervous-
conflicted and anxious.
Tore it away from my hands on multiple occasions
never thought twice,
just thought he was protective of privacy.
He was cheating on me-
with my best friend.
How cliche.

Age I don't know 16.
Met a boy who liked the same music as me-
made me laugh every time we spoke
and I felt like I could finally be myself
but he was inconsistent-
a mind-**** and would go weeks without talking to me.
Then he would treat me like I was his
and invite me out with his friends.
Drunken nights turned to early mornings
leaving and him never texting,
never calling.
It ****** with my mind
I was left confused as he flirted with other girls
on Myspace, then Facebook.
He told me liked me-
I told him I felt the same.
He got drunk-
****** someone else behind my back.
Found out from his friends.
Burnt the **** of his he left at my house.
Always inconsistent.

I had never been anyone's
they always leave when the title becomes me
or they always end up leaving me for another.
I'd like to think that's where my insecurity lies.
Never really been the kind of girl guys like to date-
afraid of commitment even after spending a year with someone
He ****** me-
over, up and good.
He broke my heart too-
didn't even leave me for someone else
he left me to become someone else
so I stood waiting to become something someone enjoyed.
It happened.
Found inconsistency again-
he also liked the same music as me
I'm starting to think that's not such a good thing.
But he showed me I needed to stop thinking so much-
stop looking too into things
and just be myself.
Anxiety wasn't a factor for me with him
only jealousy.
I didn't have to work so hard.
All that really mattered to me was me-
but the inconsistency was too much.
My inconsistency was too much.
Now I am never enough.
I'd like to blame my insecurities on all of that.
Shout at my father in the face and tell him he ruined me
found love only once and it tore me apart.
I'm trying to mend that again-
find it, harness it and be okay with it like I was once.
I'm scared to death I'll never find it again
scared to death of everyone else but myself.
I'm afraid of my own shadow again
because it reminds me of what I have lost.

My reality is ephemeral-
I have trouble comprehending
what's actually real anymore.
My thoughts play too into what is in front of me
and I misconstrue almost every instance.
I am capricious and conflicted at all times-
never knowing my wrongs from my rights
never really feeling entitled to what I feel.
So I feel like my feelings are never valid
does that mean my invalidation is invalid?
Conflicted.
Constantly.
So I count the only things I know for sure.

1)  My mother gets headaches, migraines actually. Everyday-
doctors visits followed by phone calls which say "You're fine" but from what I see she is not fine. She drinks her soda and smokes her cigs. Finds her only peace of mind in this piece of mine. Mary is her friend.

2) My Dad gets pains in his hands to where he can't write some days. He loses feelings in them on occasion. He coughs for a half an hour every morning spitting up the mucus that lines his lungs. He drinks coffee and then goes for a cigarette. He drinks his beer and finds solitude in an alcohol content higher than my gpa. I start to wonder what's more important to him.

3) My brother works hard, he's lazy on some days but puts in effort where it really matters. He drinks his makers and tries to drown out whatever he feels the need to. He grows things to remind himself he can. He is a lot like my father.

4) I have a 3.4 gpa currently, I am bipolar type II. Most days I have at least two anxiety attacks, one if I get really lucky. I wake up everyday feeling sick. I have endometriosis. I was molested, twice. I am currently still trying to repair the love that was ripped from me like my heart was being taken to the black market for some pocket change. I drink my coffee, and drown my sorrows in blank pages and bury them into my therapists couch on wednesdays. I never satisfied with the affirmation I receive. I find solitude in dark corners. I am at war with myself..

I would like to turn this around-
flip the script and make something happy out of this.
But reality is not happy-
reality is nothing but perception.
Your reality can be happy
if you turn a blind eye to the destruction
or just appreciation that it breeds creation.
Always question.
Never settle.
Remember the things to which are true.

1) The grass is green, but not everyone sees the same shade.

2) Rain is necessary for growth, but it can also ****.

3) Technology is rapidly advancing faster than we can learn about it.

4) Poetry is the greatest magic trick we can hope to know, seeming one way but appearing another to every single individual who comes across it. Poetry is the biggest con artist and the best therapist. It is lined with metaphors and double entendres, it sits in stanzas and hopes to be read.

This is the end of the poem
and I have trouble feeling okay
with how things have been mapped out for me
aligned by the universe in one shape or form
we are all just shapes and forms
and we're constantly waiting in line-
filling out forms
in hopes of filling our voids
by doing a line of some sort
until our check voids
and the cycle continues.
Maybe that's why I see myself
whenever I look into the washer.
Longing to be washed away-
ring me out, hang me up
I want to feel like I am able to be worn.

I want a love I cannot destroy-
so I must love myself.
On the days I feel low
and like no one can be of service to me-
I must be that to myself.
No one can love me like I do
and I think that's why
I have such a hard time keeping people.
I am not one to be kept.
Constantly faulting-
afraid someone will run away
when they realize who I am.
Who am I?
Most days I am never sure
I see the outline in my shadow
of who I can be
who I would like to be.
A stencil I have yet to trace.
I lost myself once-
regained a part of me I never knew
back when I found who I was again.
But I guess I'm still searching
in the parts of the world I have yet to know.
Days like today I do not wish for solitude.
Spending my days
searching for someone to spend my days with
but when they come to me
when they desire me it never turns the way I would like.
I scare too easy
most times I cannot remember what commitment means
even when it is spelled out for me inside of someone else.
I am not one to be kept-
no secret inside your suitcase just awaiting the x-ray.
The airplane ride to a location you haven't learned.
So teach me.
Wishing for someone in a world full of nothing
is simply childish.
Take off the mask,
let the cage open and run free.
I am not one to be kept
at least that's what it seems,
trampling over my sanity-
turning my desires into demons.
Take what's left of me
I do not wish to keep it anymore
you have burned it all away
I am now just ashes in your wake.
Blowing away with the words you never said-
the people you chose over me.
I am mine-
for eternity.

I wear this smile painted across my lips like an eviction notice-
like you have two days to wipe it clean before someone else does.
So my smile goes away for a while
reminds me it was never really too fond of commitment
I guess it takes after me.
Some days it finds it's way back to me-
sulking because it couldn't find anyone else as good.
Even though it tried-
really ******* hard.
Apologies are the only language it seems to know
and advice is the only thing it has to offer
but no one cares to find it when it runs.
When it's busy playing hop scotch
with this heart of mine-
then someone pulls something
and the pain starts.
No one notices it until it's already too late
until the pain has made it's way into my mind
and formulated itself into my edges
planted seeds in every part of me
so it will always be growing
no matter how much I forget to water it.

Some days-
my smile sings me lullabies
and reminds me how beautiful the music is
then someone kisses me and I am reminded
that music is just a synonym for therapy
and no one will ever be able to play the keys
in the soft mellow tune of the saxophone the way I like.
I'll always be destined for that eviction notice
because it seems I haven't paid my dues.

People come around and feed this scene I like to play-
they realize they are trying to fit inside this image I present to them
feeding off the fiction inside my facade
and when it comes down to me-
when the cape is ripped away and it is shown
I am a mere moral amongst men
they start to run away again.
They realize this me that they saw
wasn't what they expected-
wasn't what they thought they wanted
and I turn into the *******.
Always hurting those who don't realize who I am-
an eviction notice at your doorstep.
A smile, not even I know how to keep.

It seems that no matter how much *******
you pump into your body to try and hide the pain
it never goes away.
The pain learns to adapt-
it will find its way through again.
You can hide it with scars
and bottles and pills
but it will always find it's way through
it will hurt much worse when it does
because it's mad you tried to **** it.
The only way to **** it is get to know it-
it strives off ambiguity
and lives on your tragedy
don't let it fester.
Get to know yourself,
it's the only way to rid of the pain.
If you end yourself it wins.
I'm trying not to let it win.

Knock, knock-
who's there?
No one?
Just a pile of **** on your doorstep again
and look it's on fire!
But you know better than to stomp it out.
you run and get the water but by that time
your house is up in flames.
As you look out the window you see life running by
throwing his head back and cackling.
What a ******* joke.

Everything is **** at my doorstep again-
it won't be long until the flames wreck everything.
I try to hold on-
but it seems as if every time I try to be happy
life is patiently awaiting around the corner
to steal my smile and run away with my optimism.

Optimism has always been a two-faced *****
she will come around when you least expect it
and help you with a ****** breakup
but then you get a call
your aunt is in the psych ward-
and her husband has bone cancer, again.
So optimism looks you straight in the face
says, "**** this" then runs away.
Each time becomes more routine
and each time you get your hopes up
that it will stay by your side but it never ******* does
because this one seems to be blind.

Life is always the thief
a getaway car two streets ahead
before you even realize anything is missing.
Life is the one you see at parties
and you just can't remember it's name
so you just use dude, or homie.
But life isn't your ******* homie.
It robs you blind at your most vulnerable moments
and laughs as everything is crashing down.
Seems to me it sometimes has a soft side though
giving you a little slack when things are going too bad again.

