Bright pink clouds, Sun’s dying breath.
A final push, and a final shot.
Climbing the sky, an indigo depth.
A daily war, and a nightly loss.
Full darkness now, no moon tonight.
A devastating defeat, life on its knees.
Hours and hours, no natural light.
Still life continues, the bugs and the trees.
A brightening starts, to gray from black.
A new day, a new battle.
Rising sun peeks above and starts to attack.
We wait now, in bright blue, for its next death rattle.

We stood together as brothers in arms.
Our side was small, both in stature and numbers.
Fighting daily battles, we knew the war was lost.
The tattered battlefield was a living room carpet.
We received no weapons, but our enemy did.
Armed with wooden spoons and open palms.
We retaliated with tears and with silent obedience.
The yelling in the house echoed like explosions.
In that grey one-story house, my siblings and I.
We stood together as brothers in arms.

I fell madly in love with you.
Your sweet compliments drew me in.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your soft kisses won me over.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your advice told me to listen.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your discipline made me better.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your harsh words caught me off guard.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your apologies regained my trust.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your bad habits became mine.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your anger made me feel protected.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your disappointment was immeasurable.
I fell madly in love with you.
Your love made me feel crazy.

I fell violently out of love with you.
Your sweet compliments stopped coming.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your kisses slowly faded to pecks.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your advice led me astray.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your discipline left me confused.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your harsh words stung like tears.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your apologies were double-sided.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your bad habits ruined my life.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your anger scared my childlike heart.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your disappointment made me feel even worse.
I fell violently out of love with you.
Your love made me feel unloveable.

No bars on the windows.
No locks on the doors.
No reason to stay here.
No way I’m ever leaving.

Golden light streams from the heavens.
Streaks of vibrancy smear the sky,
Tearing into the clouds, as the sun descends on the earth.
Like rockets, an explosion of color decorates the above.
With fiery love, a sunset falls like a sparkling firework.
Eyes watch as the brilliant bombing takes the light from the hills.
Alas, night has overtaken the warzone of the sky’s stage once more.
May the battle continue tomorrow.

Dear… you,

Whoever you may have been is lost now.
Like a tide carrying away a clam, your fate was taken from you.
Was it gentle, like a beach wave lapping at a tourist’s toes?
Was it violent, like a riptide carrying a surfer out to sea?

I wonder what kind of pearl might have been hidden in that clamshell.
Was it beautiful, full of shimmering possibility and light?
Was it warped, shaped and formed uniquely to match you?
The world may not have liked the pearl, concealed by two halves of a whole.

But I think I would have. I think that sparkly gem would even be my favorite.  
Made unlike any other, its color, shape, size, weight, and beauty would make it
perfect, perfect for me. I would cherish that pearl, wear it around my neck. Like a medal, it would rest between my *******, shining in unison with my imperfect teeth.

But you are not a pearl. You are not anything. You could have been so much, and I would give all that I’ve done, all that I am, all that I know, to see who you would be.
If only I could… You could be so happy here. I’m sorry that chance was taken from you.
I took that chance away from you. Well, it wasn’t only me; it wasn’t a decision I made.

These are just excuses. I can’t undo what has been done, but please know I am sorry.

With love that was saved just for you,
A Mother Figure but Never a Mother

The beach spray there was downright heavenly.
Then salty tears streamed down my bright red face.
Was my face red from crying or a growing sunburn?
I asked this question as I slowly came to in a hospital.
The IV in my arm dripped clear liquid into my veins.
I’m sorry that my solutions are always so very saline.

As the sea rises, the stern falls.
The moon is my last view before blackness consumes it all.
Waves beat me like an angry horde.
Ropes circle my neck like an assassin's cord.
I take my last breath, half of it water,
Before my untimely death. My body sinks under.

I hope you are cleansed one day.
After your life fades away.
I know you won’t change overnight.
Because after decades,
you still ignore my plight.
I can only hope you will be purified.
But not in a way that is dignified.
No, you must be burned and smote by fire.
Because only flames can cleanse a liar.

