vicspoetry - Hello Poetry

I spring awake at four a.m. Inscitvely clutching my phone to check on this kid’s petition “End the G.S.A.” The stress eats away at my sleep schedule As kids use one misunderstanding to take away my heart and soul A club I have inputted so much of myself into And funny enough “Vic” has three letters too I can’t sleep without their 300 signatures popping up behind my eyelids Comments being recited in the most repressed part of my insecurities 300 people who are against one of the clubs that saved me Saved my friends Saved so many people But there’s no room for a gay presence in Johnson County I spring awake at four a.m. Visions of the kid who keeps his gun in his car spring into my head My chest feels open already Have already bled out every ounce of pride in me What more harm can this kid do? Don’t they understand that by killing my spirit They’ve already made storage container for their bullets? I spring awake at four a.m. Because I do not let myself feel any other time Must stay strong to show that I am bigger than their hatred That I will go on So I refuse to let myself accept that ever-consuming fear that grows in my stomach It’s just indigestion Just me being another overdramatic queer kid Just everyday life that I must adjust to anyways I haven’t let myself feel since the incident occurred And the reactions poured in Drowning any sense of safety I used to feel I am choking on their unadulterated bigotry Gasping for air amongst the abundance of hatred And I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe right again I spring awake at 4 a.m. Because I guess it’s the only time I feel safe anymore. School is a warzone for people like me And I can't hide in the crowd so easily When it's 1v300 So I'm desperately trying to hide behind my poetry I spring awake at 4 a.m. Because I don't know if my coping is working.

0

Apr 23, 2019

Apr 23, 2019 at 5:35 AM UTC

4 a.m.

I spring awake at four a.m. Inscitvely clutching my phone to check on this kid’s petition “End the G.S.A.” The stress eats away at my sleep schedule As kids use one misunderstanding to take away my heart and soul A club I have inputted so much of myself into And funny enough “Vic” has three letters too I can’t sleep without their 300 signatures popping up behind my eyelids Comments being recited in the most repressed part of my insecurities 300 people who are against one of the clubs that saved me Saved my friends Saved so many people But there’s no room for a gay presence in Johnson County I spring awake at four a.m. Visions of the kid who keeps his gun in his car spring into my head My chest feels open already Have already bled out every ounce of pride in me What more harm can this kid do? Don’t they understand that by killing my spirit They’ve already made storage container for their bullets? I spring awake at four a.m. Because I do not let myself feel any other time Must stay strong to show that I am bigger than their hatred That I will go on So I refuse to let myself accept that ever-consuming fear that grows in my stomach It’s just indigestion Just me being another overdramatic queer kid Just everyday life that I must adjust to anyways I haven’t let myself feel since the incident occurred And the reactions poured in Drowning any sense of safety I used to feel I am choking on their unadulterated bigotry Gasping for air amongst the abundance of hatred And I’m not sure if I’ll ever breathe right again I spring awake at 4 a.m. Because I guess it’s the only time I feel safe anymore. School is a warzone for people like me And I can't hide in the crowd so easily When it's 1v300 So I'm desperately trying to hide behind my poetry I spring awake at 4 a.m. Because I don't know if my coping is working.