Things are going pretty bad again-
but life doesn't have time for my **** anymore
it has a kid on the way
and I think he named it suicide.
The spawn is what keeps you up at night
when life can't handle you anymore
and you can't handle it.
There's suicide knocking at your door
but it doesn't leave a bag of ****.
It's just there-
reminding you all the time, it's there.
You used to babysit it-
feed it, give it nutrients to grow
but you realized it was too much work
and it was just intensely bringing you down.
So you had a dinner date with optimism
and you agreed to get back together.
But sometimes you wake up at 4am
and suicide is crying again begging you to hold it-
maybe even acknowledge it's existence..
You want to-
every ******* day you want to
just to stop the crying.
But you realize it's not your ******* child
it will never be your child-
and at this point it's getting a little too old to be babysat.

I would like to put into words the way you made me feel ******* crazy-
but you would just see them as an apology note written at your doorstep.
Your ears would close and all you would notice is that I'm standing-
right in front of you so I must be crawling back.
It is never that.

One-sided is the way we fell in love.
You told me you loved me first
I said it back when I actually meant it
but somewhere along the line the roles got reversed
and I ended up being the one who felt more in love
like I had to keep the strings just perfect length
or we would both fall apart.
I was never a jealous person but in your attempt to keep me
you became what held me back
and I guess that was your idea of keeping me.
You never liked my friends-
talked **** every chance you could get
and then wondered why I got so upset when you did.
Blatant disrespect.

My dad called you the wrong name last week-
tried to make fun of the fact we broke up
but I laughed as another's name left his lips
you were just as much of a stranger to him as you've become to me.
I realized we've always been one-sided.
My family doesn't ask when you don't come around
you've become just another face inside their world too
I bet yours do
and that you cringe when you hear my name leave their lips
Took the time to learn about your family-
but you never had the decency for mine
it was like you knew this wasn't going to last
or were you so scared it wasn't, you didn't even try.

You were my trigger-
my relapse back into old habits
my cutting addiction-
my tendency to repeatedly punch myself in the face
you made me feel ******* crazy.
So I just laugh when you say you miss me now
because I don't miss any part of you
aside from the late night **** rips
and cuddling asleep.
I only miss you next to me or inside me.
But emotionally?
You can miss me with all that **** again and again and again.
But all I will ever be is a friend.
I will never feel that kind of insecure, jealous and crazy
not the way you made me.
growth is not an option at this point,
it's mandatory.

Conviction in my confidence and conflict in my consistency.
My mind is on an endless loop.
It keeps reminding me that alone is the only four walls I need.
There's not much talking here anymore.
Just the sound of echoes bouncing off the things we wish we could say.
The silence tells more about me then I would like to admit and there are days when the sound of my own voice
is something I no loner recognize.
The lingering hope to proceed in this awakening, this coming to god moment makes my knees weak and praying isn't an option anymore
Because my hands are too preoccupied trying to dig you out of my throat-
Too busy writing down words I should be saying outloud or at least acknowledging to myself.
But even if I did they would all come out distorted and faulted and weak,
a true reflection of ones self.
They say intelligent people are more prone to being depressed
because they understand more of the harsh reality that is life.
So give me ignorance-
I don't wish to know how I want to kiss the nape of your neck forever
but I live in a world where forever is fleeting and reciprocation isn't working in my favor anymore.
I am never one to be rooted into one place, so I don't expect anyone to stay long enough to water me.
I'm half sun half shade
Both tend to work in my favor on most days.
But then there's days like today where I am awakened by the soft pinch of the reality
squeezing just hard enough to break the skin.
I don't want to bleed anymore.
I just want to be
But what happens when my mind will not let that happen.
I am a zombie in my wake
always searching for something when everyone else just ******* runs away
Don't worry, I only want to eat my own insides.
Rip them to shreds and turn me new again.
Basking the glory of what can be.
But someone cut off my head-
They did what I had been planning to do all along
And now I am alone in my solitude.
Watching as everyone around me realizes that I compared myself to a zombie and flower all in the same poem
All because I am one part beautiful
And all others destructive.
and it feels like I've been writing for hours
But I'm not sure how long it's been because time is never something I was good at keeping, kind of like you.
I am a broken wrist watch
stuck in time-
and you are a hourglass
always running out of it.

I'm a rap game prodigy
irony like Socrates
that I could spit this philosophy
so flawlessly.
Unmatched like I'm scalene-
scaling my way to the top
so high like I'm a scaffolding
go ahead fold and scowl at me
and watch me cackle sarcastically-
while I tell the masses to become appealing
the apple of my eye is hip-hop do you feel me?
Massive attacks while the males become *****
and subject to the ways of misogyny
oh **** here we go again, this bothers me
what? equality?
Misuse the muse and move through your mind
makeshift mammals mimmicking media monkeys
no wonder half the world's a ******
like you when you see-
the way I spit so fluently
second language, feel the anguish
anger within me resentment
followed by residuals
the world is red and we're all cruel
consumed by corporate corruption
no function left to the fiction of fascism
so fasten your seat-belts and see me belt
way more than 16sixteens, it's sickening
how sick this flow can be so ambiguous
hip-hop is bigger than us-
it's luck, it's lust-
it's a ******* when there's a lack of trust-
it's ****, it's love
it's touch, it's ****
it's drugs and grudges
and beef and *******
it's empowerment, cowards
and records strictly to deflower.
it's appreciation and admiration
and it at one point shook the entire nation-
i'm complacent at the placement of this prophecy
that hip-hop has engrained into me
I'm grateful for the grandfather's
and the sons and the daughters
the step-fathers and mother *******
cut throat music industry
if you don't **** with hip-hop you don't **** with me.
*****.

I got 99 problems but hip-hop ain't one.

"Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop
I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block"
Nas and Jigga beef was the first I heard of drama in the music industry-
fueled me as a youngin' crowned from my brother's love of it.
Fast forward to when the radio put me on-
in the garage, on my mongoose
I heard someone spitting through the stereo
didn't pay much mind until a high-pitched voice rang through.
"Through the wire-"
no "through the fire?"
I couldn't understand but this dude started rhyming
and speaking through the speakers at me
my hair raised up and I knew this was love-
smile on my face at first listen
never really heard anything like it.
I thought back to the first song like that I heard-
"Life's a ***** and then you die-"
knew that line all too well
resonation in my bones didn't feel so much like a stranger-
my young self started spitting around the older crowd
they looked down and smiled-
a sense of admiration.
Hip-hop was my way in my ticket to acknowledgment.
Started listening to Eminem before I was even 10.
5th grade on the bus rides to and from field trips
"Shut the **** up guys I'm trying to listen"
headphones in, finally found someone to relate
so many thoughts of suicide being taken away-
realized the radio wasn't really my thing
too much pop and not enough soul
the words they sang were nothing to me.
In the beginning hip-hop was just a facade I liked to play
so other people would notice and think I'm pretty cool
but somewhere along the line it took me over
bumping nas, em and pac through my stereo
mom looking in my room like
"where the **** did my daughter go?
she's listening to this ****, she's gotta get a grip-"
But when I hurt the music would listen
bass lines and samples running through my veins
didn't know much about hip-hop
except the way it made me feel..
Technology came abrupt and the computer was my safe haven
the runaway from the abuse I was experiencing
mommy and daddy fighting?
headphones in so I can't hear it.
crying through each verse
and then the chorus hits and I'm better
finally realized I wasn't alone in this hell hole.
Started up a myspace-
more room for discovery
Eazy-e some Biggie more Nas
and **** even some Jeezy.
Every word they spoke
became something that was apart of me.
"Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop
I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block."
Nas said it best-
old school rappers speaking to me before bed.
Then I discovered Cudi, more Kanye, andre 3k.  
thought about how I had to write like this
it was my destiny to manifest this passion
put it into my pen until I could learn to lavish
in the luxuries they could afford
not the riches but the rhyme schemes
and the way it helped me
again and again would listen until I got tired
notebooks full of rhymes
my life was on the line and it became wired
then came limewire and my mind blew up
there's an entire world of music I never knew-
download after download the music became me
so much more to go through
****** up my computer
virus to the hard drive
all my music's gone. ****.
Freaking out in my room at midnight
threw a chair, punched the wall
mom asking if i'm alright.
"*******, go away"
She thought the music was to blame
but without that **** is why it happened
never gave up on this **** called rappin'
wrote my first rhyme when I was in 5th grade
poetry turned to rhyme schemes
and samples I liked to play.
Passion turned to aggression
when everyone started spitting
thought this was me and no one elses
has to prove who I was to the masses.
High School came and I was
"The girl who rapped"
freestyle lunch sessions to secure it.
Voices from the crowd
"**** she murdered it".
Slipped up-
started on the pills
too many thoughts in my mind
too many demons to ****-
ran away from the hip-hop
turned that **** to heavy metal
pop-punk and punk rock.
Turned away my from my passion
and started writing poetry
stanzas, sibilance and sonnets
filled my insides.
I suffered without the classics
the dream began to fade away.
We moved-
became a recluse.
didn't eat for weeks
but this time money wasn't the issue.
Heard something bumpin' from the basement
my hair stood up when I heard that base hit
ran down like I was chasin' after my passion again
"what is this?"
my cousin laughed "Life Changes"
"who is it?"
"Wu-tang" he said to me
I bobbed my head and smiled once again
"Wu is indeed for the children"
he laughed and so did I.
Realized my love for hip-hop
would never actually die.
"Poetry, that's a part of me, retardedly bop
I drop the ancient manifested hip-hop straight off the block"

