stop asking my how I feel
I will always say I don't know

I walk into church and know I don't belong.
Feel the eyes tracking me down like its the final judgement.
Put me down like a dog for my sins that are emphasized by the lens of stained glass,
Then hang my beat body to be "saved."

(Y)our lord and savior died on that cross for the salvation of humanity, yes?
Then it makes sense why you dehumanize me, because I seem to not be on the roster.
I can repent all I want but it won't change who I am, only whose mask I wear for the holy supper.

Tell me I'll be eternally ****** for my estrangement.
Thats alright. I'm practically already there.

Poetry isn't the description of the unique, never before heard.
Poetry is the carefully crafted common
The familiar and mundane
As an abstract art.

why must i
live
why must i
keep going
when every time i whisper
the wind steals it?
when every time i speak
teeth scatter?
just let me know
when the world is better
when the fires stop
and the forests grow back
and then maybe
i can too?

I can't do brain
I can't do thoughts
I can't do friends
And I can't do smoking in parking lots

I can't do death
But I also can't do living

I can't do anything
Except for just giving
And giving

I have no words
For the fallen

I have no feelings
For the broken

For the fallen made others fall

And the broken made others broke

So when their crescent shine
Comes to a stop
The past fallen and broken on top