42

I wonder if the handcuffs were hereditary If we were fed through those chainlink umbilical cords Cut free and raised in disguised prison wards I think our birth certificates may have been the first warrants for our arrest. “Prison” was never a ***** word growing up It was tossed around in potato salads Mixed into our cole slaws And served to us like pecan pie “Prison” was not a ***** word It was just a place that family members ended up A Motel 6 specifically designed for Randolphs But then middle school started I was told that prison was for bad people I refused to believe that it was for bad people That my family shared rooms with criminals Talked with murderers and thieves over a metal dinner table That they were bad people. How are you supposed to feel when you’re told that your DNA is bad people? What are the charges against my biology? What crimes have my genetics committed against the court? Why are their laws written down in my ancestors' blood? I suppose prisons are for bad people But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I wish I could just believe you’re a bad person Since you’ve missed every warrant for communication Every request for appearance to the important dates of my life And I still want to pardon you from all charges Because you’re my big brother. I don’t think you’re a bad person It’s easier to think that the handcuffs were hereditary Than to believe that you ended up here on your own accord And I wish this was your first time But this isn’t my first time crying your name into a cinderblock wall Begging for the release of my bubba You always laughed when I called you bubba Said that I had a way with words yet I still couldn’t pronounce “big brother” I wish we got to know each other better We were separated through a cascade of different fathers and custody cases Names inked into legal paper before I even knew how to write it myself I haven’t talked to you in over a year now The only recent photos I have of you were taken at a police station But you only got arrested a month ago I can’t excuse the other eleven What’s your excuse from running from family? From the only sibling, you have left? These handcuffs are hereditary And every time they rubbed against your wrists, mine burn Every time they say your name in a court setting I hear it slamming into the sides of my skull Every time they shut the bars of your cell I am barred from another part of my soul And I wonder if my name even passes through your thoughts Cause when we mourned for our lost sister together You said it was us against the world So what’s the reason why you never returned my calls? You said we were the only family that we had left But as children of parents who didn’t care for them The word “family” didn’t exactly hold much importance We spent decades masquerading ourselves in the backgrounds of other people’s family photos Trying to pretend like we weren’t secondhand children We weren’t lost souls Yet when they recounted their old memories We could never fit ourselves into their homes I relied on you to keep out of trouble And raise your kids better than Mom ever raised us But my nieces and nephews are still shallowing down the word prison like it’s Tylenol You said I was the only family you could trust The way you’ve treated me and your kids show me what I should’ve known all along Whereas I had a way with your words You never understood their meaning Preferred silent smiles and passive-aggressive grunts towards showing emotion You don’t know what family means And I wonder if you can even feel my pain Yes, these handcuffs are hereditary And I feel your felonies burn in my veins Causing avalanches in despair to cover my brain Because what you don’t realize is as the youngest sibling I inherited everyone’s pain. Even your's.

0

Mar 3, 2019

Mar 3, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC

c.d.b.

I wonder if the handcuffs were hereditary If we were fed through those chainlink umbilical cords Cut free and raised in disguised prison wards I think our birth certificates may have been the first warrants for our arrest. “Prison” was never a ***** word growing up It was tossed around in potato salads Mixed into our cole slaws And served to us like pecan pie “Prison” was not a ***** word It was just a place that family members ended up A Motel 6 specifically designed for Randolphs But then middle school started I was told that prison was for bad people I refused to believe that it was for bad people That my family shared rooms with criminals Talked with murderers and thieves over a metal dinner table That they were bad people. How are you supposed to feel when you’re told that your DNA is bad people? What are the charges against my biology? What crimes have my genetics committed against the court? Why are their laws written down in my ancestors' blood? I suppose prisons are for bad people But I don’t think you’re a bad person. I wish I could just believe you’re a bad person Since you’ve missed every warrant for communication Every request for appearance to the important dates of my life And I still want to pardon you from all charges Because you’re my big brother. I don’t think you’re a bad person It’s easier to think that the handcuffs were hereditary Than to believe that you ended up here on your own accord And I wish this was your first time But this isn’t my first time crying your name into a cinderblock wall Begging for the release of my bubba You always laughed when I called you bubba Said that I had a way with words yet I still couldn’t pronounce “big brother” I wish we got to know each other better We were separated through a cascade of different fathers and custody cases Names inked into legal paper before I even knew how to write it myself I haven’t talked to you in over a year now The only recent photos I have of you were taken at a police station But you only got arrested a month ago I can’t excuse the other eleven What’s your excuse from running from family? From the only sibling, you have left? These handcuffs are hereditary And every time they rubbed against your wrists, mine burn Every time they say your name in a court setting I hear it slamming into the sides of my skull Every time they shut the bars of your cell I am barred from another part of my soul And I wonder if my name even passes through your thoughts Cause when we mourned for our lost sister together You said it was us against the world So what’s the reason why you never returned my calls? You said we were the only family that we had left But as children of parents who didn’t care for them The word “family” didn’t exactly hold much importance We spent decades masquerading ourselves in the backgrounds of other people’s family photos Trying to pretend like we weren’t secondhand children We weren’t lost souls Yet when they recounted their old memories We could never fit ourselves into their homes I relied on you to keep out of trouble And raise your kids better than Mom ever raised us But my nieces and nephews are still shallowing down the word prison like it’s Tylenol You said I was the only family you could trust The way you’ve treated me and your kids show me what I should’ve known all along Whereas I had a way with your words You never understood their meaning Preferred silent smiles and passive-aggressive grunts towards showing emotion You don’t know what family means And I wonder if you can even feel my pain Yes, these handcuffs are hereditary And I feel your felonies burn in my veins Causing avalanches in despair to cover my brain Because what you don’t realize is as the youngest sibling I inherited everyone’s pain. Even your's.