I don't feel real anymore-
like all these emotions are just figments of my imagination.
Everyone around me is feeling down,
so I consume myself in them.
My emotions are always running away with my thoughts
and I can never really run fast enough to catch them
they're too infatuated with each other
and I was never really fond of relationships.
"Keep your head up"-
I've been told that more often times than not..
But what happens when my head
is bringing me down
and what happens when my neck
doesn't have the strength to hold it up
not anymore-
it's too preoccupied with the noose scratching at my throat
leaving a ring around it like an apology letter etched in my skin
a sad sorry for carrying too many burdens behind these eyelids.
I don't know how to place what I feel.
How to paint it into words
how to explain it in a way others can understand
I don't want anyone to understand.
I just want to be better-
to feel better
to feel the bliss of ignorance
as you're wrapped up in someone
or taking that 40 to your lips
wallowing in what you know to be true
but you don't let yourself see.
I want to make you see.
Make myself see.
It's hard to take away everyone's misery
when it is your middle name
it is where you were brought up
and how you were made-
it's a heavy heart who carries others burdens
and a heavy heart it will stay
because these days it helps take away the pain
to help others deal with theirs
but what happens when you can't seem to
separate the energy from who you are
and suddenly they coincide
so all you're left with is negativity.
Dreaming so I never wake up-
wake me up from these thoughts so heavy
push them from my wake.
Take it all with you
leave it all to me.
A heavy heart can hold a ton
and I'm not sure my maximum capacity
but i think it's reached it's peak.
Who is there to help the one
who is always helping another-
one is loneliest number we own
but two makes me feel so much more alone.
When will someone help me take the weight-
I can only hold myself up for so long
before this chair folds
and I'm dust again.
Settle with me.

Great fades to gray
where commonplace turns to decay
where the abnormal becomes negatively neurological
which leads to the ingestion of government sector sedatives
and we wonder why segregation of brain and mind is prominent
promises never kept and mind that never gets better
but before we fix the broken we must make you broke.
Objects in the mirror to fit society's standards
E news, TMZ, fox- all the new cancer.
Throw your money at it
make it go away
and watch in awe as the auction of your autonomy accelerates-
your mind is money to the highest bidder
and they don't budge when they watch your wallet quiver.
Quiet in the courtroom-
little Kyle's got a drug charge
searched his car without consent
convict at the age of sixteen
which is sickening to see.
Kyle was just depressed and needed a little THC
the only thing that would help him with social anxiety
and now he's facing a charge for not taking the meds
marijuana manipulation of the municipals
and now little kyle won't be able to go to a good school
18 the record will be swiped clean
but the debt of the courtroom creeps into his credit.
Society's white lies will tell you you'll be fine
debt from the courtroom turn to slanging dope-
dealing with depression while dealing in possession
pulled over, twice moreover propaganda's progression.
They feed us the same lies we go out of our way to buy-
news channels, channeling bias views for more views
sitting idly by as our lives pass through
changing channels as we become the chattel
slaves to our own brain waves from the manipulation
we love to bow down to this free nation
led by puppets- controlled by intimidation tactics.  
It's just backwards, the backbone of the nation doesn't have one
Columbine happened because little Kyle could get a gun, run-
repeat until it's done, dictating your discrimination
it's fun until everyone has to run away from the shooter.
Bangs heard throughout the world
talk of how his head was on backwards smoking on these backwoods
But he was off the marijuana and on the medicine-
FDA approved turned into a bullet to the head.
BANG.
Sinister structure of society-
**** america why did you have to lie to me.

One. I was Seven years old when the pain started
it came like an apology note I didn't ask for
like a bullies mom making him say sorry because he had to.
You were my sad excuse for an apology
you wrote your sorry on my skin
etched it in sin
and stole the security of my seven year old self.
Months after the days got cold
and my body was looking for some sort of warmth
found inside my sexuality-
I broke down.
Too many '4am picking mommy off the ground's
and '7am dragging myself out of bed's
too many fist fights with walls I never won against,
too many knives hiding underneath pillows-
and I wonder why I have attachment issues.
A swinging belt from my ceiling fan
that wasn't strong enough to hold my frail 7 year old body
I didn't break anything except for my spirits
the pleather wasn't secure enough-
I have been afraid of commitment ever since.
2. The day I saw your face withering away-
cancer etched inside your skin like sand
and the daylight never seemed like daylight to me
because it reminded me how the next day
was just 24 more hours closer to darkness.
As the days passed, your strength diminished
and as I saw you break-
I started to remember the things my 7 year old self went through.
I kissed a boy for the first time and remembered how it felt
the musty basement smell and the hands around my waist-
in that moment I was in a time machine
reverted back to my childhood and reminded myself
why exactly I was so scared of commitment.
My grandmother's face transformed into a stranger
and as I looked into the mirror so did I.
I would lie to everyone and say that I was fine
took some pills down the hatch to make it all better
until one time it was too much.
My stomach didn't know the words
my lips were trying to sing
they couldn't handle the music inside of me.
So I regurgitated a chorus of falsification
and threw up a string quartet of lonely-
I've never really been good at reading sheet music.
3. My doctor painted a picture of me
she put a dark cloud over my head
and drew me into what she wanted
she titled me "depressed"
all I wanted was for her to fix my stomach pain
but instead she fed me pills-
levels in your brain can be fixed
but she wasn't altering the right chemicals
I took a nosedive.
Saw what she drew for me when I looked into the mirror-
it was nothing but 15 more pounds
of what already brought me down
so I wanted to be auctioned off to the highest bidder
heaven had in store for me.
So I painted my own picture across my wrists
but the paint brush wasn't thick enough
and the red didn't spill the way I needed it to-
I've found I'm not much of an artist.

1. I met you around the same time
I found myself-
around the same time
swing sets were more home than my own
and soccer fields were my safe haven.
Middle school love triangle-
you cheated on me with my best friend
I thought I loved you then.
You drew me a picture of us together
and stitched together a weird stuffed animal
I found you weren't much of an artist.
2. The bottle and you fell in love
and I was blinded by lonely-
the affirmation was my drug
and the Jack Daniel's was yours
I was accustomed to the chaos
and the inconsistency.
You brought back the bad memories
and they sung me to sleep that night after
as the chorus of your hands on my hips
led me into an abyss of heavy metal
which led to the silence of my cell phone the next day-
I was never really good at reading your sheet music.
3. Timid was the way we connected-
felt a sense of insanity from the start
and anxious like I never had before
you changed the way I saw things
molded me into yourself
and took the grips of my reality
and let them fit inside your box.
Every instance of socialization
would turn into an argument
then I would succumb to the solitude
All because I cared for you.
You're a lot like my father-
I never realized it until I left you there
almost in tears standing in your driveway
you watched me walk away.
As I see you now with clear eyes and a not so heavy heart
I realize you're a lot like the belt I used-
not strong enough to hold me up
but still you contributed to my downfall.
I laid on that ground for some time
saw as you confirmed my suspicions
of old feelings for exes and your girl friends,
morning texts to my cell phone on how you miss me
how you ****** up losing me
texts back from me agreeing with you
kicking you off the high horse you once rode upon-
realizing you never appreciated me as a person
not until this love slipped through your fingers
and you were forced to realize it was you
defense mechanisms became your fortitude
and you tried to act like this knife I returned
didn't stab you in your heart like it did to me-
I've been afraid of commitment ever since..

1. Memories do not control me-
they kept me inside a cage
and watched as I outgrew it
prying the bars away from my hands
the memory can't touch me anymore
2. Two of these people don't belong on this list-
because they only showed me what love really
isn't.
3. Don't even think about falling in love with me, or hurting me-
unless you realize you will become poetry.
3. I've been afraid of commitment ever since
I realized you weren't a very good artist
so I've been racking my brain trying to read this sheet music
but I realize now who the **** needs sheet music
when you don't play any instruments.
3. Im tired of being around people I cannot read
seeing things that remind me of my seven year old sin-
take away the bad and remind me things can be good again.
3. Now I am invincible-
because the list of love will grow
while the other will be just a list to me.
Listen to me...
don't fall in love with someone who writes poetry
they will make beauty out of your tragedy
and sonnets out of your personality.
3. Personally, that's the only beauty I'll ever need.
The one that comes from me
shoots through my fingers quicker than
1, 2, 3-
I can count all the times I've tried to **** myself on one hand
1, 2, 3-
I can count all the men I've ever loved on the other
1, 2, 3-
but what I can't count?
All this poetry that became of me
because of those 1, 2, 3s.
And that's the best **** part about tragedy
you turn it into your own masterpiece.

I have mastered the art of invisibility again-
you don't see me the way you need to.
I don't show my emotions anymore,
hiding away this vulnerability
denying myself the ability to feel again-
you don't see this the way you need to
I don't want you to
see me.
Not like this.

