Hello all my wonderful friends and talented poets, I am seeking advice on the following poem. I find it challenging to edit. Thank you all, for your help in advance.


Lost, and no one is searching.
Not for me,
                   definitely not,
I'm just an "Orphan", and so you seem to see.

I'm scared of the upcoming events.
I'm at a loss for words that are heavy—lead...
Leaflet
of page flips,
a collection of what I can't prevent.
I, it's my expense.
~
I, I bend until I break because of things like this.
No one gets it,
No one will ever get this.
People I live with,
Say that I just need to "believe in myself, and be positive",
Again,
They don't get it.

I just write a lot; I just write...
I have a lot on my mind.
I hate the idea of moving.

The sight,
of a suitcase makes me go blind.

I wish I could spill my eyes
~ like ink ~
There are words I need to write, words have become a monster in my life, crawling up my spine, like waves, ebb, and flow - walls of wakes. I'm drowning in this lake, the weight pressed against me—the cracked skull, and my peeling
mind,
Nothing feels right,
they're all I can think
~ of, words, words enough to make me sink.
Into my hollow chest deep,
and empty.
But inside
my lungs find
a return together, and my diaphragm
fighting—like the closing mouth of a dying-clam.

So far away,
To a University
and Dorm-room stay,
I'm quite a fog, no definition-no importance—I fade
In the grey.
I fade away, every **** day.
Take it all away?
Silly me...
"No, stop being negative", they will say.

It feels like another Foster home,
I just want to go,
disappear - collapse into the undergrowth.
But inside I've never been so low.
Famished, insatiable, and ravenous, the beast still grows.
Chewing through what I've created for you,
To -
Just cut my tongue, and slice my toes
trying to hold.
On to the walls as they slip from my fingertips,
I fold.
Into my brain - filled with holes.
Into myself, a mystery—a candle melting without a flame, a game, that gets dull, and so old.
I've lost again, on this, I've been,
'Ashton' without
a doubt,
My words, I know -
My words know,
no woe.
Losing your interest, I'm only a muddled groan.
A man who is such a child, has to find a way to become grown.

I've no certainty,
Certainly, I cannot keep...
What I cannot see,
I cannot see where I'll be,
Who'll stay? Nobody?
Who would want to stay in my life?
No one needs to say that I,
have become a joke,
and as I choke, I know,
I'm not funny...
~
Nobody?
Not even me.

Hey,
I guess it's okay?
They don't stay.
It's always been the same.
My mind's leaving me.
Nothing will ever change.
All my life, I've been drifting, deranged. Slowly, I fear that I may
never find a refrain ~
That I'll love to be in this state
of mind, so insane.
—They never really did, and slowly,
Through my fingers, they...
Slipped.
Away.
From me,
and my weak grip, white knuckles behind the bleed.
- I wouldn't lie, I tried -
everything...
but it was my weakness that gripped
so I slipped'
like they did.

I guess,
I'm just going to have to get used to this.

I swear, I've been,
Lost, now I'm even more lost when
...I'm searching.
I'm looking
From outside of myself—in.

My ribs open,
I'm an open book, but now, I'm a loose-leaf—dropped with a pen,
~
I, to not be picked up again.

My skin is paper thin,
Go ahead take a look right in?

See what's really inside of me?
That my heart is just too big, to bear its own beat.
Maybe -
Maybe - my wounds will bring you to me?

I have so much love to give,
I cannot keep it contained within.

My heart is exploding,
and I know it...
This life is no longer mine to live.

Why do I feel like this?
Everything is going great, it is.
Yet something is amiss,
I'm reckless, I try, and end up defective.

I feel like I am obsolete.
           and when I fall asleep,
                           I don't even want to dream.
Thinking about more than I can think.
I've been getting better at buying,
The lies between
the pages of a book without a spine - me,
getting better at hiding
that I, I'm just, weak,
I'm obsolete.
Hung up by the seams,
~
A nail in the wall holding me.
A puppet without strings,
The nail has a name, 'PTSD'.
Hang me in the hall,
Watch me drop down, and fall
~
On my face in the heat,
Watch my colors-fade-to-grey
as they blend in the bleed.

A painting of melting color, that drips, and drips,
No worth, I'm worthless...

I'm just that foster kid from the streets.
The one that no one needs,
I don't want to be,
Believe me,
I woke up, and don't want to be me,
I just want to be free.

By: Ash

'I Am'

Not a boy, but a storm with skin.
I am torrential rain, a collapsing
     a down-pour of life undone, a schism of floods, living water, a death, & a rebirth after a ten-month drought.
I am sleet, disheveled, heavy, a frenzied tapping
frozen fingertips against snare drums echo within shockwave rhythms after a ten-month drought.
I am pouring,
ingraining caverns of joy, & pain
through broken dams —
     cascading into forest fires leaving
    only ash.
'I am, I am.'

I am the black sheep, and the sun's warmth on your cheek, drying your tears after a long winter's bite.
I am dying tree branches determined to rip down the skyline, stitch-by-stitch.

I am the Phoenix rebirthing in scarlet, enraged.
I am the fists through Earth's many graves.

I am the Black Phoenix that never rises, rotten.
Eyes sunken, a gaze that still hits as a brass-knuckled fist
~
a thousand faces, they all look the same, in a thousand voices they speak my name.

A thousand words — one lie
like a storm
I do not hide
feel me in the air.
tripping electrical currents,
& blackening clouds
brewing over,
the darkening, and the sea,
raindrops beating windows
like fists smashing bones.
mind my energy,
hurricanes, tornadoes, whirlwinds,
swirling tailwinds underneath skin.
Though I've never seen it before
I've fathered a soul, so apocalyptic
       Born by war,
continuously hushed
by the hands of others, so frenetic
Growing with age,
anything trapped eventually becomes unchained ~

My soul is cryptic
but when the storms have
ceased their weeping,
& my lightning has
left scorch marks of the Earth - a story.
I hold the gentleness
of a summer breeze
in my hands.
The calmness
of Heaven's seas
in my heart.
One Angel, or One Devil,
never far apart.

'I am, I am.'
a loose-thread tear right through the fabric of reality.
——
I keep trying to find my footing,
the walls are made of glass.
Trapped, here, in the enmity just teetering
           over    the        gap.


By: Ashton Conor Amstutz