The tide waves goodbye as I drive back to the mountains of my home.
Though there is no snow at their shallow peaks,
I miss those fall colors which raised me to wonder.
I wonder where the mountains meet the sea.
I wonder if those who only see one or the other
will ever truly understand the beauty this earth provides.
The tide waved goodbye,
and then the leaves on the mountain trees waved hello again.

A lingering glance.
I look away.
A subtle flirt.
I don’t notice.

Blatant ignorance.
But not blissful.
Months pass.
They tell me.
I understand.

A lingering glance.
I still look away.
A subtle flirt.
I blush a bit.

New knowledge.
I didn’t see it.
It eats at me.
Guilt for not knowing.
Never questioning.

A lingering glance.
My eyes hold.
A subtle flirt.
A blushing smile.

I think I understand.
They connected with me.
I think I understand.
Why they see me like this.
Why I see them the same.

A lingering glance.
I make a funny face.
A subtle flirt.
I finally flirt back.

I’d like a coffee.
Which is strange,
because I don’t like coffee.
I don’t feel like myself today.

The shadow in the mirror reminds me not of myself but of my father.
He stands behind my mother’s chair like an advisor to the queen.
He does not poison her mind or plan treason against her throne.
Her tyranny extends to the invisible shackles on his long-broken mind.

The ghost in the mirror reminds me not of myself but of my brother.
Though he has died, he never passed on to the better place he deserves.
His phantom lingers in my mind, trying to reach out and touch this plane.
He can’t feel the tender dew on the soft grass unless he uses my hands.

The witch in the mirror reminds me not of myself but of my sister.
Though she has left the inner coven, she is still trapped under her oath.
Her spells of cord-cutting and separation can only do so much against it.
As her mistress sleeps, her work to free herself from her bond does not stop.

The monster in the mirror reminds me not of myself but of my mother.
She controls our movements like a puppet on a string, never stopping.
There is no freedom to reign over my or my family’s actions but hers.
Her little marionettes may never break free from the suffering they endure.

Some people fall deeply in love,
With ****** touches that evoke pleasure.
I have not fallen deeply in love with you.
No. I fell softly. Like a fallen angel,
I am coaxed to the ground by soft wings.
These wings do not consist of feathers,
but instead sweet words and kisses.
I hope you fall slowly like I do, lover.
As the wind whispers sweet nothings,
Do you gently glide through the sky?
I pray to the god that merged our paths.
In these prayers, I beg for eternity.
An eternity descending with you.

Trapped in paper. Printed. Copied.
Repeated for generations to read,
though few will know the words.
Captured on a page. Do they cry?
Do matching tears fall from both
the reader and the read pages?

You spoke about constellations.
But you’re just a black hole.
You ripped me to pieces,
And swallowed me whole.
You were all-consuming,
And I was the starless night.
In the end, we now know,
Two voids don’t make a light.

One step forward, two steps back.
I’m trapped in an endless tango.
My dancing partner is Bad Luck.
Tied together with chains of fate,
We strut across the wooden floor.
With every attempt to leave this
Spinning choreography tornado,
I am twirled back into his arms.

Drive me to a cheap motel.
Pay for a week, the one after as well.
But what do I do when I can’t save up money?
“We’ll worry about it if it happens, honey.”
Daddy, I’m scared, and Mommy I’m tired.
If you push too hard, I might just expire.
I’m losing time, and I’m losing hope.
So I just tend to dissociate to cope.
I made three new alters in just the last week,
But you don’t listen, don’t know what that means.
I do want to survive, live, be alive,
But I’ll need more help if you want me to survive.
Please love me now, like I needed love then.
If not as a parent, at least as a friend?
Mom, I know you hate me. No, no, it’s true,
But the only person you hate more is you.
And Dad, I don’t lie when I love you I say,
But stand for yourself, not your wife, just one day.
You both have raised me, shaped me, molded me,
But the person you think I am isn’t the person I wanna be.
I’m your son, though I know it’s hard to adjust.
I find it hard to love and harder to trust.
The people who raised me, taught me, bathed me.
When I ask for acceptance, don’t make me say please.
In the end, we all need therapy, I think,
But don’t dismiss the truth I will speak.

