The blows wash over me, if you think  my stares are acid wait till you hear my fire, words that burns with the spurs of hell
You have closed the loving hands I was given by my mother, feel my hardened knuckles
See the rage tear apart the face that reminds you of a lost memory, the tears remind you if head on collisions

I've been out here so long
Under stars that lost there shine
 I'm going crazy
 as kids with pistols shout hands up and another modest man loses his sense of safety

Home is a funny word
Home is something I thought I never had
In middle school
In high school
I was tossed about
Adrift
My home was a suitcase
My parent's houses, hotels
I didn't live in one place enough
To form the close bonds
In order to have the kinds of relationships
That I needed to have.
I became self-destructive
By the time I got to college,
I wouldn't know a friend from an enemy
If they punched me in the chest
Threw me against a wall
Or held me down and hurt me
But then I found that I'd had friends all along
People who wanted me to be safe and happy
That I had been too destructive to notice
And as soon as I realized that,
New friends appeared
I cleansed my life of my enemies
and I began to find myself
In the sea of hate
So when I left my mother's house in September
I didn't think I would feel the loss
I had left the house before
But I didn't realize the difference it would make
To know I'd never come back.
And these city lights
Are beautiful
But they are not my home
My home is where my friends are
My home is somewhere between us and me
So if I get forgetful, text too little or if I text too much.
Know that I love you
And I'm just a little out of touch
With how friendships are supposed to be
And that I miss my home now more than anything
And I miss my family too
And though I may have been broken
I'm fixed now, good as new
And I hope you love me too.

playing cards sit in your back pocket like the matches in my own||we both need something to do with our hands||you mix things up||while I set things aflame||we are a devastating pair||but when our back pockets are smushed up against your kitchen stools||and we light the king and queen of hearts on fire||i know my hurricane is home||

Everything is so dark and I can't see past it.
When the light at the end of the tunnel is no longer there how am I supposed to find my way home? Your arms were the only solace I had and now I'm just here alone.

empty lakes and
barren streets try
to keep me inside

detached from the
land of detachment
tired eyes cold coffee

sun of light but no
warmth the constant
buzz of renovation

call it limbo call it
boring it stands here
the middle of the end

a running projector with
no film left the encroaching
white space passive sadness

screams are not heard they
are never voiced but they
are there under the material