79

I wonder why I wish to speak to you again Despite the fact that it felt like you never listened You never listened. I complained about it constantly Wrote sonnets about your lack of focus on me Hoping you needed hearing aids so I could blame something else Instead of feeling unimportant You claim differently though. Said I built up a wall between us And now I realize that we weren’t only not on the same page But we were in completely different libraries Searching two different encyclopedias Trying to find a way to define our feelings I wonder whose anxiety made you feel boxed in Was it my obsessive need for structured plans that built you in Or your neglection of problems at hand that made them pile up? We made better construction partners than lovers Although that doesn’t mean much All the bridges we tried to build collapsed into our salty tears The home we wanted to make sunk into its foundation We should’ve stuck to classmates. And I as to move on from another failed relationship Building roads to a different city that needs to repair its infrastructure I wonder if you even deserved the sonnets I wrote.

0

Sep 12, 2018

Sep 12, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC

Another One Over

I wonder why I wish to speak to you again Despite the fact that it felt like you never listened You never listened. I complained about it constantly Wrote sonnets about your lack of focus on me Hoping you needed hearing aids so I could blame something else Instead of feeling unimportant You claim differently though. Said I built up a wall between us And now I realize that we weren’t only not on the same page But we were in completely different libraries Searching two different encyclopedias Trying to find a way to define our feelings I wonder whose anxiety made you feel boxed in Was it my obsessive need for structured plans that built you in Or your neglection of problems at hand that made them pile up? We made better construction partners than lovers Although that doesn’t mean much All the bridges we tried to build collapsed into our salty tears The home we wanted to make sunk into its foundation We should’ve stuck to classmates. And I as to move on from another failed relationship Building roads to a different city that needs to repair its infrastructure I wonder if you even deserved the sonnets I wrote.

24

Today, I am falling. I don’t know where I am going to land Or how I started falling in the first place But I can feel my heart smashing against the ground Can feel rocks landing on my lungs I think it was a landslide. A storm of the false assumptions my brain makes Forcing me off of my mountainous high Some people say seasonal depression happens in the winter I think mine occurs during the hotter times When things stay still and dry But that one rainstorm can cause an entire mountain to slide Hands no longer moving on my school papers No longer babbling to teachers who see me as one of the hundreds of faces What do you do when you're only memorable cause of your tragic backstory? How do I become something more than a tale of depression? How do I stop falling? Today, I realized that I can never seem to stop my fall Try and grab on to the cliff or the rocks But they all slide with me. We fall down together Fading under heaps of mud that ***** our visions of life Becoming nothing more than another lost fossil. Bones under so much pressure we become fuel for successful people. Why can’t I be the successful person? Today, I wondered if there’s even a point in trying to stop the fall Every mountain I conquer collapses anyways. Becomes heaps of rocks and rubble for colonists to make skyscrapers on My methods of success are outdated For even the biggest mountains have been conquered before I am nothing more than an unidentifiable face That will be lost to the world shortly after her demise Only remembered for her tragic backstory and a too short life. They say in your senior year you should feel on top of the world But I have yet to climb to that overhyped sensation Instead, I am falling.