It’s funny
The way I
Stop breathing

When I see
You. Your face
Beautiful

Not even
A gasp can
Escape me

There is this feeling I’ve never felt.
Given one less card when cards were dealt.
A constant gambling poker game,
Not for money, nor for fame.
This **** was rigged at the start.
The lost feeling was love, joy in my heart.
It’s taught by some mothers but never mine.
I pity the souls who were raised in kind.
I love others; don’t be mistaken.
But it feels like love for myself was taken,
Away by my mother, or maybe God.
Either way, I think it’s rather odd.
The way I was treated. The way I was raised.
The way that, despite that, my mother was praised.
My dad, he’s alright, but I think he should
Stand up for himself, for his own good.
It’s not my fault, but I’m given credit,
For my parents’ emotional deficit.
Regardless of where my poker game started.
I hope I can win, when I’m departed.

“We don’t claim this one.”
“Well, then we will! He’ll be one of our own”
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch us! You didn’t want him.”

I’m losing myself every day.
I’m tired of fighting these battles.
I want to be fought for for once.
Sometimes I wonder if anyone
Is glad to have me in their life.
What’s so wrong with me?

A vulture flies over the hospital.
After a meal, we never feel full.
We eat it all, but it’s never enough.
A few weeks in here will make you feel tough.
Stronger than iron, but weaker than will.
Today, you are strong, but wait until
They change your meds, give you the wrong drug.
It’ll leave you angry, like a violent ****.
Wait one more week, wait one more day.
Stay here forever, it’s better that way.
They give you warmth, and food to eat,
All of your meds, a bed to sleep.
But you cannot stay, your time here is done.
Look back at the window, the vulture is gone.

I soak up rays of warmth from the sun
as it covers my limbs like a blanket.
I am calm, content, and curious.
My curiosity is unbridled,
and my creativity is bolstered
by the satisfaction I feel.
I wish to grow and reach new heights.
This freedom comes from the sun,
as my leaves photosynthesize its warmth into energy.
My stem reaches taller, and new leaves unfurl.
I create a new version of myself with every sunny day.

Like mushrooms, we are connected.
It is hard to see where one fungus stops.
And the next one starts.
The complex network of mycelium
Ties us all together at the root.
We grow from the mossy ground,
Unsure if we are a new being
Or just a new extension of the whole.
Regardless, we are each unique.
Distinguishable.
We stand alone as ourselves,
But we grow together as one.
Are we a family?
Or are we different organs of one organism,
Working in tandem, doing our part?
I suppose all these descriptions can coexist together.
We do work together, sharing resources,
Distributing based on need, not want.
We are a family of mushrooms.
Our spores share the same DNA
As they float through the air.
We are one with each other,
But we are also our own selves.

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Eating yourself like this
Gnawing at muscle and bone
Just to feel at home

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Cheating yourself like this
Quitting before the game begins
Just to wallow in your sins

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Beating yourself like this
Smashing your head into walls
Just to silence the noise of it all

You need to stop treating yourself like this.
Defeating yourself like this
Betting on a losing dog
Just to hide in the fog

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Deleting yourself like this
Editing your words before you speak
Just to hide the feelings underneath

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Repeating yourself like this
Echoing past excuses and mistakes
Just to avoid the time healing takes

You need to stop treating yourself like this
Completing yourself like this
Assuming this is how your story ends
Just to never make amends

You cause your own downfall
You make yourself doubtful
But you can change your tune
Let the light in and bloom

Oh, I trust you and I love you and I need you.
I trust you more than I have ever trusted myself.
Your words sing truth against my shattered mind
as they glue pieces back together with glittering gold.
I love you in ways I may never truly understand.
Your smile brings joy to my life while your guidance
brings me back to the path of safety.
I need you to stay to help me.
Your absence felt like a dark cloud on my very existence.
I was lost without you.
Oh, I trust you and I love you and I need you.

