we’re going to be okay
aren’t we
three messes broken by the same people
two hearts shattered
all mentally ill
it’s in the family !
One erratic and spilling everything and everywhere
pun intended
one grounded and lonely on the ground
broken by a girl too toxic to have
the other both erratic and messy and lonely
loneliest

sad small baby with an easter egg and a surgeon who didn’t know her ***
sad helpless parents leaving her to get her chest cracked open
as theirs did the same
sad sad stories and tiny hearts and mine indifferent and cold

I'm sorry, mum
That you went through all that pain
To bring me into life
For me to just waste away
And wish I wasn't alive

i am afraid that
if i were to perish in a car accident
and they see that
i am an ***** donor
and a doctor examines
the vessel i call a body,
he might say;
"none of this is any good"

i would be too dead
to be devastated

Again, it comes, with stabs, and gaps, and drags, day, by day, you wait, with hope, that you, not broke, but a, phase of life, and not, condemned, or shunned, but truth, be told, if not, from fault, you're getting, old, and that, don't change, and soon, estranged, you'll roam, in search, of what, you lost. It is, with pain, I can inform, the human form, its not for life, least not our life, but each others, and that we must, be kind, lest we find, not helping, hands, but, roaming feet, and faces, that we'll never meet.

I am frustrated with myself
Y won't I change myself?
I do all the work on myself
But I still am not getting the results I want from myself

Who I am now is not enough to be self
I need more of myself
To expand into more of myself
but still I can't bring change through myself

I am age deaf
Deaf to the inevitable success brewing in myself,
Something mischievous is working against my self
Maybe an elf
That doesn't want to be a shelf
Holding onto parts that remind me of the inadequacies of my knife
I can't cut through to release myself
I desperately want to rebrand myself
So I can differentiate from my past self

I am tired of proving this new self
Her existence stranger to her own self
All she wants to be is high on life it self
Which always reflects back her divinity in herself

Ooo the pains of being so focused on myself
I can't get enough of all this attention on myself
From myself
All my problems a delight to marinate on oneself
Isolated from the world's problems watching from the topself
I have to solve my own problems before I can focus on your self

Ooo but my lonesome can't stand figuring all this out by myself
I guess that's y we split up and branched out to explore our self
So we can share different possibilities to free my self
And your self
So we can remember the freedom of being non self.

So goodbye not self
I tried but I can't bring myself
To act in your behalf
With you I can't laugh
I'd rather be the staff of my higher self
My lowerself is betting on the neck of this giraffe,
You don't give an F,
But you will when you realize you're nomore 12.
These cycles won't break themselves.
So let's rev
And meet our best self

It's OK to lean into help
You don't need to pay for this soul hotel
Drink up from this well
So confusion you expell
Clarity your gut smells
Your present self is perf
You just gotta remember your true self
God herself within you dwells
So give up the struggle, time to rebel

No need to repel
What is true in this melt
Your soul awakens to help your human compell
You already have the wealth
Like the clothes you've been dealt

I want him to love me the way one loves
a whimpering and
neglected dog,
with pity and
with worry and with
shame. He will find me
in an alley, shivering and
shaking, hiding from the rain.
He will coax me out from beneath whatever
discarded scrap I am cowering under, he will wrap
me in a towel or blanket or his jacket, something - anything - warm.

He will carry me home, to his home. He will place me
by the radiator, turned up to full. I will curl up
beneath it, still shivering, still shaking, while he goes to the kitchen in the
hopes of finding me something to eat.
He will rummage through the
fridge trying, to the best of his ability, to recall
exactly what does
and what does not
**** a dog.
"A lot." I will say. "More than
you think." I will say.
And he will just smile and bring me
something that doesn't.

I tell him I will not live long. He could
do anything and I would not live long. He says he has
forgiven worse sins. I tell him I
hope he never dies. He tells me I will
be disappointed. I tell him I love him. He says I love him
the way a whimpering and
neglected dog does,
desperately, painfully, with a need and
a hunger found only in children and
anorexics. He tells me
he loves me too. I tell him
I am sorry. He says he has forgiven
worse sins.

He strokes between my eyes,
a gentle spot, designed only for soothing something
to sleep. Perhaps by morning I will be
cured, my whimpering ceased, my shakes subsided. I will
run through his house, tail wagging, while he smiles and
laughs and drinks his coffee. Or perhaps there
will be no change, perhaps he will have to drive
me to the vet and have me
put down. Perhaps he will want to. A mangy thing, sick and
diseased. Irreparable.
Unsavable. Perhaps he won't need to. Perhaps
by morning I will
already be dead. But
for now I will sleep, warm
and fed, a hand soft between
the eyes.