0

Jul 28, 2018

Jul 28, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC

Falling

Today, I am falling. I don’t know where I am going to land Or how I started falling in the first place But I can feel my heart smashing against the ground Can feel rocks landing on my lungs I think it was a landslide. A storm of the false assumptions my brain makes Forcing me off of my mountainous high Some people say seasonal depression happens in the winter I think mine occurs during the hotter times When things stay still and dry But that one rainstorm can cause an entire mountain to slide Hands no longer moving on my school papers No longer babbling to teachers who see me as one of the hundreds of faces What do you do when you're only memorable cause of your tragic backstory? How do I become something more than a tale of depression? How do I stop falling? Today, I realized that I can never seem to stop my fall Try and grab on to the cliff or the rocks But they all slide with me. We fall down together Fading under heaps of mud that ***** our visions of life Becoming nothing more than another lost fossil. Bones under so much pressure we become fuel for successful people. Why can’t I be the successful person? Today, I wondered if there’s even a point in trying to stop the fall Every mountain I conquer collapses anyways. Becomes heaps of rocks and rubble for colonists to make skyscrapers on My methods of success are outdated For even the biggest mountains have been conquered before I am nothing more than an unidentifiable face That will be lost to the world shortly after her demise Only remembered for her tragic backstory and a too short life. They say in your senior year you should feel on top of the world But I have yet to climb to that overhyped sensation Instead, I am falling.

36

On July 2nd, 2001 A baby is born in Heidelberg, Germany. I was wrapped in a pink blanket laced with my first panic attack As the ghosts of my ancestors finished giving me my first lessons They told me tales of greatness So I knew what I wouldn’t become Bathed me in lies of happiness and comfort While letting depression sneak its way into my first bottle Cursing me the moment I took my first sip As the nurses came to collect my fragile hope And wipe away every smile that dripped off my face I began my journey in a life that I wasn’t meant to make it out of. The stars sent out prophecies of almost suicides and constellations that formed hospital bills instead of heroes But my parents still pretended that they were given a healthy baby It would have been the first in the family line We kept diving in the same gene pool, though And in the end, we all drowned in the hope that some of us would succeed. On July 2nd, 2001 Another tragedy is born in the world It’s name was _______________ But in a desperate attempt to erase all connections to my birth And undo the curses my ancestors disguised as presents I just go by Vic now.

0

Jan 22, 2018

Jan 22, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC

The Beginning

On July 2nd, 2001 A baby is born in Heidelberg, Germany. I was wrapped in a pink blanket laced with my first panic attack As the ghosts of my ancestors finished giving me my first lessons They told me tales of greatness So I knew what I wouldn’t become Bathed me in lies of happiness and comfort While letting depression sneak its way into my first bottle Cursing me the moment I took my first sip As the nurses came to collect my fragile hope And wipe away every smile that dripped off my face I began my journey in a life that I wasn’t meant to make it out of. The stars sent out prophecies of almost suicides and constellations that formed hospital bills instead of heroes But my parents still pretended that they were given a healthy baby It would have been the first in the family line We kept diving in the same gene pool, though And in the end, we all drowned in the hope that some of us would succeed. On July 2nd, 2001 Another tragedy is born in the world It’s name was _______________ But in a desperate attempt to erase all connections to my birth And undo the curses my ancestors disguised as presents I just go by Vic now.

