The things I do
For your approval
And your excitement
For my accomplishments
Usually aren't healthy
Or good
For me

The things I lose
For your happiness
And your calmness
Usually are the things that make me feel that way

The things I cover up
For your agreement
And support
Usually are the things I care about most

Don't tell me
I'm being disrespectful
When it's simply impossible for you to stay pleased for more than a few moments
I try
And I try
To no avail
I am done trying

I have opinions
Thoughts
Feelings
If you don't like it
Don't see me
That's what I wanted
To begin with

beats are pulsing through lit eyes
that see amber
coated in a hand
that looks like honey
underneath the
yellow streetlights
a small head sticks out a
moving car window
on a still darkened evening
the only sound the
soft wind
and
the endless haunting unknown

mom was always self conscious about her veins
she veiled them with pants in eighty degree weather, constantly looking for cures for varicose and spider veins and always asked me if she looked bad
mom never looked bad, not even mediocre. she was mom.
mom shone through with a holy radiance of giving, i knew that when she got to heaven (even if heaven was never real god would make a heaven just for her) she would be blessed and her veins would be erased.
i would write her a letter telling her how her veins were art on her legs with colors that were abstract for the human body
i would tell her i love the paintings on her legs because they reminded me of all she did for decades, tiring her feet, never sitting down, giving her self up for half hearted people.
i would tell her stories that her veins were paintings made by God to show her how unique she was, and he formed murals for her that would never go away, with lilac, violet and green paints that stained his fingers
i would remind her maps and magnificent cities had veins of their own, they were the roads and tunnels that people traveled on to find their destination.
my hope for her is that she remembers her flaws are art that don't have to be hidden in a museum

Being a people pleaser is a part of me
You ask if I can meet you
I’ll promise you yes.
My schedule that will not allow it
I’ll change it so it can
My schedule will be deconstructed and reconstructed to form for yours.

You don't seem to like my laugh
I can laugh differently
To your liking.
Molding and creating a new me for you
My personality being formed around you.
An obsession,
An unhealthy obsession to make a personality formed for you.

The lesson here is to say what you hate
Because I'll change for you always
I'll lose who I am,
But as long as you're happy
I’m a people pleaser.

I don't do new year resolutions

This year.

I want to love myself a little more each day.
I want to learn to be soft and gentle on myself, the way I always tell others to be for themselves.

Sometimes, I want to simply exist.

Other times, I want to make life happen

This new year,
I want to change.
I want to grow.
I want to flourish.

I do not think the world is truly ready for my transformation,
But I am, so here we go.

I’m always forgotten because I’m never known.
They see me and my concept,
what they believe it is,
but they do not take the time to know me,
my insides and fillings,
my laughs and tears,
my thoughts and words.
I’m always forgotten because they never care enough to notice my light,
or my lack of one.
Superficial gifts and smiles
all at once in one Christmas night.
I’m always forgotten in their brains,
like tasks that no one wants to do,
a person no one wants to know.

Closer to new years now.
I’m always forgotten over the summer.
I exist,
lax and blurry,
because they don’t remember me if they don’t see me.
Every person creates a different image,
except no one actually knows me.
They just see.
They watch.
They imagine.
And they create.
Me,
in their brains.
But its not me anymore,
because a me doesn’t exist in anyone’s mind.
Not even mine.