I have mastered the art of hiding again-
alone in this spot I have found for myself
you're getting too close to finding me.
I don't want to be the one left looking,
I'm afraid I won't be able to find what I'm looking for.

I was never fragile
never let another's opinions sway me-
You ruined me.
Showed me what jealousy was
and let it rip through my flesh
until it was the only thing left of me
it's still buried beneath the cracks
awaiting to come out at every crevice
I wish I knew what trust felt like.
I wish I didn't have to lose it so badly
I wish you didn't steal it from me.
Why do you wander on my mind
like a bad memory that creeps unexpected.
You are a common cold
the thought of you lingers
and there's not much I can do to make it go away
other than sleep and comfort food.
I've mourned my entire life-
I'll continue on just fine again
mourning everyone else
like they're just another pair of eyes I wear.
I never saw your eyes
they were always bloodshot and broken.
You never saw me
your eyes were too busy hiding.
I don't want this mess you made for me, so ******* clean it up.
Take this feeling from my gut
this anxiety you left me with.
Take this love I so selflessly gave
and remind yourself how selfish you were with it.
I hope one day I forget you-
and all the ******* you left
creeping inside my mind
and hiding beneath my insecurities.
I will mourn for you,
I will move from you.
No longer will I be frailge.
No longer will I be sorry.
I am stone again.
Harder than most.
One day I will become a diamond.

how satisfying is it to feel nothing-
numbness living inside your bones
on the days when nothing else feels lower than you
when the ocean floor couldn't even capture your darkness.
how comforting are the racing thoughts inside your mind
that no one can know.
No one knows.
How the good everyone else feels is just a coping tactic
for all the bad they feel inside their bones.
A tragedy to deny yourself the liberty of lonely-
the hands you feel in the dark wrap around your throat again
and you don't say the things you desire in the end.
You become the end-
You become an end
the means to it just diminishes under your skin
and you are lonely again
all because feeling things has never been in your nature-
maybe just once.
But those times never turn out the way you want them to
and timing is the biggest ****-block you will ever know.
Wake for me
breathe in and out until your lungs forget what panic is-
until your brain forgets that you don't control your own breathing.
Put this life on cruise control and wait for traffic to *******.
Sulk in the fact you're stationary.
Convince yourself this body you live in isn't worth the trouble
that it will make a mess out of the remains of another
and leave you emotionless and empty
watching as the person you wish you could care about
withers away in the corner of your mind
all because you wish you would've tried.
Break around your edges and remove the dishonesty-
reality is the only villain in this movie
and you just play it at times you have nothing else to do
dreaming is your aphrodisiac
and waking up never feels as good as when you were a kid.
Built yourself a castle-
four walls and bridges surrounding the ****
you try to convince yourself you are
but your aura likes to paint a different picture.
Cast away-
remind yourself you are broken
remember how you got there.
Run fast in a different direction.
Choose wisely,
or don't choose at all.
Lose.
Lose again until winning feels abstract
fill yourself with the insecurity behind your eyelids.
Remember you will break someone
Remember they will break you-
don't forget to tell them thank you as you leave.
Apologize for the mess you made
but never be the one to clean it up.
Selfish is a second nature
and I am the mother of all mistakes again.
This self-assurance was short lived
and I'm on the brink of breaking for the 100th time.
Swoon me into sanity
and push me into the depths you like to call self-righteous.
Rebuild.
Remember waking up to the sunrise.
Remember the lowest you've ever felt-
run fast in a different direction.
Just Run.
Think of me when you do
because alone is not human nature.
Running has always been what I'm good at
and when I stopped I became stagnant  
then stagnancy became my state of mind.
So run.
and think of me when you do,
we will never become weak
as long as we keep moving.
So run.

I place my hands three feet above a restricted area
three feet above the vulnerable place I have built for myself
the safety that was once such a zone of comfort
is three feet away from my grasp again
and I am on the loose.
Crush it-
remind yourself what it feels to be alive
and crush the weight upon your chest
because you must break muscle to rebuilt it.
You must lose yourself in order to find yourself again-
these bones are built to repair the brokenness.
I am reminded every single time these knees
crack on impact of the ground
because too much pressure
has been placed upon my feet
that hurt is always temporary.
That feet will feel the wrath of your entire body
weighing down upon them
but they never notice when you get heavier-
they adapt to the force that has been built upon them
they were designed to sustain inconsistency.
Just as these days were designed to have an end
even when endings don't exist.
I placed these two hands
three feet above my sanity
and asked God what am I living for?
I never got the answer I desired
so I took five steps away from faith
and six more in the direction of pill bottles
accompanied by the Jack Daniels
and remembered why 7 is such a lucky number
because that's all it took for me, a week.
A week to remind me the weakness living in my bones
is just another metaphor for this **** I'm tired of writing
these problems I get exhausted from depicting
because I have ate what is left of my old self-
used it as fuel to power the person I have become
and I lost who I used to be again.
She's hiding somewhere along fault lines
awaiting for a break in routine-
waiting until I trip up and give her a change to shine
but nine times out of ten it never happens.
So she withers amongst the neglect-
lets herself become one with the demons again
because I won't let anything control me.
Crash and Burn-
remind yourself why you write these words
remind yourself of all of the people you can save
and then remember you are the most important.

I've always wanted to write something beautiful-
to make these words I speak not just some letters on a page
but rather a picture painted inside someone's mind
a story no one has thought to tell
but I realize that Mark Twain has always been correct
nothing is ever original and no idea is just your own.
So take the things pigmented to fit others
and formulate a tone that coincides with yourself.
Build yourself a new glass case of currency
with metaphors and similes
so I am reminded why these words speak to me.
Crash and Burn-
because it was the best thing I've ever done for myself.
Crash and burn, repeat, repeat and repeat again
until you find yourself amongst rubble thats to your liking.
One man's trash is another's treasure
but look in the mirror and we're all trash to ourselves
treasure will be found among us again.
Everything is lucrative-
so flee from sanity again
it's the only freedom of currency you have left for yourself.

The ink I use to write these words lingers upon my fingers-
the stain from this pen reminds me of the words I printed,
printed onto a page like they were my last will and testament
like every last word is breeching a secret code-
I love discovery.
The way words can wrap around lips
and be partnered with indifference and passion.
The way you can turn something so destructive into an art form-
every piece of beauty can fall in-between these lines.
These are permanent, in the same way as the ink that leaves my pen
and I hope for sin again-
for some kind of solitude that will help me write better.
But I realized I don't need tragedy to fuel my poetry
I can become inspired by the way the sun kisses the ground
and remembers to do so again every single morning-
how the world is so small but it still rotates
like it has a point to prove to the sun it can still manage.
I live for the early mornings-
the dew filled grass and the damp sock sunrises.
I live for the conversation of life-
experiencing everything through my wake
and being able to feel just enough to continue my day
happiness is an art form-
it's never just paint brush and stroke
never just words on a page
it is continuous-
late night rooftop star gazes
and becoming one with yourself again.
This world can ruin you
only to help rebuild you into a better model.
I laugh until my eyes are no longer dry-
I make a point to lend these hands to anyone
who's ever been at a disadvantage.
I breech my security to those around me
so they experience a sense of solitude in similarity-
compassion in comparison, to each it's own
the kind I never really received.
So they can know they're not alone
but realize their experiences are their own.
I want to grow with the world
find myself in the earth's crust
and build myself a fossil out of lost time.
Nothing is ever lost-
some things are only meant to stay so long
until someone finds salvation in what you lost-
nothing is ever really yours.
That's the beauty of this world.
As the ink stains my fingers
I realize if I shower enough it will disappear
and if I say these words too much
they won't mean so much
so I take pride in discretion-
I let the ambiance speak for itself
and let the obsolescence of life take course.
Nothing is ever planned
but everything is apart of the plan.
As I am driving at midnight-
windows rolled down and rain pouring upon my arm
I realize this is what freedom feels like-
each raindrop touches my skin
and reminds me of what it means to be alive.
We must feel things, even the bad-
because if we didn't
life would be so ******* boring.

I look at the world from a bird's eye view-
5 feet away from the edge again
and I keep walking close to it
convincing myself I'm not afraid of heights
Still I sit.
Wide eyes and looking through the bird's eye again
and I wonder when the sights I see
will turn into the beauty that I feel inside my mind.
I am mindless at best-
weeping in the tragedy at the feet I've walked with from day one.
The things that surround me formulate to the ambiance
and honesty has always been the first testament to my free will.
I feel as if the sights I see are set upon the sun again-
My eyes are burning from the dedication of trying
not to look at what gives me so much light inside my life,
what soaks inside my skin and gives me a less pale complexion.
My nature is never just stop and go
It's forever and it's fleeting.
I never seem to be in one place anymore
and the constant wheels inside my mind
are moving again and my tire has gone flat-
My head is on backwards again so the birds eye view
gives me a wide angle of my reality
my reality resembles the imagery I paint inside my mind
but lesser, lesser and forever depleted
as my feet move upon these stones leading me to my future
Normality isn't in my nature-
normality is only a perception created by the human mind
Dying one line at a time
Dying to be completely fine
I'm dying to lose my mind.

