Don't be afraid I'll take your hand
I'll be by your side all the days long
You help me and I'll help you
And together we'll make it through
Together we'll make it Home

Loosen up.
Have a drink.
Take a shot.
Smoke a blunt.
Have some fun!
Just relax
Trust your good friends.
Leave your worries at home.
Have the time of your life,
Because tomorrow you have your life back.

Finally back home.
The amazing Texas sun shining on my face.
The warmth spreading through my body.
Listening to the sounds of the nature,
as I walk through the woods on my family farm.
Feeling safe, loved, and happy.
Surrounded by the family I haven't seen in months,
Some its been years, others I have never meet until today.
Just loving the feel of the rifle that is slung over my shoulder,
and the ammo in my back pockets.
Everyone is laughing and eating and talking.
As it gets darker and people start leaving...
We light the bonfire and the heat emanating off of it...
is too intense to even stand by.
When the day finally comes to an end,
I'm just happy that I am finally back home!

When people talk about everything thats wrong with kids these days,
I say to just look at how they are raised.
I was taught to judge people first by their face,
and second my how much money their father made.

I was taught that if it was weird, it was gay,
but if it was actually gay, nature had made a mistake.
I was told that the kids with cuts on their arms were only looking for attention,
and that the differences between us could be seen in complexion.

My brother was raised exactly the same way,
but every day I am reminded that he never changed.
And when I open my mouth I am accused of brainwashing him,
but I he still doesn’t care even when I get him to listen.

I only escaped out of necessity,
when LGBT became a part of me,
and I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror because I only knew one type of beauty,
when I had to accept that I would drown without therapy.

The world looked a lot different through orange pill bottle goggles;
I could finally see that the apple had to fall far from the tree,
or I would become part of this society that kills every dream,
and tells you there are endless possibilities then ties you down with material things.

I spent three years breaking myself into pieces,
trying to find my broken heart and replace it with one that did not have lines drawn at every divide.
Every minute of it hurt, but not more than the hate I had for myself,
or that awful feeling that I had hated someone for just being themself.

Still, on the inside I am stained.
I am marked from every time my family spit a venomous name.
For awhile I thought that what they didn’t know, couldn’t hurt me,
but then I spent an entire weekend under my bed because their words left me so empty.

But this is the price I pay for privacy.
This is what comes from being a wolf in a family of sheep.
It’s more like being in shackles than wearing false clothing;
I can’t even howl at the moon because what if they heard me.

If this is just how they were raised, then who should I blame?
When does a person become at fault for not being able to look past the things so deeply ingrained?
Who am I to ask them to use their brain and think for a change,
instead of doing what their parents taught them was okay?

I am the daughter that can’t bring a girlfriend home.
There is a reason that they will never get to hear this poem,
because I am their daughter who locks herself away in her room and tells friends she’s busy,
I am their daughter with out-of-control anxiety and depression that they don't bother to see.

I spent three years falling apart and I wouldn’t take their hugs.
I was always holding myself together because I knew that I would never let go,
but it’s funny how having your arms trapped around you feels just like a straight jacket,
and you can only take it off when you realize that you aren’t alone.

There are thousands of kids diagnosing themselves on the internet because their parents won’t listen,
and thousands more who hide everything they are because they just can’t take anymore scars.
But what I’m saying is the opposite of comforting,
because there are hundreds of thousands of people just like me.

When people talk about what’s wrong with kids these days,
I know that the ones they’re talking about are the kids who struggle every day,
not the kids who turn the keys that bind our chains,
and all I can think about is was this really just how they were raised?

No school again, kids,
there was another gunshot nextdoor.

Buy some flowers guys, we knew that guy,
had a freaky girlfriend, she killed him.
His daughter's in our class, guys,
chill out on the bitch, her family's dead,
lives with her nutter grandma.

No school again, kids,
the sectary got killed by her husband.
Watch the body bags, guys,
he went suicidal afterwords.
She was a nice woman,
never knew her husband was insane.
Poor parentless kids, they just got piled
with mysteries and shit.

There's a drug binge in school again, guys,
a wad a cash per pack of whatever shit
the eleven year old kids grew the other day.

New principal is losing her mind
can't figure out why we're such a fucked up town.

Teachers leave every while so they can go outside
and smoke.

No track, so we run in the parking lot,
if somebody's run over, oh well, we'll find somebody else.

Home and I still can't figure out where
my neighbor went, found out he was dead.
His grandson is my stalker, but I still felt bad.

Couple girls were chased by some people on fourwheelers,
we called the police but no one ever came.
They got out, cut through some choppy yards.

Guys lighting up chairs in other people's yards,
and smashing mail boxes like no tomorrow.

And what am I doing?
Watching from behind the curtains,
as the world goes by, and wondering
when someone close to me
will die,
and drawing crude words and dead stick people
all over the dead, white walls.

Poetry is
dead here.
Words aren't used,
just bullets.
Sleep with a gun, kids,
and keep one eye open.

There will always be someone coming
out to get you...
the monster under your bed
is the least of your problems.

Welcome to
Lovely Living.

Enjoy your stay.

I think years ago I pretended to stumble,
Stumble so far away that I found a magic stone
That lay between sweet algae in browned ponds.
I etched your name in bark
And it was beautiful in its solitary state
But cast away too far for crowds to see
And gasp in awe of a small piece of you,
Even if it was just your name.

Your legend lay between whispers of leaves,
That died a decade of winters ago.
But I galloped back to the land
Just to find my stone, to find your name
Just so you could resurrect today
And hold my name.

Darlings and all miss you,
In that painful way
When the stomach crumples
And fantasies are not able to assuage
The necessity of your presence.
I lay down a love story a long time ago
That sat on a bookshelf
Waiting for you to come home.