23

In this nearly empty trash can I can see the hard work of a former student who wanted her club to feel loved Thrown away and ripped apart just like our confidence. In this nearly empty trash can I can see the scars on a kid’s wrist Torn open and ripped apart until all of their pride bleeds out of their skin In this nearly empty trash can I can see the suicides of my brothers, sisters, and siblings that don’t identify as either Their memories tossed out and joked over as if their breath never breathed life into their former friends In this nearly empty trash can I can see another GSA meeting poster, ripped off the wall and tossed away Because even our papers don’t get respect in these hallways

0

Nov 10, 2017

Nov 10, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC

Trash Can

In this nearly empty trash can I can see the hard work of a former student who wanted her club to feel loved Thrown away and ripped apart just like our confidence. In this nearly empty trash can I can see the scars on a kid’s wrist Torn open and ripped apart until all of their pride bleeds out of their skin In this nearly empty trash can I can see the suicides of my brothers, sisters, and siblings that don’t identify as either Their memories tossed out and joked over as if their breath never breathed life into their former friends In this nearly empty trash can I can see another GSA meeting poster, ripped off the wall and tossed away Because even our papers don’t get respect in these hallways

12

The thing about glass shoes is that they break far too easily In order to wear them, you have to glide like an angel Sing like a delicate hummingbird And weigh as much as one of their feathers Wearing glass slippers takes a lot of practice. If you press a little too hard, your feet are engulfed by glass shards It's the fine line between beauty and self-harm. Glass slippers are meant to be worn by princesses. They symbolize all your fairy-tale dreams coming true If only they didn't break whenever I set my foot in them. I do my best to make myself petite for my glass slippers Using the old pieces to carve out my cheekbones and make my love handles disappear Somedays I wonder if I've crossed that line between beauty and harm But I'll do anything it takes to get that Cinderella waistline. You know what they say, "A dream is a wish your heart makes," I have to do what my heart says, right?

0

Sep 11, 2017

Sep 11, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC

Cinderella Dreams

The thing about glass shoes is that they break far too easily In order to wear them, you have to glide like an angel Sing like a delicate hummingbird And weigh as much as one of their feathers Wearing glass slippers takes a lot of practice. If you press a little too hard, your feet are engulfed by glass shards It's the fine line between beauty and self-harm. Glass slippers are meant to be worn by princesses. They symbolize all your fairy-tale dreams coming true If only they didn't break whenever I set my foot in them. I do my best to make myself petite for my glass slippers Using the old pieces to carve out my cheekbones and make my love handles disappear Somedays I wonder if I've crossed that line between beauty and harm But I'll do anything it takes to get that Cinderella waistline. You know what they say, "A dream is a wish your heart makes," I have to do what my heart says, right?