I wonder when the hurt will stop.
when this life that is forever fleeting
will become one with this heart that is constantly breaking
again and again and again.
I try not to care-
not to give **** about these feelings
that seem to take over my entire body.
Clinging to my throat in hopes
that I spill the things most sacred.
I want to be numb again
naive and grasping onto the oblivion
that was once my second nature
my proof of an angel in my wake.
No mistakes proved to be a disservice
because I didn't feel a ******* thing.  
I hope you realize you ******* ruined me-
at least you ruined who I was when I was with you
and as the exoskeleton of the girl
fades away into the background
who I am now grows stronger.
I realize that lying is your second nature
and being true isn't in anyone's agenda.
Only trust yourself-
because this life will make you drive drunk
and laugh when you get pulled over.
This life will invite you to the party
that no one really wants you at
and then watch as you sit around awkwardly.
They say time heals all wounds
but what happens when there's blood stains
on your new t-shirt from self-inflicted violence
but you still somehow wonder how it got there.
I am my own tragedy
but a masterpiece nonetheless
and the senseless emotions inside my head
all turn to stream of conscious in the end
I try to make sense of it all.
How I can never stay in one place too long
or even listen to a song all the way through-
**** what you heard.
I am the creator of my own destiny
and I have made mountains of these mistakes.
I will love harder than anyone you happen to know-
and if you seem to **** with that
I will ******* up harder than anyone on this earth
You can test me if you would like.
But these bones have spent so long breaking
that I will suffocate you with their ashes
and watch as my brokenness chokes you up-
makes a Tarantino scene out of your mistakes
and turns that **** into an episode of X-Files.
I am in the twilight zone again
wishing things wouldn't be so ******* different
every single time.
Wishing I could be real and sincere every second
but no one can seem to handle the things I feel.
They're not human enough-
not willing enough to feel emotion inside their bones
as much as I
so they wither beneath my facade
and hope to understand a fraction of me.
There is friction beneath my feet-
so watch as I go up in flames
watch everything I once was burn down
and watch who I am now rebuild.
Resurrection is an understatement-
Self-revolution is my only sanity.

Reek havoc amongst yourself,
watch it burn from the ashes of neglect-
simmer like the silence inside your bones
remember the things you chose not to say.
As your blood boils to the surface
reflect on why you're about to lose your sanity again.
In the dark of the night-
I sit on the roof watching passing cars
like I'm the only one who pays attention to their breathing.
I watch the sky and try to see the Earth spin
try to make a musical instrument out of the wind
I hear music in everything.
Somewhere along the line it became the only safe haven
so the blood that spills over and the ashes that fly away
become not just a passing memory-
they become a church choir for mistaken identity
for the facade placed upon me that I eventually threw away.
I remember hospital beds better than my own childhood
and I think memory is the only game of russian roulette
I have ever been good at-
because either way I die.
From the memories or the wounds it gives me on the inside
either way it cripples me.
Attachment is not my forte
but it seems to linger on my mind
like it's a bad dream I can't seem to shake.
Independence has always been the way I grew-
flourished under my own autonomy
and patriarchy has always been the enemy-
times like these I realize how genetics are strong
how father and son can grow to become the same
how times can change more things
than they make consistent
and how consistency is dynamic
in this world where everyone is so static.
I have become myself once again
found the fleeting feeble female
I was once was and grew her into something I liked better.
Felt the indecision of discretion
and watched as freedom became my second nature
but now it is my sixth sense
my conversation with the higher power
the light at the end of this tunnel
so use your words wisely-
they can become a disservice to you
and make you wander onto the edge of your own lips
only to have someone else remove them with their kiss.
Your mind is your own greatest magic trick-
use it to your advantage.

You left these eggshells at my feet when I was born-
Placed them each two inches away from me at every angle.
I would like to think your purpose was to make me stronger.
So these soles would feel the pain of indecision and inconsistency.
You helped build me.
Although the castle you made was lined with bottles
And the moat filled with liquor
I still ended up being a prisoner at the end.
You locked me away in your box.
You stuck me into the four corners of discipline
And made attempting to speak such a basket case epidemic.
I learned that you were the dragon
That made me fear for my escape-
But I also learned you couldn't hurt me.
So these words became my only sense of sanity.
I threw them back at you until you realized what you made me
Was you.
So as you're staring at your reflection again
both your children are staring back and I wonder if you like what you see.
I wonder if your years of being a father whisper in your ear at night
So you're kept awake by your own mistakes.
I wonder if you realize you are a better man now than you've ever been.
These eggshells have been stepped on so long they are now just dust at my feet.
I'm attempting to clean the mess you made for me.
I'm not a coward anymore-
I don't blame you for these things you have placed inside my memories
And I no longer have animosity towards all the things done to our family.
You've been the backbone of a broken home-
Built from broken bottles and ****** noses.
The tragedy didn't win this time.
Your words no longer deplete my integrity,
They no longer make me weep
Because you've provided a home to lay my head at night.
A forefront for these words I write
A muse for my misunderstanding.
If it wasn't for the mess you made
These words would be dishonest-
They wouldn't sound pretty and fly through my fingers at a pace I can never seem to regulate.
Without you-
I wouldn't be a poet.
So thank you for the tragedy
Thank you for shaping me
Because the misery built my happy.
The misery led me to poetry.

I think too much on the outskirts of life,
never in tune with the waves and how they
sway back and forth like they're making a point
to give you something you are never capable of returning-
it makes me think the ocean has a sense of empathy
and a sense of humor that we will never understand.
I will never understand the way life blanks me out
the way boxes are made around our souls
and the way minds have the ability to think
way too many times a second which leaves me
empty-
not being able to picture the words I want to formulate
not being able to grip my sanity around the edges
of the skyline long enough to see the sunset-
these things are all optional
mandatory was never in my nature
and my stature has always been tall
which is why I stand in cities and see my own reflection in them.
The destruction and peace and corruption
living inside these streets of myself
but everything you need is capable to be found somehow.
Nothing is ever black and white-
which is why I see others in every rainbow
because everyone is flamboyant at best.
When the light hits their eye just right
and I see a sparkle of life in another-
I'm always reading others.
Spending time learning their pages
so I can write a synopsis out of their smile someday.
I am a writer, and on my best days a poet.
But most of the time these words are just a dishonest
depiction of what I'm feeling inside-
the things I don't really have the guts to say.
Every time I put my fingers to these keys
it's just a shade lighter of the stream of conscious
that likes to paint dark pictures in my mind.
Everything is subjective at best.
The fingers I use to touch these keys
and write these words are just machine
and I am the one holding the controls
until I lose control again
and I'm back searching for the consistency
I've never really had.
Because life doesn't tell you it's plans-
It comes to your house at 1am
and doesn't leave
not until you're hallucinating from exhaustion.
It sends you a 4am "you up" text
and expects *** after the first date.
It never asks how you're feeling
so you just have to wonder if it really gives a ****.
But life doesn't ******* give a ****-
it takes your words as a disservice
and makes promises it knows it can't keep.
I am a promise never kept-
always fleeting, always changing
mind never consistent enough for normalcy
privilege was never in my human nature
and eggshells have always been the shoes
I wear upon my feet
so I try my best on most days not to crack them-
not to worsen the shards that peg my soles.
I am wandering
constantly fleeting from the feelings
I never want to admit are there.
They are there-
somewhere in a place I haven't been in a while
where cob webs collect and the dust settles-
I have made a mess out of what remains
there is no consolation for me
just a collection of art most people don't understand
with inflection and tone that protray my words
in a way to which I hope people with grasp onto
I'm living for others-
to write the words they do not have the guts to say
to pin down the insecurities they bottle up
to let the elephant in the room
put on the best ******* show it can-
I would like to be the savior of someone's sanity
as seeing as I cannot be my own.
I will flourish and grow someday
but in the meantime I will use my light
to feed others until they feel strong again.
Alone is the dark corner feeling
the pit of your stomach anxiety ridden emotion
so burn the desire to feel it down to the ground
smother it with your blanket ray of light
and watch what grows from the ashes.
I did.

I'm not opposed to my introspective nature
that most cling on to with broken fingers
and ever trembling lips.
I am forever embracing my most outer self
in more ways than just one.
The sun never really rises and falls,
the earth where you're standing just changes locations
and I am located just above the brink of insanity
waiting until the world turns just enough for me to fall again-
but as the fleeting world speaks to me with tone deaf hears
all I can seem to dissect from the conversation is
that forever means nothing in a world where
tomorrow could never come again-
I could never come again
but I will not take that liberty from myself
I will not sacrifice my freedom of expression
for a small sense of morality
I'm not sure exists in the eyes of those around me anymore.
The one being of my own being means more to me
than being something I'm not
so the facade I play day by day
seems to break away at the edges
like a clay molding of who I once was
and I will make a stone masterpiece
with just my broken fingertips.
Spongebob ain't got **** on me
because these hands can carve memories
into the retinas of another human being
and make this life a masterpiece.
Don't ******* try me
because I will swallow you whole
and spit you back out faster than you can tell me otherwise.
I have self-inflicted my own pain too long
to not come back strong like stone.
Like dark canvas silhouettes syruping over sunrise
when sibilance meets promiscuous  
that's where you will find my sunday best.
My meeting with the God that may or may not exist
the self-loathing meets with the self-fulfilling prophecy
and I am the head of the dinner table.
So dig in-
feast your eyes upon the glory that can be.
Feast your eyes upon defeat below your common nature.
Remember morality is a game that only you like to play
just to show others you can win-
but what good is winning if you don't know loss?

