I grew up as an invisible child.
The rejection and loneliness became
Familiar comfort.
His manic days were my favourite,
He turned up the brightness.
Was so inspired.
He would read me his poetry,
And even though I knew once it ended
Id be back to neither seen, or heard.
That moment was enough,
& what I spend my life seeking.

Every bit of pain I felt as a child
And worked my whole life to forget
Is floating to the surface at an
Alarming rate.

All of my words are foggy and I can't seem to find the right combination, to build the truth I keep digging for. Only broken bridges come out of this mouth. They lead you over waterfalls and into dense forests, filled with trees my past has grown for me. Trees that have rooted themselves deep inside of me. Ive become so enmeshed, I cant tell where the roots end and my limbs begin.

My body is a padded room
And I feel like an alien inside of it
Set up with a small window,
Buttons and levers.
I don't know what any of them mean.
My skin feels like someone else's
And my limbs are too small for this oversized shell filled with human bones.
Where am I supposed to sit comfortably when I feel like every inch I exhale,
is taking up too much space.

I was born a clean slate. An empty house. I watched everyone around me decorate my walls as they wanted to see them. They filled my cupboards and organized my closet for me, filling it with words and feelings I never understood. It got to the point where I felt more confused than comfortable, and so empty - even with all of these things that life had filled me with. So I got angry. I tried over, and over again to redecorate. I put up new wallpaper everyday, I burned rooms to the ground. I locked doors, I broke windows.

And then I found my people, and they told me that I was lovable even as this filthy, dark house. With paint peeling, and cobwebs in every corner.

I started to rebuild, I put up art that made me feel things. And wrote poetry on my walls. Every moment I spent with my new people, and myself, I was sent home with a new piece of my house to put together.

And now Im here. The floors need to be redone, and it still smells of smoke, but its mine. And who I am is not a ***** word, I wear all of my labels as a full, connected human being.

I used to walk around
With a tornado of filth
Constantly in my head.
I was made up entirely of
***** words
Like "Addict",
"Victim",
"Mentally ill",
"Emotional",
"Sinner",
"Broken".
Now I walk around as the tornado,
Labelled as
Addict
Victim
Mentally ill
Emotional
Sinner
Broken.
And its ******* beautiful.

The waves crash and the birds fly
Farther and farther away from me.
The wind softly sings;
"Follow them".