17

I stand before you A target for the bullets you spit I didn't realize we had to read these claims out loud Now I'm hearing you tell me I made a choice about who I am You tell me I chose this path. Your words are acid seeping into my skin slowly deteriorating the pride I used to hold It's hard to be prideful when you're caught up in the accusations and drowning in disrespect Please tell me more about how you are an expert in being gay It's not like I'm a lesbian or anything I obviously know nothing about the topic since I told you People obviously choose to be gay and my experience as a gay person doesn't matter It's not a choice though It's a curse blessed upon you when you are born A trait you find incredibly hard to love, I didn't choose the self-hatred and suicidal thoughts that came with this I didn't choose the ****** harassment and public embarrassment I didn't choose any of this Being gay isn't like when you're at the amusement park and you decide to ride the rainbow roller coaster because it looks pretty It's not a fun ride, it's a deadly one full of insults and discrimination that's hard to get back up from It's being a target for people like you You don't even realize how horrible and toxic the words you spit are to LGBT+ people like me We swallow our words because we know you won't listen Just like how so many lgbt+ youth swallowed a plethora of pills and didn't wake up Wake up. 63% of these teens have attempted suicide in the past year Do not tell me we choose this. And if you think that it's fun to be gay you literally know nothing about our issues Don't tell you're an ally then tell me you think you choose your sexuality I didn't choose the life I was given But you chose your words carefully in a way you thought would pierce me so you could win an argument Not with actual fact but by just picking at your opponent till she feels like nothing You probably never thought about it again that day Yet here I sit, 24 hours later dreading the hour I have to spend in this classroom studying for my finals with homophobia Wondering if running out could be the right answer. I don't like running back to the closet but your words are shoving me into my hangers I hear your voice whenever another guy puts his hand on my thigh and tells me about his lesbian fantasies I hear your voice telling me I chose this Hearing millions of voices telling me that I shouldn't complain because this was my decision Not even asking me what I was wearing because being lesbian makes me enough of a **** already I don't like your toxic spit because I know it'll spray on to the other gay kids around me that are vulnerable and insecure about their sexuality I know your words will deteriorate their pride just like they have done to mine You don't think you're homophobic because you don't shout the word ****** at gay people But there's a lot more to homophobia than that Like completely diminishing the past of LGBT+ individuals and belittling us down to choices Believe me, if I had a choice I would have chosen to be straight because then I wouldn't have to sit in front of you while you disrespected my sexuality I could be another blind ally that doesn't speak up when this **** is happening I'm trying so hard to make things better for the kids like me But you insist on ripping us open. We bleed rainbows and a sense of pride you will never know You don't have to find pride in your sexuality because no one hates straight people for being straight No, we hate straight people like you who insist on being ignorant This worst thing is is that you take pride in your arrogance Holding your American flags high as you belittle my equality You didn't have to fight for anything, you're a straight white guy who takes pride in his privilege One that only insists on spitting toxins I wish I could say I am stronger than your poisons but it's hard to find strength when so few people hold you up If you really think I chose this path, then you should be worried about my mental state Only people who hate themselves would choose this kind of pain Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my pride again.

0

May 17, 2017

May 17, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC

Choices

I stand before you A target for the bullets you spit I didn't realize we had to read these claims out loud Now I'm hearing you tell me I made a choice about who I am You tell me I chose this path. Your words are acid seeping into my skin slowly deteriorating the pride I used to hold It's hard to be prideful when you're caught up in the accusations and drowning in disrespect Please tell me more about how you are an expert in being gay It's not like I'm a lesbian or anything I obviously know nothing about the topic since I told you People obviously choose to be gay and my experience as a gay person doesn't matter It's not a choice though It's a curse blessed upon you when you are born A trait you find incredibly hard to love, I didn't choose the self-hatred and suicidal thoughts that came with this I didn't choose the ****** harassment and public embarrassment I didn't choose any of this Being gay isn't like when you're at the amusement park and you decide to ride the rainbow roller coaster because it looks pretty It's not a fun ride, it's a deadly one full of insults and discrimination that's hard to get back up from It's being a target for people like you You don't even realize how horrible and toxic the words you spit are to LGBT+ people like me We swallow our words because we know you won't listen Just like how so many lgbt+ youth swallowed a plethora of pills and didn't wake up Wake up. 63% of these teens have attempted suicide in the past year Do not tell me we choose this. And if you think that it's fun to be gay you literally know nothing about our issues Don't tell you're an ally then tell me you think you choose your sexuality I didn't choose the life I was given But you chose your words carefully in a way you thought would pierce me so you could win an argument Not with actual fact but by just picking at your opponent till she feels like nothing You probably never thought about it again that day Yet here I sit, 24 hours later dreading the hour I have to spend in this classroom studying for my finals with homophobia Wondering if running out could be the right answer. I don't like running back to the closet but your words are shoving me into my hangers I hear your voice whenever another guy puts his hand on my thigh and tells me about his lesbian fantasies I hear your voice telling me I chose this Hearing millions of voices telling me that I shouldn't complain because this was my decision Not even asking me what I was wearing because being lesbian makes me enough of a **** already I don't like your toxic spit because I know it'll spray on to the other gay kids around me that are vulnerable and insecure about their sexuality I know your words will deteriorate their pride just like they have done to mine You don't think you're homophobic because you don't shout the word ****** at gay people But there's a lot more to homophobia than that Like completely diminishing the past of LGBT+ individuals and belittling us down to choices Believe me, if I had a choice I would have chosen to be straight because then I wouldn't have to sit in front of you while you disrespected my sexuality I could be another blind ally that doesn't speak up when this **** is happening I'm trying so hard to make things better for the kids like me But you insist on ripping us open. We bleed rainbows and a sense of pride you will never know You don't have to find pride in your sexuality because no one hates straight people for being straight No, we hate straight people like you who insist on being ignorant This worst thing is is that you take pride in your arrogance Holding your American flags high as you belittle my equality You didn't have to fight for anything, you're a straight white guy who takes pride in his privilege One that only insists on spitting toxins I wish I could say I am stronger than your poisons but it's hard to find strength when so few people hold you up If you really think I chose this path, then you should be worried about my mental state Only people who hate themselves would choose this kind of pain Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my pride again.