Pitchforks torment us all silently
Ghosts in their sheets and the devils
Lingering among the Halls
It is full of strangers
A strange emptiness
The bleached white walls
This strange place
Is not
Death

Let the world read the words you have written.
Let them sink in like fangs that have bitten.
Into the flesh and into the soul.
Filling the deepest and darkest of holes.
Voids in our minds and caves in our hearts.
Filled to the brim with beautiful art.

The look on her face is longing.
A subtle pout. Distant eyes.
She looks out the window at the sunset.
Yet another day spent quietly alone.
Plans were made to end the quiet.
Those plans were canceled. She longs
for community, connection, camaraderie.
She wishes for acceptance and empathy.
Alas, she must open the door
to welcome in such things.
So she sits on the floor.
With longing painted on her face.

I have this fear.
I live under its control.
I follow its instructions to the letter.
I avoid its anger and shudder at its mere presence.

I want to reach out and grow,
but I am trapped by glass
walls custom-made for me.

My mother is a spider.
Carefully crafted webs fill my childhood home.
With great care, she weaves day and night,
trapping her family inside.
We struggle but only doom ourselves further.
I am a fly,
buzzing as I wrap myself in her silken strands.
My sister is a butterfly,
flapping her wings as the webbing pulls off her beautiful scales.
My brothers are bees
who once sought bright flowers and hives of others like them.
My father is a moth,
guided to the web’s shimmering light.
Now, we all lie still, drained of life,
slowly being consumed by the weaver.

I liked me better when
you hated yourself.
Now that you have found
beauty, I have lost my own.

I swear he’s an angel.
His wings bring him
down to Earth slowly.
They spread out,
reaching across the blue sky.
His white feathers create
the silver lining on the horizon.

Are you a spider, traipsing around your web? Like an acrobat,
you swing from fly to fly, trapping them further. Your gossamer silk
Surrounds them, confines them, suffocates them, but you, black widow,
Deliver the killing blow. Your bite is not accompanied by a bark
as you sink your fangs into your victims like a thirsty vampire.
Drain them, empty them, free them of life, dear spider.
For it is your nature, your purpose, and your divine duty to devour.
Oh, spider, I am your devotee, your destitute follower, your dying breath.
I am your last hope of redemption in this dying, this killing, this ending.
Will you be redeemed in the end? Only I, the fly, decide.

She sinks into the waves as the full moon casts its glow upon her.
Through the murky water, she cannot hear the howling wolves.
As she fades into the darkness, her subconscious dreams ignite.
Visions of her past and future dance in her mind as she falls
further into the deep. Her red hair flows past her face. Stars
twinkle like the bubbles floating from her lips to the surface.
She is adrift within her own mind. She may drown within it.

For you, a hand-made mother’s day card
For you, curiosity about your hobbies and interests
For you, endless forgiveness and grace
For you, tender, loving care during dark moments
For me? Abuse, trauma, and manipulation

I remember this road deeply.
An ache in my gut as I drive.
I can feel these familiar turns.
A cradling, loving welcome.
I used to live on this street.
A place I drove past often.
I used to play in that house.
An address I still remember.
I used to create in that room.
A haven that felt like safety.
I used to sleep in that bed.
A comfort a lifetime away.
I miss the way home felt.
A sensation much like pain.

Surrounded by beads and notions,
she creates with no hesitation.
She is struck, like lighting,
by the fires of creation.

Color the sky with cerulean blue.
Know in your heart it will be true.
Paint the clouds titanium white.
Use indigo to pigment the night.
Oh, painter, your palette is as sharp as your knife.
May it guide you towards vibrancy all of your life.

