The artist itself is the only one
who knows the true meaning
behind his work. We’re free
to speculate but can never be
certain, yet judge.

If the world is a piece of art, then
that would be simultaneously coherent
and messed up.

Everything’s a theory:
its maker, if he’s really out there
in the open, if i’m just seeing things
in a wrong perspective,

or if all of this is even worth
thinking about.

if you ever meet someone who makes your life flow easier and makes you laugh a lot, keep them. that's all you need.

the feeling starts in my toes
any my body knows what is about to happen so it lands me on solid ground
i shut down, the only sound i hear is the throbbing of my heart
that's the start, the fuel for the fire that sparks in my chambers
grains of sand tip into my legs and fill me with the heaviness of desire
the liar before me spits lighter fluid and lights me up
the sand is burned into glass, suddenly I am fragile
a thing i never wanted to be
they tell me not to throw rocks if i live in a house of glass, yet i hurl boulders at every potential predator who threatens to stain my glass with unholy hands
but my dear, it'd be a pleasure to be stained my you
the pain i feel looking at you is salt on my tongue
weights on my lungs
acid on my skin
a need within
oh god do I miss you, even when you are standing in front of my fortress with ready fingertips
but again and again, i will say there is venom, not candy, on your lips

It will never really go away, and I am coming to accept that.
It will be there like the copper aftertaste of cheap chocolate that oils the roof of my mouth
Like the scoff of my shoes on the hotel carpets that’d annoy my father
The ticking of the clock ten minutes off during practice
The icy temperatures of the history classroom as I attempt to pay attention
Like the rattle of the acetaminophen tablets in my pill bottles
The sweaty nights accompanied by tears and fretting for the morning
The feeling in my stomach when a test is placed in front of me
Like the way he looks at me from down the hall with wandering eyes to match his heart
The way my compass sometimes catches on the surface of the paper and ruins the circle entirely
The moment of panic before I remember my locker combination
Like the cold feeling of going to sleep with wet hair and stubbly legs
The dry tightness of my skin after washing my hands
The cracking of my face  under my nose due to rough tissues
Like the threatening surfaces of frozen water in the parking lot
The gagging taste of cough syrup as it spills down my throat
The embarrassment of not knowing the answer in class and sputtering out “uh”s and “um”s
But accepting that doesn’t rule out the good
There will be days filled with shocking ecstasy
Like the moment a snow day is announced
The grade boost after a well prepared for test
A good night’s sleep
Warm days
Cold nights
New sweatshirts waiting to have memories sewn into their fibers
Putting lotion on after shaving
Buying bed sheets
Drinking tea
Finding a new band
Going to concerts
Living
Breathing
Beating
Moving
Feeling
Loving
Maybe it's not so bad if I accept that my days won’t be perfect
After all
Balance is key in the face of diversity