Thick fire consuming my social being.
Ice cold stare confirming that I welcome solidarity.
Silent lips with the power to isolate.
Arms empty yearning to be full, but bearing fists held tight.
Reminding you that I will fight.
A slave to my emotions.
A puppet to my mind.
Bitter from lack of control and weak from loneliness.
The only thing that makes me sane like you is that even I don't understand me.
I'm a puzzle incomplete.
Of no interest to anyone until I'm allowed to be freed.
I know little of that sweet word.
For it comes so seldom and leaves to soon.
And so I'll stay in my room.

Its been two months since we were close
Some days are easy and others are dreadful
Some days I wake up wishing you were there
Others I tell myself that I can do better

But when my mom asks about you
All those past feelings consume me
Because you left an impression on her
Just like you left an impression on me

When will I ever be satisfied?

Will the earth have to shake and the heavens burst open and the almighty whomever have to come down specifically to me and award me for my good improvement?

Will I have to become a perfect, ethereal being who feels nothing but strength and goodness and saves the entire land?

Will I have to not be me anymore?

What do I have to do to stop feeling so defeated by merely doing things that come naturally to my breathing self?

What do I have to think to stop hating myself at every ounce of weakness that i show, no matter how human?

What do I have to give up to ever not be inevitably dissatisfied with myself every once in awhile, having to accept this occasional misery or frustration to keep myself alive?

What does it take to be happy with who I am?

What is it like to be satisfied?

I don't know if I've ever known.

You spilled my half full glass of living.
You clumsied it onto it's side
And everything poured out.
Now how am I supposed to play
The game that says it's half way full
Not half way empty?

Any fool can plainly see
This glass has nothing in it,
Even if I Pollyanna up a smile
And spell out all it used to hold,
It's absolutely empty now
And nothing I can say will fill it.
                    ljm

Bowl of riches
I have a dream,
I just hope I don't get assassinated,

To get rich,
Beyond my wildest dream,

So I can make my mother retired,
And not have have deal with her screams,

Day and night,
Stressed out,
I shouldn't put up a word fight,
You go through to much,

To support our small family,
Your the one that suffers the most,
So every time you scream,
You just put me in such a mood,

So one day,
When I'm swimming in my bowl of riches,

I can make you retired,
So I don't have to deal with your screams...

-Paul R Hensley |||

my eyes are red
as im laying in bed
im remembering what you said
so many thoughts of mine are left unsaid,

but i couldn't tell you why
even if i tried
sometimes it's just hard to decide
if these words I find sound just right.

No matter the expression
across my lonely face
know that underneath
I feel out of place.
There's an ocean of lava
crashing against my shell
boiling up inside
this small version of hell
caught within my lungs
so I can hardly breathe
afraid if any leaks
you'll turn around and leave.

the whole point
is that it only hurts me.

fist connects with wall and the wall stands,
uncaring, unmarred, unaffected.
my fist though?

fist connects with wall and fist, no, i crumple up.
emotion heavy energy expels itself, i am relieved.

for an almost unnoticeable second, that is.
then i am in pain.

hot blood shoots to hot hands and hotter knuckles.
i slam them back against the wall and it stings like fire.

raging at the world, raging at myself,
but my skin is still colored like my own.
there's not enough purple, not enough red.
so i keep hitting until the burn is too much to bear.

at least i didnt hurt anyone else though.
at least i didnt hurt anything that could break.
at least i didnt hurt anything valuable.

i can take pride in that, i guess.
the whole point is that it only hurts me.