Child covered in
animated **** brought
up by the creators tongue,
buried down through growth
by hands that feed,
her self confidence
is a rose under
suffocating weeds,
crawling their way
up her arms,
misfortune is a
pernicious gift;
not being able to
choose family,
she’s owned at
seventeen,
striving for an
evergreen family tree,
but stuck under a willow,
with only a pillow
to gather rain,
her clean water
only comes from the pain
that the wind brings in,
blowing palms painting
imperfect skin,
she’s a tangible truth
but a verbal fiction,
telling stories of what
she wished happened,
but for now
she’s a
product of
forenoon resentment,
with endless time spent
under the willow tree
watching the leaves
trickle their way through
the sands of time,
until she turns eighteen,
counting sheep,
and at only seventeen
she's too sore to sleep

I’m still in awe at* the fact
that I can stand straight,
I can’t tell if I’m mindless
or spineless, whenever I’m
asked to leave, I leave
I never slam the door,
when I’m asked to come back
I drop what I’m doing and knock,
the door isn’t always answered
and that’s what picks away
at my backbone,
I stay planted
on the same doormat I’ve
tainted with leaving footprints,
steadfast shinsplints are nails on
chalkboards,
I keep running,
but you know I’ll be back,
keep that doormat clean.

Your eyes are different,
I’ve written about eyes
in the past,
I’ve been metaphorical but
not genuine,
I miss your eyes,
even when they’re staring at me,
they have this ambiguity,
they’re grey clouds,
sometimes they rain,
and they hide the sun,
I’ve never seen anything like it,
I know you’re broken,
theres secrets hiding
behind your teeth,
I know your eyes tell stories
I’ve tried to read,
but you keep forcing me
to bookmark,
every time,
from what i can remember,
when we kiss,
it’s like losing my virginity
for the last time,
everything is primitive;
a tangible omega, always,
I’d like to feel I’ve
been in love before,
but your eyes are different,
they write scriptures on napkins,
they burn so easily

A broken man can break even more,
a piece of shattered glass
can always splinter
into smaller pieces;
they hurt more to step on,
rock bottom is only
a paradox,
I’ve never met an end
of hopelessness,
a blade of grass can only
sway until it’s been cut,
and I’m trimming myself,
I’ve been trimming myself
the entire time,
at once I thought life was being lifted,
nothing that’s held high stays high,
arm’s begin to tire,
I once viewed sunsets
and skylines as timelines
to progress,
I now only reminisce,
the repetition of worn
down faces and barren
chest spaces show me
that every mirror
is double sided,
and the reflection in which
I once confided
now spits in my face,
when I was young
I thought I could withstand
being a broken man,
I could never see the echo of
my eyes in the hourglass and
I was too young to young to understand
that it was a problem, but now
It’s tipped on it’s side and
I’m itching at the sand on my skin.

She ran red lipstick over
her fingertips before she
ripped out my heart
to give it colour,
she put it back, mind you,
I can't say she broke it,
I can't even say she ripped it out,
it was involuntary,
I gave it to her,
and the thought of
rejection made me
take it back,
an unfinished
cigarette put back in the pack
when lit later, nothing tastes the same,
bitter almost,
she set fire to it
and ran from the smoke,
she came back once it all settled,
and all that's left is ash,
I'm always caught saying
"Sorry this my last one"
but I'd let her smoke me empty,
my heart is still red and the lipstick
has worn,
and that's what made me realize
she's the one

Hurt people and feel bad about it
keep hurting people and keep
feeling bad about it,
get hurt and
don’t be resilient,
wallow

make beer your
only companion,
**** a lot,
play the piano
on your thighs
when you’re stressed,
tap your feet,
it’s going to sound terrible
and that’s okay,
you’ll get used to it,
tremors will send
pain to your veins
like broken tea bags

don’t sleep,
eat terribly,
put turkey on
bread and keep
the skin on,
have a beer with
every meal
have whiskey with
every meal,
it doesn’t matter

hurt and feel bad,
know you’ll keep hurting
and keep *******
keep drinking,
read your mistakes
bookmark them,
you’ll keep coming back,

smoke cigarettes and
don't cry,  
fear death only when
you're dead,
and have a thin wallet,
there’s no such thing
as a rich poet,
cause we’re all
broken in some way.

Thus far I’ve lived a
pretty care-free life,
disregarding consequences
like a bee sting,
I want you to watch
my footsteps,
look at the direction
they went, don’t see if your
foot fits, it’s not a hard
path to mould,
I see potential,
you make 20/20
unequivocal,
transpicuous youth
floats over my skin
like it was yesterday,
your eyes tell stories of
pain, it scares me to
even see a diminutive
of myself in you,
you absorb like
cigarette smoke hugging
couch cushions,
and exhale burdens
to your skin,
you define rarity
your clarity will come soon,
don’t give up,
your road is endless,
dont veer,
in your horizon
the sun never sets unless
you pull it down
and you’ve been in
the dark for so long,
you live and love with
the lights off,
you can’t see the tread
that I’ve learned to
dread with your head in
the sand, open your
blinds and let the sun
trickle in and heal your scars,
it’s waiting for you,
the mirror you look in
is distorted on your
own grounds,
I look in the same
mirror every time
I open up photo albums
looking at your ice cream
stained blouses smiling
with mom,
you might not know
but I look at those
pictures more than
you think,
your millstone eyes
showed as life
grew gray hair,
your despair isn’t
tattooed, but my past is,
look at my footfall
and read my eyes,
my cumbersome  
direction is a
tough pill to swallow
and where I am
theres no water
to wash it down.