She is happy-
which is usually defined as
feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.
But for her it's a three way intersection at most
always watching as the others slowly creep up to it
never knowing when to show signs of advancement
hoping someone else's happy doesn't move too fast
and end up ruining hers.
Her happy is dangerous-
it's 2am pints of ice cream and
late night selfies because she's feeling great.
But don't **** with her happy
because when she is not-
she is contemplating
her ideals in the forms of narratives
that she can ruin you with.
It's lucrative, the happiness of hers.
She can wear it like the heart on her sleeve
or she can sell it like it's nothing-
auction it off to the bidder who needs it more than her.
Her happiness is selfless at best.
She never really knew what it meant to her
all she would ever feel is the lonely and the low
and the friends that they would bring around.
Things got pretty hazy before she found her happy.
But it's quick wit and inconsistent nature
makes it hard for people to stay.
The happy will run away with her lonely
and come back with her mania
all the while her contentment drinks wine
with her depression until it's a ******* party
and the only one she sees across the crowded room-
is confusion .
She fell in love with it at an early age
never knowing her true self
letting confusion take her out on dates
and show her things that only made him stronger-
but eventually the happy came back.
It made friends with the rest of the emotions
and lit her spirit on fire again.
She's never written a happy poem-
at least one that wasn't about love
and she knows it still exists somewhere
because happiness caught the hope
that was once so fleeting.
Her happy isn't just happy.
It's not just a single strand of emotion
inside her brain stem-
It is a mess.
A tragedy.
Summer days
and rainy weeks.
It is bipolar and mania to a tee-
new shoes and cold sweet tea.
Her happiness is insecure
a small child on the school bus for the first time
waiting to go back home
even though they just arrived.
Some days you see it clearly
others its like a smoke screen
sending caution to those who are surrounding.
My happiness is me-
describing it would be all too complicated
and depicting it in a manor lessor than me
would be an injustice.
My happiness is the justice system-
it never knows what the **** it is doing.
But I like it that way-
so lock me into solitary confinement
with just me and my happy
and watch me make a masterpiece out of misery.

I wonder when the hurt will stop-
when the thoughts of self-inflicted pain will lift
and I realize I cling to the things that cause me pain.
It's as if self-sabotage is my second nature
and my 6th sense is anxiousness.
This is all consuming.
The thoughts in my head will never fade-
the depression living in my bones
has made a home out of my skeleton again
and my heartbeat seems to be demanding refuge.
I wonder when my heart will get tired
of trying so hard to beat through this frail chest-
I am constantly trying my best.
Attempting to turn this anxiety into art
and this hopelessness into a canvas
but my mind is blank now.
The watercolor insecurity
has mixed with my acrylic insanity
and you should never mix two types of paint
but I was never one to follow rules
so this masterpiece turns into a mess
and eventually everyone is looking at my pain-
like **** this is so pretty
how she turns her sorrow into a sonnet
of metaphors and smilies
**** I wish I had her energy
her zest for turning nothing into something
and all the bad things into good ones.
But it's never that simple-
I must bare it all
become naked with my emotions
in front of a crowded room
and that is all I seem to ever do-
release my emotions for people
who don't know my story
they only know the way I have written it
the first person viewpoint of this tragedy.
I am a broken shell casing of who I was again-
It's been a while since I've seen this place
this cage, and felt this rage inside my bones
that sends me spiraling downward.
This place feels so ******* familiar-
almost comforting...
So I cling to this sense of solitude
and familiarity
as nostalgia creeps it's way into my neckline
and makes it way to my brain stem
I am sinking into oblivion again-
Alone is how it's always been for me
and as soon as lonely left
it headed to the ******* gym
lifted weights, did some squats
and came back stronger than ever-
I am now weak so lonely can take it's toll on me
it's trained for this all year
it's won a race I didn't really prepare for
and I am left in the dust again.
My eyes are tired from fighting through the waves
and my stomach doesn't take much to fill anymore.
I am aware this strength will not re-return over night
but I'm wondering if it will ever come back...
I am fighting for strength-
but all these thoughts inside my mind
make me weak at the knees again
and these bones can't only take so much breaking.
My heart hurts-
I am trying to numb the pain
and deal with the things I can
but some things just take time.
Time heals all wounds-
but wounds tend to leave scars
to remind you of the skin you lost in the process.
You will never forget what makes you bleed.

I hope the memory of you fades away eventually
but as I am laying in bed instead of counting sheep
I count the reasons you should be with me-
I count the things you do that reminds you of me
the traces I have left behind in your mind.
My eyes close.
1- I hope every time you play Mortal Kombat
you remember I was the one who convinced you to buy it.
and every time you lose you remember I was better then you.
2- Every song on the radio has my name etched in the background
and that saxophone solo you like so much spells out my name
in the crescendos as if it was the same tone of my ******.
3- When you lay awake at night stressing about work in the morning
as you're still high from the hits you take before laying down,
I hope you reach next to you in hopes to find my outline there-
I also hope you don't find it.  
4- in this journey of yours to find yourself again you are reminded it would've been better with me there, rooting you on with every single thing you accomplish.
5- I hope you lay awake at nice missing my voice telling you goodnight and missing my lips as they kiss you to sleep.
6-  I hope you remember I was your greatest lullaby and that you never slept as soundly as you did with me next to you.
7- and that all your ******* exes were just reminders of how much better you had it with me.
8- how you actually had something with me and not just an imaginary preconceived love you didn't have to put any effort into.
9- that you realize I wasn't something you actually did put a lot of effort into.
10- I am falling asleep finally as the anxiety fades from my memory and I remember I love having my bed to myself and not having to worry if you're thinking of me.

1- I roll over and the bear you bought me for christmas speaks to me in a voice I hardly remember. "I love you Amanda"
2- I'm half sleepy and I smile as the thought of you kissing my back and telling me goodnight creeps its way into my mind.
3- Loving you became the only thing I wanted to do right, everything else was just background music.
4- Loving you became the only thing I wanted to do right, but you thought you only did wrong so I became background music.
5- I am having anxiety again as the thought of you clouds my judgment and I begin to stop breathing again.
6- I can't see the figures in front of me or the images on the tv screen I am low again.
7- pacing back and forth in my room trying not ***** the thoughts of you out of my mind, get out of my mind.
8- I look in the mirror and realize this is what you did to me.
9- I was a frail excuse for a women, just longing for the same admiration I gave. I loved you differently than you loved me.
10- we never loved each other in the way we needed. I always felt like I loved you a little more. Like I was a little too much and you were never enough and that these hands could only grip yours in a certain way or would pull back and just put them in your pockets.
10- I hope you find me in those pockets and when your hands get sore from working too much that you remember I never made you work so much for this your hands hurt. I made you better. I made you worse.
10- I am cradled on the floor now hoping to find you there, but you're not.
10- I wonder how this is any different than when we were together.
10- I find myself repeating the same mistakes over and over again.
10- I just want to sleep. So instead of thinking of you, I start to count sheep and I realize those sheep were your disguise all along.
I am done letting the thoughts of you control me
we're not together-
and it makes me realize everything I've sacrificed for you.
I try to count sheep again.
but there aren't any left.

all people have ever done is hurt me-
I'm starting to think it's all my fault
and the only thing I'm good at
is letting people down.
I would love to drown my sorrows
in a whiskey bottle
and never wake up again-
but that part of me is dead.
The one who looks for escapes is gone now
and all I have left is raw emotion and coping
I'm not sure how to deal with either
when I've never really had to.
All my life has been spent repressing
everything in my wake
and now I feel as if it's all coming out-
everything that's ever made me sad
came flooding back when you left.
You're looking out at the window
to your life smiling and happy
when all I am left with is misery
and I thought I made you happy-
at least I tried my hardest to.
But it seems to me all I'll ever do
is let people down.
I push people away until I am left alone
and now I've never felt so lonely.
I've been trying to bandage this broken home
but putting into it my broken soul
and now there's no pieces to fill the cracks anymore
I am bleeding and faulting and withering away again-
there is no safe shaven for me
no peak I get to reach anymore
just me, broken and bleeding at the seems.
Nothing is ever as good as it seems
and I put on a hell of a facade.
But I'm even tired of that now..
Loving someone broken is hard
and all I've ever been is broken
and difficult and withering.
When will I flourish?
Maybe when someone remembers to water me.