58

I am a block of clay Patiently waiting for your hands to cover me To mold me into something different That I never thought I’d become. Pinch off my imperfections And add on new formations that someone after you Can pinch off next. Glaze over the way my body was naturally And instead glaze me with a color you think suits me best Spin me around until I am sick Of being placed on your pedestal. I am a block of clay That someone in the middle of a forest saw And decided that I simply so inspiring I had to be turned into art. I am a medium that millions will shape into something beautiful I am the foundation for everything beautiful. Do not mess up your chance to make art out of me.

0

Mar 14, 2017

Mar 14, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC

Block of Clay

I am a block of clay Patiently waiting for your hands to cover me To mold me into something different That I never thought I’d become. Pinch off my imperfections And add on new formations that someone after you Can pinch off next. Glaze over the way my body was naturally And instead glaze me with a color you think suits me best Spin me around until I am sick Of being placed on your pedestal. I am a block of clay That someone in the middle of a forest saw And decided that I simply so inspiring I had to be turned into art. I am a medium that millions will shape into something beautiful I am the foundation for everything beautiful. Do not mess up your chance to make art out of me.

18

I hope when you blast off into space you get lost. The red on your boots is not from Mars Instead the blood from a still-beating heart The one you ripped out of my chest and continue to walk all over? Yeah, that one. I’m curious to know why you think you did nothing wrong. The last three weeks of our relationship was literally just problems I assure you, I was not the only one to cause them. You colonized my heart just to destroy everything it was. I now know why Mother Earth probably doesn’t like humans. I will burn every single artifact you left in my chest. Hopefully, the ashes will fill the holes where my heart used to rest. You took all the fuel I had and you left I tried to be whatever you needed me to be But the problem was that I needed me too You have left my atmosphere and blasted off into the blue. And now I will have to prove that I don’t need you If anything I was better off before you landed here. If anything I should have kept my resources to myself I will think twice next time someone asks me if they can land into one of my new affairs.

0

Nov 2, 2016

Nov 2, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC

Blast Off... Pt. 2

I hope when you blast off into space you get lost. The red on your boots is not from Mars Instead the blood from a still-beating heart The one you ripped out of my chest and continue to walk all over? Yeah, that one. I’m curious to know why you think you did nothing wrong. The last three weeks of our relationship was literally just problems I assure you, I was not the only one to cause them. You colonized my heart just to destroy everything it was. I now know why Mother Earth probably doesn’t like humans. I will burn every single artifact you left in my chest. Hopefully, the ashes will fill the holes where my heart used to rest. You took all the fuel I had and you left I tried to be whatever you needed me to be But the problem was that I needed me too You have left my atmosphere and blasted off into the blue. And now I will have to prove that I don’t need you If anything I was better off before you landed here. If anything I should have kept my resources to myself I will think twice next time someone asks me if they can land into one of my new affairs.

20