When will they see me, a pretty, pink rose petal?

The urge to handle gently, and smooth me through their finger tips.
Or the urge to destroy, rip me piece by piece, and muddle me under their shoe.

It seems I am not worthy of such instincts.

Innocently, you pull me from my stem, with the intention to behold and cherish me. I forget to ask if, perhaps, you'd like my flower too. I mistake your innocence for love.

In your pocket I am kept. You feel better knowing I am close. I am happy to be close. You smile everytime you think of me. How sweet. You wish to hold onto me forever. How kind.

Naivety, you forget I am a petal, or perhaps you never even knew. You forget to put me in the pages of your book. I must be warm inside your dark, denim pocket...

When I am remembered, it's too late. The washer has run me through. I am *****. I am broken. I am no longer a petal.

When will they see me, a tragic, wilted rose petal?

The urge to put me to rest peacefully, to cherish the beautiful memories, to pray for regrowth as they lay me gently in the garden.
Or the urge to cringe at my crinkled mess, toss me in the garbage, rinse me from my vase, sweep up every nagging speck of me from their floor.

It seems I am only shame.

The love for me, you regret. Mistakenly, you thought I could be forever on my own, but pink does not become brighter in the dark. I am left, decayed, freyed, a mess. Your tears fall only for the petal I am not.

You don't claim the jeans with the pocket...
Knowing you did something wrong, and knowing no one else can make it right.

You grow from your mistakes. I rot.

How can an identitiy  break  even before it's been developed?

Like a prototype.    

abandoned

Just as inspiration strikes.

One day you grow concious,
and you hear your thoughts aloud.
"This is me, and I exist!"

You don't notice the change
in your mind's...
My minds...
Our minds
echos.

What once was familiar is suddenly cracked.
Do you even remember what you used to sound like?

Confused, you think
Theives!!
How you've stolen what's mine!
But it's there. Somewhere there.
Feeling something. But not me.

It's noisy in the city.
There's constant busy busy.
So much must be lost in the movement.
The taxi makes one wrong turn,
And it's all in the gutter!
There's so many signs to stop,
But nothing really does.
There's always something speeding by.

It's so noisy in the city.
Nighttime finds no exception.
The lights go off only to be replaced
By brighter ones.
The busy is less, but louder.
Now the neon signs are traps.
Set to lure you into a deep hole.
Sometimes you follow their flicker
On purpose.
But now the neighbors are awake
And they question your life choices
As you try to sneak away.

It really is noisy in the city!
You wake up to bang bang!
Cause things gotta be fixed
That shoudn't have been problems.
The morning's the perfect motivator!
Right.
The ringing hurts your ears,
So you drink that fresh cup of coffee,
Only to be dragged
Into the noisy streets again.

But I don't live in the city.

The curse of ugly pain.

The pain, a sickly moldy green.

A consuming envy,

shameful distaste for those who have it worse.


Pain that could have been pink.

The pink of a soft pastel gown.

Tattered and torn by evil hands.

Glitter band-aids on pink fleshy wounds.


Pain that could have been red.

The red of screaming terror.

Forever crimson scars.

Vibrant past, unmistakable.


Green pain is mundane.

It blends into the grass and trees.

It rots you from the inside.

A perfect gourd, left on the patio,

Thrown out when it starts to smell.

How do you know how to feel?
When your mind's split in two
And you try to be real
But don't know who's you.

How do you know what to think?
When your head contradicts
And you try not to sink
But you don't know the tricks.

How do you know what to say?
When your heart breaks inside
And you try to be sane
But feel like you've died.

I am just a child,
and I am just a fawn.
I am just a lamb,
and I am just a pawn.

I am just a petal,
and I am just a piglet.
I am just a pillow,
and I am just a twig.

I am just a cloud,
and I am just a dream.
I am just a candy,
and I am just a cream.

I am just a pebble,
and I am just a worm.
I am just the dirt,
and I will never learn.

Sometimes I am barely a person.
Just a walking, talking doll, waiting for instruction.

I feel like a faraway dream.
Just waiting for them to give or take my autonomy.

The only time I can feel for myself
is when I'm manic, in panic, screaming for help.

When I'm in this place, it is spiritual.
Death waits patiently, anticipating at my door.

So far from reality, lost in a place of need.
Feed me your attention and pull on my leash.

I crave spirituality.
Causing me this dichotamy.
Give me the feeling of stealing my autonomy.

Can you help make me feel alive?
I know how to bring me to life.
Like when I'm crying and dying at night's when I thrive.

I would like to feel warm inside.
Feeling mooshy and gooshy like
When I feel unsafe, feel your hate, leave me to die.

Sometimes I feel like I'm burning.
Why do I love to be hurting?
Your attention is life. Pain and strife always flirting.

Awaiting that moment of truth, that moment to prove
You've never meant a thing to someone who's ever been close to you.

It's that moment when you really get through
Through to your head that you've always been right, and they'll never need you.

The way that you do, and you always knew
That the last time you hurt was the worst, but this moment is too.

You never get to fix what's askew
Never realize you're slipping, how close to the edge you've come to.

The manic ensues, if only you flew
The torment I feel in this moment is flooding my veins coursing through.

I forget your eyes blue, freeze up,  statue
Feeling your warmth melt away forgetting how it ever used to

Completely subdue, make me anew
How come I feel you aren't there when I'm longing, and I most need you?

It's a trick it's a rouge, you have to construe
I only need you when ever you're gone and I start to unscrew.

After love you's, crumpled tissue
I feel you should never leave me but the fall then may take me from you.

You keep hitting me.
It's because I'm so tough.
It's because I am weak and small enough.

You keep teasing me.
It's because I'm so pretty.
It's because I'm different, and you think that's ugly.

You keep touching me.
It's because I'm hot and confident.
It's because I am young, and I don't know consent.

You keep hurting me.
It's because you care so much.
It's because I care that you stare and you touch.

You keep pushing me.
It's because I'm all in your head.
It's because you might actually want me dead.

You keep grabbing me.
It's because you love my hand in yours.
It's because you like to hear me choke.

I keep fighting back.
It's because I love you so.
It's because I'm trying everything to cope.