Sometimes I still hear the snap of the belt against my skin.
It's why I still flinch when a stranger steps to close in proximity.
My heart often rises in a flight of birds.
Just trying to escape the cold rush of December.
It flutters trying to keep up with registering between fight or flight.
My feet often start running before I.
Often mistaking a pen dropping for a bomb.
Regardless I am gone before I ever arrive anywhere.
Half checked into a place I can never just leave.
My milestones are the intermittent fasting between therapy sessions.
We often talk of the stuff we carry;
but leave the pages blank on the things we must live with.

It's all it takes to make me happy
All I need to put a smile on
3 things reason enough
To become a better man
Than I was a second ago
My daughter
Innocent and energetic
Heart of gold
I'd plate with titanium
So it would never be broken
Lock away in a far away castle
Too high for even dragons to reach
But I know you can't hide
The radiance of her eyes
Intrigued by everything
With a giving hand at her age
My Family
Jokes and burns
Scares and bruises
We give each other just for a laugh
Toughening each other's minds
Keeping the wise still sharp
Forging the young
Into durable adults
Prepared for anything
Ready to take charge
Tearing out walls
To open their own doors
My friends
Uplifting and always there
Significant to someone like me
Who fears the dark
Wishing to never be left alone
If not for them
I would have given up
On chasing the dream
Of becoming a man
My little girl is proud of
It's gratitude before me
Oceans of debts
Money could never pay back
Only my success could do
Proving to them all
Their failure to give up on me
Wasn't in vain
That I was truly worth
Every drop of effort
They didn't realize they put in
A simple smile
A helping hand
An "I got you if you need me"
Late night talks
Advice I didn't think I needed
It all molded me
Every bit of kindness
I didn't think I was worth
I say it's 3 things
Yet that's just the categories
I've placed the thousands of hands
I refuse to let go of, in
Thank you
From my soul
To the tears that fall
As I write this
While I'm supposed to be working
All of you saved me
When I couldn't save myself

How many times can I say sorry it’s become a cliche but i can’t seem to stop because the guilt gnaws at me like a persistent child knocking
at your door or a mosquito determined to stick itself in your
veins and keep you up from sleep while he is at it no matter
how many times you swing at it with frustrated fists or bury your head under the covers of your neon sheets the same ones that you had when you were six and banging on your parents' door (although it probably sounded like a gentle knock to them) crying unformed words and blurry thoughts you wish you remembered what it was about so you could talk about it with Dr. Oddo and try to parse it until it all makes sense and maybe even explain why the other day you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and swelling into the mosquito bite that you were unable to stop.

what does love look like the therapist asks
one week after the breakup
and i’m not sure how to answer her question
except for the fact that i thought love
looked so much like you

that’s when it hit me
and i realized how naive i had been
to place an idea so beautiful on the image of a person
as if anybody on this entire earth
could encompass all love represented
as if this emotion seven billion people tremble for
would look like a five foot eleven
medium-sized brown-skinned guy
who likes eating frozen pizza for breakfast

what does love look like the therapist asks again
this time interrupting my thoughts midsentence
and at this point i’m about to get up
and walk right out the door
except i paid too much money for this hour
so instead i take a piercing look at her
the way you look at someone
when you’re about to hand it to them
lips pursed tightly preparing to launch into conversation
eyes digging deeply into theirs
searching for all the weak spots
they have hidden somewhere
hair being tucked behind the ears
as if you have to physically prepare for a conversation
on the philosophies or rather disappointments
of what love looks like

well i tell her
i don’t think love is him anymore
if love was him
he would be here wouldn’t he
if he was the one for me
wouldn’t he be the one sitting across from me
if love was him it would have been simple
i don’t think love is him anymore i repeat
i think love never was
i think i just wanted something
was ready to give myself to something
i believed was bigger than myself
and when i saw someone
who probably fit the part
i made it very much my intention
to make him my counterpart

and i lost myself to him
he took and he took
wrapped me in the word special
until i was so convinced he had eyes only to see me
hands only to feel me
a body only to be with me
oh how he emptied me

how does that make you feel
interrupts the therapist
well i said
it kind of makes me feel like ****

maybe we’re looking at it wrong
we think it’s something to search for out there
something meant to crash into us
on our way out of an elevator
or slip into our chair at a cafe somewhere
appear at the end of an aisle at the bookstore
looking the right amount of **** and intellectual
but i think love starts here
everything else is just desire and projection
of all our wants needs and fantasies
but those externalities could never work out
if we didn’t turn inward and learn
how to love ourselves in order to love other people

love does not look like a person
love is our actions
love is giving all we can
even if it’s just the bigger slice of cake
love is understanding
we have the power to hurt one another
but we are going to do everything in our power
to make sure we don’t
love is figuring out all the kind sweetness we deserve
and when someone shows up
saying they will provide it as you do
but their actions seem to break you
rather than build you
love is knowing who to choose
           -Rupi Kaur

I have spent so many years like everyone else's therapist
and now I want to share
but I am so afraid of doing the same to them
I refuse to be a burden for them to bear

At first it was about you
Seeing adornment in your eyes i tell myself
I have to break the cycle.
I HAVE to break this cycle

But
I don't know how
To stop
This cycle

At first it was about you
Wanting to show you the stars and the sky
Hear what you've seen in the clouds today
To show you the wonderment and beauty of this place
Not teach you how to be afraid

Then it was about me
Every breath of air I take
Disintegrates
And I exhale ash
How will I be better for you?
Be there for you? Grow you?
From the examples I've had?
It was about you
but now it's me?
Is that- selfish

I think...
It was both
You see
At first it was you
Because thats how I understood
But  it was me too
You were my physical
Manifestation
Of my
Inner
child

And as I learn to nourish you
my little love
By showing you the pine trees
The dew stained mornings
The great beauty of this place
That you-
We
Don't have to be afraid of
I will learn
to
nourish
my
Inner
Child

some days the therapist may ask,
"how are you doing?"
some days they may mention
"you look well rested,"
or bring up,
"you seem to be doing better than before."
But they don't realize that all these things are lies
that when I get home i'll break down into tears
wishing i'd die already and then pass out.
Is that what getting better looks like?

It’s a privilege,
To be told just a part of your story.
You entered the room and my life.
You let me in with no holds barred.
You told me where it hurt,
And I was the one who truly listened.
You left, less encumbered,
And with a light to carry you
Through the darkness.
My door and my heart are open;
You’re welcome to return.
If the story needs a listener, I’m here.