These parts feel like a lie I am giving to this world,
but it doesn't throw me back a sneer,
it pretends it doesn't know.

I am carving my skin with questions,
but it bleeds back no answers,
only trophies in the shape of these scars.

I am clawing myself out,
but the pit feels like quicksand,
the more I want out the more it takes me in.

I am half a person, half a ghost
already burying myself
inside the casket of my own skin.

If these gods were real
they'd have made us of sturdier stuff
than hearts that break apart at the slightest whisper.

Somewhere there exists a girl.
She is kind, and soft, and sweet,
And a reader, a lover of books.
She would read every one if she could
People say she looks just like her mother.
She doesn't know what to think.

Some place in the world there is a boy.
He is shy, and peaceful, and small,
He is adventurous, dreaming of planets unknown.
He would wander the galaxy forever,
Trailing after him stardust and clouds.
Nobody notices him.

Connecting them is one person.
They are creative, and caring, and bright.
Protective of the people they love,
Even if those people overlook them.
They feel too small to make a difference.
They want to find a purpose.


Three people, so very much alike.
Simalar in so many ways, yet still different,
Each unique in their own right.
All existing on the same Earth.
Seperate, but never apart.
They like being themselves and each other.

The only downside to their lives,
Is that that have to exist together,
Stuck in the same body, unable to change.
Each wishing to fit their own mold.
But they can't leave each other.

Sometimes the Girl in control.
She is the happiest of them,
She loves her body, which amazingly
Fits her, like the perfect glove.
She wished to make the others just as happy.

The In Between doesn't hate their body.
They like how soft they look some days
Like when they can look in between.
But they still feel wrong sometimes.
They don't feel like they can complain.


The Boy has it much worse than them.
When he has control his body is wrong,
The opposite of what he need to exist.
He deals with his problem though.
He binds his chest and wears button ups.
But that doesnt make it right.

Nobody knows that they share.
Most people are content being one thing.
With having a solid identity.
But it wasn't their fault, it is how they are made.
They didn't ask to be a river.
But they still follow the tides.

They wouldn't change who they are.
They get along fine with each aspect of themself
Compensating, trying to feel whole.
They have tricks to help them feel right.
But perfection doesn't exist.

Dysphoria comes as a storm.
Turing the river into a rushing waterfall,
Full of doubt and self-loathing.
Certain things help calm the storm,
But sometimes it just keeps raining.

They push through the floods
Of anxiety and doubt and fear.
Giving themself a bowtie for the Boy,
A beanie for the In Between,
A skirt for the Girl.
They persist.
And they live.

You can think whatever you like.
That’s the freedom of thought.
Experience leads you to perception,
so let me tell you stories about
you.

There was once a time
where we were at odds,
and our spirits acted as
poles on a magnet.
I tried hard to turn myself around
but I ended up in an uncontrolled spin.
Ever gaining velocity
from your push.

There was once a time
where you were deceitful
and purposely put me in a situation
where I had to keep quiet
about your pathetic inability
to have an ounce of self-control.

There was once a time
I coddled you in a moment of pain.
I sacrificed my focus,
for your feelings,
as friends do.  

There was once a time
where you invaded my personal space
without permission.
Too intoxicated to remember
but vain enough to run from the truth
of your unwelcomed actions.  

There are many times
when the words that flow
out of your mind
and to your mouth
are convoluted, primitive
thoughtless, and egocentric.

There is now a time
where I do not call you friend.
When the veil has been burned to ashes,
and all that remains
is the same exact person
you claim to have slayed.
****** predator, pathological liar,
selfish, and narrow minded.

People never change.

Tremors from the pressure
tremble the relics
of years past
Years reflected now
via passionate words
of miscommunication.
No matter how articulated
the opposite is spewed
like blood on the walls.
Best intentions die
among solid efforts.

Finding It's best to not
say anything at all.

Waking up 5 a.m.
Aching back.
Husband gets up
Makes sure your alright.
Sets up a pallet dubbed
"****** back set up supreme."
Rubs out the kinks,
From another exhausting week.
Talks about the shared woes,
And how hard things can be.
Mysterious figure-
Kids can be creepy!
Tuck in to our bed.
Lay on the sofa.
Continue talking demons,
Offer mutual support.
Dish out all the feelings,
We had to ignore at work.
May as well stay up now
Since the kid is sound asleep.
Turn on some video game...
Times all the same.
Sun up, Sun down.

If you think you're irreplaceable
You are sorely mistaken.
I can pay for a therapist
When I need someone to talk to.
I can pay for a masseuse
When my muscles scream.
You are nothing to me by blood,
You are among the family I chose.
And I can choose to separate from you.
I don't need you.
You need me.

Shell shocked
sleepwalking
through the day.

Tormented
by nothing less
than my own mind.

Mind's a hollow black room.
Cacophonous symphonies
echo off the walls.

I want to rip my hair out;
my skin off;
Dissolve entirely.

Once was balanced
now I hang on the pendulum.
Waiting to fall into graves once filled