I saw you today,
in the mirror behind me
you were there.
Stature strong and unrelenting-
I saw my innocence flash before my eyes.
Someone looked like you at work-
he smiled at me and said table for 3
my jaw clenching and my mind went blank.
My feet took a while to move
and I don't even remember what happened next.
Flashbacks followed by panic attacks
the man who stole my childhood
flooded my eyes over and over again.
I tried not to cry.
Not to let him ruin my day.
It wasn't him. It wasn't him.
It felt like him.
I clenched my fists
and let the memories flood my mind
I let them continue their journey
like it was a bad acid trip I had to get through-
my mind was making me feel everything again
and I hadn't felt that low in a while.
Repression was in my nature
and I painted a plain-pale happy face
for everyone who came into the door.
Table for 2-
2 months of flashbacks everyday at age 16
Table for 4 please-
4 years it took to cope with what happened to me.
Table for 7-
The age you took away my innocence.
When he finally left the memories were still there
the pain in my gut still demanded to be heard-
regurgitation of memories and my breakfast
all at the same time.
You have never left me.
The memory of you is still sharp inside my mind
every single day of my life
and I hate that you did this to me.
You took away my childhood
and you ******* my future too-
but I won't let you control me
won't let these emotions take a toll on me
because I'm tired of fighting these memories.
Good days can turn so quickly
just with the thought of you near me
in the musty basement
where the dark was your only friend-
and the sunlight from the cracked door
painted out my future for me on the floor
the dust particles made a slow silhouette
and danced through the air
My child-like mind at the time
had to focus on things like that
so I wouldn't realize the cruelty.
So now every time heartache or tragedy
follows me into the dark alleys of my mind-
I am reminded that is where I will find you
ready to steal my innocence again
like it's my lunch money
and I didn't think I could ever stop you
never thought the images of you would fade away
but I know they will one day-
when the heartache stops
and the pains reaches its peek
I will no longer be weak
and you will no longer be a dark alley corner
of my own mind.
I just have to find my sanity again-
some day I will find that little girl
and teach her how to love better
the kind without flashbacks
or anxiety ridden panic attacks
no fear of abandonment-
just love and helping hand.
One day I will find the scars
and the memories so ****** beautiful.
It is then I will realize I am beautiful too
no matter how many dark things
my mind must go through-
I am worthy of happiness.

I'm nearing the brink of insanity again
because as the days pass by
I can no longer get the thoughts of you
out of my mind-
I wonder when I will lose it.
Cave into the solitude I've always known
and end every tie I have with those around me.
See when you left-
the music stopped
and my hands stopped being able to write
these fingers would type and type
but no string of notes formulated.
I do not hear the bells anymore-
just the sound of a car crash
because everything feels like such a wreck.
I can't seem to dream about anything anymore
except for something relating to you
and I would like to think these
are all signs we should start running back-
that all we need in this life is each other again
but now I'm too afraid.
I've become scared and insecure since you left
but gained a facade thats hard to let go of.
Hiding my feelings was routine before you showed up
and reminded me what the good ones felt like-
until you showed me even you can cause
the bad ones too.
I always keep things inside
clinging to my repressive tendencies
I wish I never had to.
I feel lost-
I just hope you find yourself
and I hope you find your happy
I'm just sorry it couldn't be with me.
I'm sorry I keep searching
for pieces of you I will never find-
for signs that one day things will be different.
I just keep clinging on to a hope
that I'm not really sure I should.
But love just doesn't disappear
it crashes and burns.

What exactly does closure feel like?
I'm not really sure because
the days I felt my first heartache
like a bullet to my chest
I cried for a week straight then got over it-
I had so many friends, I never cared to love again.
I was never really sure how to close the open door
the day my grandma died my mind went blank.
So I drank away the pain until the images
of her cancer ridden body faded away.
How do you cope when at the same time
you see your grandmother die
you remember these horrors
from your childhood of someone ripping away
your innocence.
I haven't been the same since.
So now what's left?
I have left the one I love
with a heavy heart
and no closure to console me.
I just feel as if I am drifting
slowly and without a lifeboat
no paddle in merky waters
with a windstorm that won't quit.
But I feel at peace
like the calm before the storm
that realizes it will be sunny one day again soon.
So how will closure console this empty soul?
I've never really felt that feeling before.
Closure is a ******* step child to me-
just an extra sock that can't find a match.
A newly lit match burning out too fast
never to be used again.
A bowl filled with resin
when all you need is one ******* hit.
Closure is a seesaw with no one at the other end to help-
you're on your own adventure
and you only venture from the usual path.
It's a road you walk alone-
barefoot upon rocks that have been shaped from struggle.
Closure is the progression into solitude.
So how do I get closure from you?
How do these hands feel okay again
not holding on to yours-
how does my bed feel whole again
without you next to me.
I'm not sure quite yet-
but one day I will see.
Closure is an empty room
before a dance recital
it's a preconcert soundcheck
and everyday anxiety.
The nights are worse than the days
and I've come to grips with feeling this way.
I hope one day to feel okay.
I know one day I will feel okay-
because today, I feel pretty okay.

I try to write you out of my mind-
try to cry until there's no more tears
but they end up coming anyways
and it's not because I miss what we had.
It's because I let myself feel unhappiness for so long
that I convinced myself you were my happy-
when in reality you would bring me down
just to bring me up
so the reliance would fall upon you
but you got greedy-
and soon it was too much for you to handle
so you had to let me go.
You built me up and let me down
within the span of a year
and I think six months in is when
my world started to turn
because that's when the poems started.
The pages and stanzas of words
I felt for you that made me feel
nothing about myself-
you always made me feel low.
But I told myself I could fix it
because that's what I've been doing my whole life
trying to repair the things I didn't actually break
spending all my time fixing others mistakes.
You were never a mistake-
and I will always love you
deep down inside of me
I believe you are the one for me-
just not right now.
I've been acting as a parent my whole life
enough to know
that you have some growing up to do.
My outline is just a shade of dark now
and I'm working on the light again.
The flame I once was became smothered by love
and I'm trying to get it back-
but the wood is too wet from all the tears
and I don't have much to fuel the fire
because I am so ******* exhausted.
I'm tired of missing you-
when you hardly ever missed me anyways.
I know you love me-
you may think that's changed but it hasn't.
You convince yourself of these things
to make it all easier-
denial won't make it easier
repression won't make it easier.
Just deal with the fact
I was the one you loved most of all
and I was also the one you lost.
You can search inside yourself
to find what we had again
but you never will.
The void will always be empty
unless you have me.
So just remember my tragedy
fit your shoulders like a shirt sleeve
that now just wears your own heart upon it.
I wrote this in my dream last night-
I wrote this to get the thoughts of you
out of this mind they have been stuck in for days.
It hasn't been too long without you
but I start to miss you less and less-
I hope you start to miss me
so you'll realize exactly what you left.

It's like I'm in a constant game of hide and seek-
some days whenever I'm not looking
I end up losing myself
and can't seem to find where I hid-
I've always been really good at hiding.
Some days I'll be able to find myself
in the dark corners or under bedsheets
from when I was a child.
Other days no matter how much I try
and work towards finding who I was
or where I've been
or how the **** I got this way
I'm clueless.
Lost myself again
and not sure where to find me.
I sent out a search party for my happiness
but it's really ******* good at this game
I sometimes wish it wasn't.
You would think I would get tired of hiding
but it seems I like a challenge
and this hiding from myself thing
has been something i've done all along
a trade I seemed to master at a young age
and it only gets better with time.
I found you one day-
and you took my hand and helped try to find me
on the days I missed myself and needed it back.
You always knew just where to look
you always somehow found
what I would spend most of my days in search of
and now it is your turn to hide.
I can't find the same person who helped
find me
you've gone missing.
You must've been practicing for a while
because it seems like I really can't find you anywhere
not even in the same places I once did.
You've become an expert at hiding away parts of yourself-
This game is one I don't want to play
I'm done looking for you in the same places
that I lost myself.
I just want to find me without your help-
and I want you to be able to do the same.
I don't know where you are anymore.
Maybe I'm the one who's been hiding all along.

America.
Home of the brave land of the-
1,520 children who died this year from child abuse
and the 670,000 who lived through it
The 1,825 who are abused each day
and for every one report of child abuse-
two others go unreported.
So Josh Duggar can get away with molestation
because of the statue of limitations-
and everyone talks of "his recovery"
but his own sisters cries go unheard.

Oh America-
Where colleges would rather
cover up a ****, than catch a ******.
Where High Schools take pity
on abusers who play sports
or have a high social standing-
Where abusers don't get charged
because the girl they gang raged
was "intoxicated".
Where 4/5 of assaults are committed
by someone known to the victim.
44% of victims are under 18
and every 107 seconds another PERSON
is sexually assaulted
and 68% go unreported
and 98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail.

America-
Home of brave land of the-
41,149 deaths by suicide in 2014.
where it's the 3rd leading cause of death
in youth ages 10-24.
Where 70% of youth in juvenile justice systems
suffer from a mental illness-
but instead of treating it
we continue punishing it.

America.
Where John Green can romanticize
the 2nd leading cause of death in the US
Cancer!
Speaking of cancer-
why haven't we found a cure?
America!
Where why would they find a cure
for a billion dollar industry
that's fueling our economy.

