I am a firm believer
That those who are meant to be in your life
Always have a tendency
Of coming back.

And I am lucky
To have found
Someone like you,
Who wants to stick around.

I miss you,
And I'm up in arms
Over something my brother said.

See I've have things I
Struggle with
Almost constantly,
Like because I have a handful of mental illnesses,
Does that make me bad?

Or do my illnesses
Make me insane?
Or does my illness
Mean I'm held
More or less accountable
For things I can't control?

Having been abused,
Does that mean I'll repeat the cycle?
Or does it my mental illness
Make me so?

I'm up in arms
For having been accused
Once or twice
Of using someone as a punching bag,
But she fails to remember
The majority of our Junior and Senior
Years,
When she would gladly rip into me
All because she felt it was right,
During her time of month.

Not to say it was right,
It wasn't right,
For me to treat her poorly
As I tried to survive,
But either way,
There were ways to end a friendship
Better than her falsehoods.

And I'm up in arms,
Because I'm on the defensive,
And I'm scared I'm not my best,
And I know in real, grown up love,
So they say,
You're supposed to stick by someone
Even at their worst.

And I'll stick by you,
Easily.
It won't be difficult for me.
I've seen some things.

But I don't want you
To ever see me
At my worst,
So I'm up in arms,
And I'm scared,
And I'm considering
Getting the deep insides
Of my medial temporal lobe
Removed.

Just remove
The limbic system.

I don't know.
Nightmares and memories
At every turn.

I have to go back
To that hell hole
For half an hour tomorrow.

I'm honestly terrified.

Within a dream
Last night
I felt the terror
Of the bitter sting
Of jealousy.

I don't normally feel
Things like jealousy
Any longer,
But the pang of envious
Resentment was there and true.

I don't remember
The majority
Of the dream,
But the horrible negative emotion
That stirred inside me
Seems to have stayed
And is eating away at my insides.

If I were any
Of the seven deadly sins
Personified,
I would be Wrath,
Simply put.

Envy's vices
Have nothing on the rage
That builds within my veins
Based upon a
Green eyed monster.

And if I were the beast
My ire makes me feel like,
There would be no kind, lovable parts of me
Left but instead
Sharp needles and claws,
Guttural growls and sharp,
Locking teeth.

I do not want to be
The person this feeling
Makes me become.
Spitting poisonous insults
Like how some snakes spit venom.

A large vocabulary
Simmering down into
"expendable, vapid strumpet!"
And
"horrid glutton!"

No, I cannot allow myself
To fall down the path of
Pointless rage and begrudging resentment.

For it was just a dream,
Nothing more
And nothing real.

Paper is light,
But man,
Is ink heavy.

And words
Pooled in ink
Weigh me down,
All one hundred and twenty five
Pounds.

And the paper is light enough
To pull me up,
All the way
To five feet
And one inches.

I am an outline,
Not even the rough draft,
Becoming something greater,
But not quite far enough
To be anything quite worth saving.

My book of life
Has been opened by a few,
And left out in the rain by many.
Pick and choose
Pick and choose
The chapters and quotes and snippets
You want to keep
And leave my pages out
To have the ink bleed out.

But you come along,
And you've come along before,
Helping with a few chapters of this book,
And but suddenly you're here,
And you've come along with smiles
And light
And hope
And I don't doubt any part of you,
And I know your intentions
Are to stay.

I might only be some outlines,
But this ink is heavy on this paper,
And I hope you appreciate
My binding.