the truth is,
healing was never going to be linear.
we were never going to conquer our fear
or our pain or our guilt or our shame
and move onto the next thing.
we were bound from birth to conquer the same
thing over and over and over again.
the past would never be behind us.
the present would never be the only
space we existed in.
the future was never tangible,
never really in front of us...
it's just kind of a concept that hangs
unreachable above our heads.
this thing we think we're walking toward,
it keeps us moving.
we're always moving,
but the grounds we walk lead nowhere.
our lives are no more a journey
than a jog on a treadmill...
moving forward was always an illusion.
we are walking the same path
again and again and again
and we develop shin splints
on random occasion,
and then we have something to heal,
and we do it...
we heal ourselves of our shin splints,
but they come back
and we are forced to start
the therapy all over.
life was never about fixing
all of our problems,
until we are left with nothing
but goodness and strength,
because all of our problems
are not constant.
we aren't born with every
problem we'll have,
so that we can spend the
beginning of our lives
fixing each one until
we are rid of the pain
and the flaws that
slow us down.
we fix a problem
and an other appears
and we fix that problem
and we are catapulted
into tragedy
where old problems
resurface suddenly.
and this never stops.
nothing is ever really "fixed".
nothing is ever really over.
i wasn't built to ever be whole
and present all at once.
i am pieces scattered out
all over every inch
of the earth,
that i've touched.
i couldn't wait for that
anatomy class to end
last semester,
but even when it ended,
i never really left it.
there's still a piece of me
sitting in a seething frustration
at my own inadequacies,
my own inability to retain
the information,
and that piece will
be stagnant in anatomy forever,
because now that i've unlocked
that specific brand of frustration
that exists in me,
there is no way to lock it again.
my growth was never linear,
it never will be.
my growth is scattered
like half smoked
cigarettes on long stretches of
endless pavement.
i am a good person.
i have bad intentions.
and i am a bad person.
i have good intentions.
i am everything
and nothing
and i am who i wanna be
but i am hardly anything at all.
i am strong today
but i may be weak tomorrow.
my growth is not linear.
i am scattered.
i am in bed
and i am dreaming
and i am writing this
and i am waiting
and i am comfortable
and i am content
and i am terrified
and i am exhausted
and rested
and confused
and full of clarity.
i am never one whole.
i am always a half of a half
of a half, and so on
and on and on.

I can't live inside the lines I edited to make this flow just right
And he isn't just a character born inside of a poem I was asked to write
He didn't have flowers in his hair or crystals in his eyes
Actually, he had crooked teeth and a convincing smile laced in lies;
I remember his presence unfolding a shadow of warmth all over me
But then he left me with these reoccurring dreams of drowning myself out at sea
I once talked to a boy who said that words are weak because they are not a substitute for feeling
And smearing black-ink-pain all over a white page is not a form of healing
So this is a blunt description of what he did
Honestly, I was just a kid
But even then I knew that he hung that rope far too quick
And from that day forward my mind was sick
Somehow this is still so hard to confess
But he saved me from being substance-less

I fear the day that I go sane.
If I ever fall out of love with pain,
Strike a bullet straight through my brain.