America.
where you have freedom of speech-
but jet fuel can't melt steel beams
and everything is a government conspiracy.
Loose change taught you more about 9/11
than the news.
Where 500,000 Iraqi civilians
have died because of the Iraq war.
and roughly 6,000 soldiers died in Iraq-
but that's not including those who died after the fact
brain intact with PTSD coming home to broken families-
and we still think war is a smart idea.

America!
Where those who are supposed to protect us
eventually just start killing us-
and getting away with it to!
Where protests turn to riots
and everyone that's a shade darker
is labeled "****"
But an "upstanding"
white male citizen
can get away with molesting his sisters-
I'm looking at you Duggar, again.
Where Freddie Gray can be tortured to death
but hey no one cares
because he had a record of selling drugs right?

America-
The land of brave home of the
genetically modified foods.
You know-
the food we actually have to re-modifed
so other countries will deem it safe enough to eat.
Where our fruit isn't even actually fruit
unless it's label ORGANIC.
Where there's a McDonald's around every street corner
and being Vegan in today's food industry is impossible-

America!
Where we were once a melting ***-
but everyone complains about immigrants.

America!
Home of the brave, land of the free.
Where ignorance and Justin Bieber
are more accepted than the LGBT community-
aren't you proud to be an american?

I tried to smoke away my thoughts of you today-
but as the hunger pain etched into my stomach
and as every single laugh left my lips-
all I could taste was you.
My mind was somewhere else-
but I still ended up finding you there.
I've had writers block for a week
it still hasn't stopped but I hope
writing about the way you left me
will help the words come back to me
I hope it will make me worthy of something again.

I broke today-
my 10 month streak of no self-harm diminished
and I was at war with myself again.
I gave myself a concussion
clinging to the episodic tendencies I've always known-
I missed the familiarity.  
My nose started to bleed
because all the stress was getting
way too into my head
and so was I.
I fainted.
and no one was around to find me.
I woke up from falling-
alone once again
which reminded me of my childhood
everything reminds me of my childhood
the days when the stress would take me over
and sleep would win in an instant-
everything makes me feel so low
everything reminds me my childhood
except you.
But why do I see your features etched
into every face I come across.
Why does this feeling in my gut
tell me I should run back to you-
why do I feel like you're my forever
but you want that with someone else instead.
You said I wasn't the problem
and you cried when I kissed you for the last time
as you hoped you weren't making a mistake
even though you knew you were.

I hope one day I forget you-
that your name just turns into
another face in the crowd
another person I don't care to know.
I would've spent my life with you.
But you were too caught up in insecurities
and inconsistency.
People in your ear
telling you this forever thing doesn't exist.
I was left on the ground-
sharp words from your lips
pinning me down
all for your peace of mind
all so I could eventually lose mine.
Enjoy your freedom-
because I am now the prisoner
trapped inside myself
and you had the key-
but you tossed it aside
for that peace of mind
and your own company.
I am now my own tragedy-
Misery loves company,
but ******* I love lonely.

Every figment of my imagination has become
etched into the forefront
and it no longer hides in the back of my mind-
It is a painting amongst a wall I no longer own
every pigment of my thoughts for you has become
nothing but a dark shade of black.
You are nothing but a dark shade of black.
I let you re-paint me into something you'd like-
I let you take my hands and wipe them clean
as you painted me brand new ones.
I can't hold on anymore.
You were always a perfectionist-
who never really knew what he wanted
all you ever knew was it had to be perfect.
But I will never be perfect enough.
I have been struck by your razor tongue
as I take the mirror images to my own wrists
thinking I will never be picture perfect again.
You were always a perfectionist
but I am no Monet-
though I am just as beautiful
I will never be your work of art.
The pigments behind my eyelids
will eventually be filled with light again
and everything will be turned into
the shades of yellow I have desired all along-
you will no longer turn me blue and black
with the words that leave your red lips
I will not be your masterpiece-
I am already my own.

Sleeping has never been my forte so as thoughts of you creep inside mind I try to reiterate the advice I heard from my brother. Melting into my thoughts as I try to count sheep but they just end up running away and I am lost again. He said, "you can't make someone your passion, but you can be passionate about someone". But how do I separate the two when everything I do is extreme and intense and never subtle. Love isn't just a weekend lake house for me, it's the bed where I lay my head at night. It's not just a power ballad for me, it's an entire acoustic album filled with melodies you don't even wanna hear anymore. I don't half *** anything, especially you. But maybe that's my issue, these emotions are never half hearted. They take up my entire body as an entity, eventually I can't let go. I am who I am and you are who you are. We are both gray areas because we do not understand ourselves, maybe one day you can be yin and I can be yang and we can meet somewhere in the middle completing what it takes to make us whole again. I am whole. But it just feels a little better with you next to me.

I wanted to write about how the curve of your smile made me tense inside, the way his harsh words echoed inside my memory. But the only thing I could seem to muster up the courage to write were things that were vague and dishonest.
I shelf my feelings for the sake of becoming someone else. For the sake that some day I will be worth something, to someone- anyone at all. You spoke your words to me and I listened to them like a poet, unsymmetrical and all relating. I felt dead again.
My heart had trouble calming that night as I danced your words around the edges of my mind, back and forth and over again hoping to hear from you. Hoping to understand this language in your mind that I don't seem to comprehend too well. You're often not too english. More so metaphors and undertones of sarcasm. Of off handed remarks and cynicism. I can never read you.
I want to blame it all on you. That the hurt that lies within my heart is all because of you, but the blame is on me. Though I am not the only innocent one. Your words a thousand scars upon me. Your words a skipped disk stuck in the CD slot, constantly reiterating in my mind. I don't know how to read you anymore.
You were once the person that held all my secrets like they were gold and you let me understand things in ways no one else did. You just listened- but now I realized you were just awaiting the moment at the bridge of my words to jump off. Onto something more fruitful that was to your liking. I've never felt good enough.
So I take the long distance road maps to destinations I haven't seen and I look at every option before I decide to travel again. You were the road less traveled. You were the cornerstone of every decision I had made. The land-mine for my insecurities. I let you trip me up. I didn't even try to catch myself. I let you trip me up- somehow I'm still falling.
Still awaiting at the foot of your words and the edge of your thoughts for something, anything to guide me home again. I feel lost inside your love. The distant river has overflown and I've forgotten how to swim again.

I wish people would stop telling me to get better-
stop letting my words lingering upon their minds
like these emotions I possess are even under my control
things aren't that simple for me.
I hid myself away for months on end
just to learn how to deal with myself again.
I became the only friend I ever needed.
I thought I fixed myself-
but the world was too much
and I had to resort to solitude again.
I wish people would stop saying it's all in my head-
I know it is but it's not something I can rid of
it's in my head which means it's apart of me
every single ******* day.
I wish normalcy was easy to come by  
and I wish these emotions I felt weren't so ******* extreme.
Nothing for me is just happy, or sad.
It's not just black and white anymore
it's shades of the gray and the off-white inbetween
it's dark blue and hints of purple upon a clear sky-
indigo tears on a white sheet of paper
they stain me, from the inside out and they stick.
Permanent marker etched upon my brain chemistry
there's no magic eraser to clean up this mess.
I didn't make this for myself
it was made out of nature and nurture
and circumstance and I stand here
holding my heart out to whoever will listen
just so they know this battle I'm fighting
isn't self inflicted, I didn't enlist myself
I was drafted into this war
the day I was cognitive enough of my emotions
I was shipped off.
Indigo heart upon my sleeve-
I just want someone to realize this side of me
Someone that will say I love you
and I will help you be happy.
I know misery loves company
but I'd rather be alone-
than bring someone down with me.
All I need is some understanding-
because I can hold my own hand in a time of need
but I need someone to tell me-
it's okay to be this way.
All I've ever been is too much
I want to be enough
show me I'm enough.

They say imitation is the most
sincere form of flattery-
But why do I feel like my exoskeleton
has been carved out and worn
by someone else's bones
and everyone seems not to notice.
I've never been one to claim
originality but it feels as if
who I was contridicts with who
I actually want to be.
So the only mistake I have made
along the way-
Is believing I could be anything but I.

Courage is a too way mirror-
you act a certain way when people aren't looking
when often times you don't realize they actually are
courage looks you in the face
it sees you how you wish you were-
courage knows all your secrets.

Courage is a four way intersection-
too much stop and go
too little patience
always having to predict another's move-
but courage doesn't always take turns.

I've always been really good at comparisons-
but really bad with expressing how I feel.
See missing you is like a simile
without the smile
because all I have left is just I
and not even my happiness anymore.
So I wonder when the waves will stop-
wonder why you will kiss me
at high tide
but leave when it becomes low again
I am low again-
But I hope that you realize I am so ******* happy
but at the same time I am nothing.
Like the sea, there are parts of me still uncharted-
I wish you could discover more of me
But you're a little too afraid of change
and I spend too much time shopping..

Courage is a hangnail-
taunting you to do what you know you should
realizing after it ******* hurts like hell-
sometimes you regret it most of the time you don't.
Courage will be there again one day-
just remember it's gonna hurt
but sometimes you have to bleed
to make room for new skin.