hey, hi, hello
—this is your life,
the view is vaguely familiar
out of the passenger seat window,
two years of autopilot
isn't generally recommended—
the mind can time travel or so it thinks
unannounced comings and goings,
quiet reintroductions occur daily
as to alarm no one of your departure

I don’t know how
To make my mistakes
Into something beautiful.
I only see them
As ugly scars
That mark my skin,
Like a roadmap
Of all my failures.
I’m all or nothing
And it’s dangerous.
If something’s wrong
I want to change it all
Not just the one thing.
I want to light a match
Burn the world to the ground
And start again.
A new canvas,
With freshly poured paint.
I destroy works of art
With a simple press of a key
Then I lose all hope
And abandon the idea all together.
Leaving it to shrivel
And die.
This is what I’m good at.

I’m doing this to keep track of every day.
Each day I come out here, by 3:50PM, is good.
That means I am sticking to my daily routine.
I want to make sure that I have something to do.
Something that lets me know I’m doing good.
So far, Day 1 is going well, with few bumps.
I think this was a very good plan, honestly.
I’m even planning on modifying the plan.
Not with what I do, but how I keep track.
Hello Poetry, lets me know I’ve done my walk.
In my room, I have every day written down.
It’s kept on my wall with tape, but not strong.
The tape keeps wanting to come off.
I hope to get an erase board within the week.
Well, that’s all I really have to say for today.
I can report that I’m still not tired, I like that!
Being awake all day long is amazing, really!
Okay, I’m gonna go, but I’ll be back tomorrow.

You’re going back,
stumbling into the day you said good-bye.
Tears, thick and fast
with soupy air to drag you down and no way out.

Fall is tumbling
into the rabbit hole you peeked into,
a gentle, knowing push…
a push nonetheless, sealed with a kiss.

Then winter seeps in,
brittle and thin, the unforgiving ticking
of a broken clock sleeping.
So you freeze, and time sleeps with you.

But winter breaks,
with sweet air filling my lungs.
Those traitorous sacks,
why didn’t you let me breathe in before?

She was not forewarned that with fresh starts come broken hearts
and rebirth is never pretty nor pain free.
To escape the misery it was necessary to first feel the burn,
only it was never meant to hurt quite like this.

Hoping to kiss an old friend goodbye to the tune of a lullaby you've long out grown,
but instead having them trace your skin with knives and ice as you stand blindly believing,
facing their shadow and mistaking lies for eyes as yours water.

It's okay you didn't see the weapon.
It's okay your hands shook as you ripped it from between ribs then stitched your chest shut.
It's not okay they walked away without harsh words, deserved, hurtled at their heels.

But know your freedom is battle born,
and strength comes to those who know their own worth and do not waver.

To the person who stole my bike, you got more than just a pair of wheels or your next thrill. you have a semester at your feet. you have a transportative transformed version of me at your disposal. just like me it's rugged, beat up, and loyal to whomever it has a hand commands it, but not loyal enough where it stays in the owner's possession. to the thief, treat it better than I did, treat it often, cause if you're getting the same ride I got out of it, it will either break down on you or **** you but just like me, it won't die. just sleep. to the thief, I wish you stole my bike and got hit when you biked in the street. to the thief, take care of it better than I did.

Feelings,
those insidious little things.
They ******, make you squirm,
sneak in unawares,
make nebulous all that is firm.

Feelings,
those traitorous little things.
They lift you up, make you float
then change without a warning
and sink the **** boat.

Feelings,
those warm little darlings.
With you through harmony or strife,
your companions, they let you
revel in the drama called life.