They say "I'm not sure,"
and they know it's veritable.

Cluttered desk--hats and
textbooks and papers and
earbuds all askew, heart
pumping too quick

Sitting on a black plastic chair,
legs curled up underneath, eyes
flickering to The Latehomecomer,
stomach unsettled

"I'm not sure." of what?
head down, eyes searching,
mind spinning, lungs catered
like coffee at noon
"Everything."

Supplied lies, shaking hands
pouring chamomile tea into a
white cup, hoping for--
that too.

"Everything?" on their mind
is falsified and unknown,
twisted skin ruddy,
shoes all in a row,
nails bitten like marionette

"Anything." of confirmation
belongs to the stables
which blossom with the
stench of sweetness and
wild, roving insecurity

"I'm not sure," they
murmur, "what you mean."

Precipices are lonely business
and so are "People like me,"
Forks are steel but the
mind is molten
and rusted in decay

"dream of quiet," they laud
slick on thin ice of
the essay due tomorrow in
history on the death
of too many

Sunglasses are similar
to winter waters and
lightning spirals in;
they are in debt to
themselves, in depth of

"broken moments." that
clash and too much
to think
              slivers down in silver

carcasses of thoughts
"Okay, I can't help you."

"I know," filters out
behind lips of burning iron
"I never expected you too."
floats down the crowded
unfinished
                    street.

They're not sure of
everything and
I'm not sure of
me.

I know it's true.

I’ll be broken
I’ll be beaten
I’ll even be pieces of blue

I’ll stay scattered forever
As long as they fix you

For my times are many,
Like birds of a feather

Plus I’ll figure it took all the glue in the world
To put you back together.

Some days its hard to figure out where it all went,
Or if there was anything really there to begin with
Some days I’m blind
And I’m lost,
And sometimes I’m scared.
But then sometimes I’m comfortable being lost,
And I rather enjoy being blind,
That way what I can’t see
Can’t be close to hurting me
No vision to remind me
Of everything I should be,
And these things never change
And it’s probably for the best
To be lost without a reason
And without a care.

The three phrases I was given
At a time I thought
I could not go on
I want to share with you

You did not cause it
You can not control it
You can not cure it

Someone who understood pain and loss  
Shared these words with me

I did not cause it
I can not control it
I can not cure it

     I repeated them during my morning runs
          I put them on my to do list
               I read them aloud everyday

It wasn’t until it became my mantra
That it sunk in

At first I fought against them
My mind taking over
As it often does
With overthinking
And inflicting painful thoughts

     If I only I did it differently...
          I did not cause it
               If I only I do this now...
                    I can not control it
                         If only you would...
                              I can not cure it

I did not heal
Until I realized
I really did not cause it
I really can not control it
I really can not cure it
     But I can chose to
        ... Cope

I can choose to survive
I can choose to love myself despite the reasons these words became important
In the first place

Now I give them to you

Sadness
Unbearable, depressing
Cry, hide, whisper
It made me feel small
Sorrow

Minute by minute
hour by hour
the angry swells so heavy
I'm about to pass out
and i want to never wake up.
Lost and confused trying to find myself again
So I pick up a pen and spill the ink
Black is what I see and what I bleed
Joy is a mystery that I can't seem to grasp
losing hope and faith
is it you or is it me?
Was this even meant to be?
You stole my identity and said you were my friend.
Ripped out of my arms, whispering goodbye.
And the hole widens with anger and spite.
Why doesn't this feel right?
This was suppose to be my chance, my dream!
To show the world that I am enough,
that I'm real and I feel!
This depression and stress, I want it to rest.
I need it to rest.
Why do i keep feeling like I'm not enough?
Is it you or is it me?
God, can you hear me scream?
I don't know what to do, I'm dazed and confused.
Chasing the dragon in the bathroom at work,
my only source of peace, my fake fidelity.
Sticking needles in places scars used to be.
Once healed, now marking its territory.
Again and again, how longer will I bend,
How longer will I need to prove myself?
How much longer will I come second place?
Where is your faith and why do I seek your approval?
I keep blaming you, but is it me?

It seems like I can't stop this unhealthy way of coping

The way that requires a blade embedded deep withing my skin

i think i have found
the best coping technique
and that is to--love.