I love my parents, but they’re out of it.
For high school graduation, they gave me a gift.
A genie, three wishes, you get the gist.
A big responsibility for an eighteen-year-old kid.
What should I wish for? Well, I don’t know!
Beginning of summer, maybe I’ll wish for snow?
First semester of college, but I don’t wanna go.
Maybe I’ll wish to already know.
Know English, Spanish, math, science, and more,
But I’d rather know what’s on the ocean floor.
Why not cure cancer? Because it seems like a chore.
No, what I really want is the one I adore!
Genie, I wish for my perfect girl.
The most beautiful one in the whole world.
Give me a stunner, one that I can twirl.
Genie said wait, don’t give that a whirl.
I am all powerful, all knowing too.
So I know a secret, one about you.
Now don’t deny it, for you know it’s true.
You don’t like girls, or “doing the do”.
You, kid, are gay. Trust me, I’m the genie.
So don’t ask for a taco when you really want ******.

Red is for roses,
Or so they say.
But roses are green too,
At the end of the day.

Why focus on flowers,
Temporary, fragile?
When instead there are thorns,
Durable, agile.

Think about it really,
What is red giving?
For green is still lovely,
Lively and living!

Green holds pine needles,
Oak leaves, and ferns.
Red holds hot fire,
All that does is burns!

Why flare up in moments?
Why flare up at all?
When you can be a constant,
Like a bright green moss wall.

Ever growing, ever changing,
But never erased.
Doesn’t that sound much better
Than a love laid to waste?

It soaks in the power
And warmth from above.
Yes, green is ideal.
The true color of love.

“Hello” is a bad word that sits at the tip of her tongue.
Like a snake’s venom, it is always there, always ready.
It lies in wait, hoping for the next unsuspecting victim.
The pain is preceded by hope. A glimmer of “Maybe.”
Maybe when those fangs sink into me, it won’t hurt me.
Maybe the sweet anaconda embrace is a hug this time.
Maybe this is the last time her hissed hello will bite me.

Strength is not a raging river or a roaring tiger.
Strength is bravery in small, significant things.
Even the smallest things can be significant.
Importance is not decided by money or popularity.
It is chosen by value, meaning, and purpose.
We are not brought into this world only to consume.
We are given the strength to create and choose.
Choose strength every time you are given a choice.
The hardest decisions are the most important, and
Great heights are best seen from your lowest point.

I would describe this feeling as pain,
but it doesn’t quite hurt like being burned.
And it doesn’t feel like being completely incinerated either.
No, it’s a dull ache. A deep feeling of loss.
Even my body doesn’t know how to process it.
Not that my body knows how to process most things.
My stomach is bad at digesting dairy and anger .
My ears don’t interpret conversations very well,
And my tongue can’t stand spice.
Spice burns. A pain I can identify, but can’t tolerate.
Heartbreak aches like a black hole. Cold. Empty.
What was once a burning star has been changed,
Rendered into an all-consuming, lifeless nothing.

Art is a lesson for both its creator and those who admire it.
With every soft brushstroke, carefully selected synonym,
or drawn out note, the artist learns a new way to create,
a new way to evoke emotion from others by ripping it
straight out of their own chest. An artist can do this with
a graceful combination of ease and effort. Those who see
the canvas, read the pages, or listen to the melody, are only
able to grasp the pieces of the pain that are reflected within
their own souls. Inside, we are all fragments of the same
shattered mirror. Its glass once reflected only the face of God,
but now it reflects parts of us. Does it still show God’s visage?

Are we God’s art? Were we a lesson for the all-knowing? Does
even our creator learn from our mistakes, flaws, imperfections?

I think I’m an *******. What’s my excuse?
Well, it came from my parents’ emotional abuse.
Their parents before them. And theirs before them.
So, there! That’s my reason for not being a gem.
But reasons and excuses have nothing to say
To protect you from criticism at the end of the day.

We are all heroes in someone’s story.
A brief moment.
A needed word.
A helping hand.

We all question if we’re the bad guy.
In the sink, we see blood.
In the mirror, we see the villain.
In our heads, we hear the victims.

We all are just normal people in the end.
Flying through life.
Saving the people we love.
Protecting what we care about.

We may be the heroes after all.