Pretty poems are all just dreams
watch me write realities

There isnt much to say
My mind refuses to think at this time of day
My hand refuse to move in that form or way
My lungs refuse to breathe, held up with clay
My heart it will not beat, it simply lay
I dont have words to say
Until you cross my mind at break of day
Until you caress my hand in that certain way
Until your lungs clear mine, free of their clay
My heart can not not beat how you and I lay

I was hospitalized
due to beatings and bruises and ****** black eyes
I told my mom that I fell
and I told my sister, my father, and the doctor as well
I don't think they believed me
but the last thing they would guess is that it all came from him, see
so when I finally came home
they threw me a recovery, surprise party show
and they invited him, oblivious
did they not see him as michevious?
I spent the whole night being forced to hug, kiss, and love
my abuser who called me his drug
and the next morning I landed myself back in the hospital
and I told my mother, my sister, my father, and the doctor I fell -
not to be a downer, but I think I'd rather this hell

break in*
fingertips imprinted onto the glass of the cold window
legs shake as I balance on the bricks
inside I catch a glimpse of my own shadow
but I can't stop now, my watch still ticks

the dead of night is wide awake
staring at my unrecognizable clone on the wall
is this really where I belong?
I step inside before I fall

maybe I should just go back from where I came
it's quiet in here
and this has always been a risky game
I come in peace to invade the premises
before I get caught, I get one last good luck kiss

from the raindrops that now patter against the desk
leaking through the open gap in the wall
if not for the circumstance, would appear quite picturesque
my shadow still wavers, slim and tall

now this is it
I lay down on the stranger's bed
pealing the sickly drenched clothes from my skin
as the wind gushes past my head
where do I belong?
where do I go?
what am I doing here, for how long?
when can I come home?

I stole myself a keepsake for remembrance of my father,
a bracelet made by he that lasted 3 years, no longer
I picked me out a souvenir in summertime Muskogee
but now they sit so rusted and do of nothing to me
I hang old captured memories, tacked into my right wall
but they still just stand, a memory, that's all their worth in all

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

Even all the words I wrote, someday will be just that
They may still hold a meaning, but I can never bring it back
The pearls pierced through my ears handed down from generation,
even they are getting old throughout this newer nation
Stories ended with their what if's and could have's
are too far passed now, just sit for some good laughs

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

Why do we need bibles and these holy books to say
something once was, and I think again one day
I only can remember that one time I landed hospitalized
because the get well notes be still on my shelf advised
I used to keep a diary when I was just young,
to write down all I saw until it wasn't all fun

I will need no souvenir to remember you
I will need no keepsake hung up with a sticky glue
I will have your hand to hold, forever and again
If I need reminder, I just gaze up past your chin

For you are my souvenir
living life with both so near
Your hand is just a reminder
of the time that we have spent, in you, the *meaning finder