Ages, years, days, months…
All night, all day…
Why does this world seem lost in greys?
I wonder if this is too much to be real
Or is it just my vision lost in crepuscule?

I promise, I am not arrogant as you think,
I just— don't know how to act.
I promise, I am not jealous as you think,
I just —crave appreciation for my work out of care.
I promise, I am not someone who loves to ditch our group plans,
I just —prioritize the rules and words my loved ones say.
I promise, I don't love to lie or hide my things,
I just— don't want you all to be disappointed.
I promise, I am not someone who loves to scream every time,
I just—feel disappointment in myself.
I promise, the things you think I never care about,
Those are the literal ones that haunt me everywhere…
Haunt me — self-doubt, questioning myself more than anyone ever could.
And at a moment i wonders—

Don’t I Deserve to be me,too?

Is writing really my thing ?
Yeah I may create stories—
Fulfilling ones.
I may craft poems
That flows like rivers.

But every one can write.
Everyone can imagine

So what makes me unique?
What makes me special?

Chances seem high that I sink so low tomorrow— where
do I return the belongings of my skin, stitched too tight
with sin? And is there a good intention I can borrow?

To call love a bullseye, but it's just something darting past
me; for a lap dog on the leash of longing can’t run free—it
only circles the grass. As I fuel my odds at a gas station lot;
feathers searching for a birdie; practicing my golf swing,
hoping for a hole in one— or just putting one in a hole.

"Find a stable life," they say, but the horse track is empty,
where hooves never sound, and only echoes of betting slips.
Online, some search for a type, the screen listening to the
type of fingers. But knowing is never seeing, and belief
needs more than a glow of pixels.

"Good grief"— so cried the one who buried their beliefs,
but they still dug the dirt back smooth, as if planting a
seed for tomorrow. Till we're gone, we'll always have
tomorrow.

My words morph out of place— would you
still entertain the thought of me in the end?

Every star rules its own space,
but the circumstance of a cosmos knots me up,
its circumference bending beyond my grasp.

A smile cracks the mirror—
I cut myself and I bleed from the shards.
Alone in my room, my sighs are heavy
as a tomb buried under the world.

It’s cold, too cold, and I’ve waited for
the heroic ******, that movie moment
where the hero rises—but I’ve climbed my max.

My throat feels split by an axe.
It’s all out of my hands; I tried to leave
it in God’s hands, but faith feels like
hand-me-downs— worn thin, never quite mine.
I light another cigarette, to drag time along with me.

I am not a sad song, just a tune people sing
along to, a chorus written in tears.
Tear me apart, piece me back like armies
lined up only to be shot down.

And when I fall again, I look up,
choking on the silence, and ask,
"Is this really the life I was promised by God?"
But then again, I did this all to myself!

Awaken refreshed, hush the alarm, time for another caper,
cuddle with the kitty, good morning, my fuzzy lil slayer!

Feed the furballs, cereal for me, start the coffee maker,
may be a good day today, at least it looks good on paper.

Drain the main, check the mirror, what-up my playa—
wait a sec, is it my self-hate, or am I a little greyer?

Inhale my morning nicotine with a sugary caffeine chaser,
hazelnut and doubt, mmm, that's my favorite flavor...

Brush and shave, step into the Hypothetical Argument Simulator,
hope follows soap down the drain—oh well—see ya later!

All dressed up, glance to verify the happiness imitator,
hold my chin up high, but only for the cologne sprayer.

Front door locked, start the car, on the lookout for hidden radar,
try to outrun the bitterness, traffic jam, wish this were single-player.

Make it to work in one piece, if just the outer layer,
brain boiling beneath, my good old trusty traitor.

One day
Some day
Probably soon
I'll be nothing
Dust on the moon

Never could be solid
Never could be whole
Never found a way
To fit into the mold

Bleeding through the pages
Crossing all the lines
Aching in my soul
Pretending I'm just fine

This ache is such a feeling
A hard one to forget
I've never been without it
Yet I never do regret

Some souls can do wonders
And others are so wise
Some of us are filler
Background till our bland demise

Not quite meant for great things
Just put out here to live
I wanted to be special
My expectations I must forgive

I can't live up to her
Never will live up to him
Living up to myself?
A barren truth discovered on a whim

So hush now, do be quiet
It's so loud in my mind
I'm so sick of noise
Leaving thoughts of grandeur behind

Staring at a wall
No time to even blink
Living a life mentally
Reality making me sink

Such a twisted sickness
Being great in your head
Wasting all your hours
Decaying in your bed

Feet that once danced so
Unashamed through city lights
Lips made for conversations
Slowly stitched shut for the last time

A heart made for adventure
A soul yearning for great love
Bones that take you nowhere
And fears of all the above

Whispering so loudly
Yet speaking so **** low
"She never did make sense,
Never knew quite where to go"

A recipe for disaster
Chaos by her hand made
Falling slowly then faster
Replacing parachutes with grenades

"You made your bed now sleep in it"
Is what they like to say
But I never made my bed
Yet here I am destined to lay

So tomorrow I will fix it
A new lovely day for change
A promise never kept though
Being true to myself is strange

You'd think it would be freeing
To live right here, right now
But possibilities are endless
I'm overwhelmed- I must lie down

But now please don’t do that
My nervous system shouts at me
You'll never overcome fear
Hiding from the world in sheets

If I were to tell you
All the stories
In my
Head,

Would you believe me
Even
If I
Said

That:

I see mortal war
Waging
In your
Plan,

I see me staring numbly
At the destruction
You are
Clad

In?

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell another lie,

I’ll believe you
Once I die

And you close
Both my eyes.

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell me again

That you are
Not
A foe,

But a friend.

Smite me,
Smite me,
Oh, God above.

Is my imagination
The same as your creation?

Spite me,
Spite me,
Oh, my dear friend.

Are you willing
To take me on

With your words
And not your hands?

I’m not special.

Just another  
blonde  
white  
privileged  
child  
who thinks  
they can  
change  
this place.  

But that teacher  
wasn’t special  
either.  

I try to listen.  
They don’t.  
She didn’t.  

She didn’t care.  
Not for kids.  
Not for my words.  
Not for me.  

She made me  
hate school.  
Hate that place.  
Hate her cage.