Learning to love my body is like trying to get comfortable in a rental home; no matter how often I rearrange things to look differently, it still doesn’t feel like my own.

Every day, every night,
I wonder if I'm any right.
Every time I think about you,
the world around me seems to be new.
I've been breathing all these years,
not knowing your sweet fragrance in the air.
Your presence is the only thing
that brightens up my day.
And now here I lay,
with a fear of losing you,
when you are not even mine.

I could have told you the things
I've always wanted to tell.
Not that I'm scared to speak, it's just
your answer that doesn't let me sleep.
Because I have a fear of losing you,
when I know that you're not even mine.

People may tell you to not cry...
I won't because I know the difference.
They think they know when in fact they lie...
I say bury yourself in the deepest of detriments.

They may say that a new day will come...
They only spout what they can't comprehend.
They forget that you are ailing from a broken heart and that you're not dumb.
There's only you in your space, alone you stand...

Textbook responses are all they can offer...
They know not that it'll only make things worse...
There can be no replies so nice and proper.
To rid you of your life, your plight, your curse.

They may even share personal events that they think familiar.
Thinking what worked for them may work for you.
But no two situations are the same, albeit looking quite similar.
At the end of the day, you only owe it to yourself to pull yourself through.

I say feed your pain, grieve hard if you must
Wallow... Dwell... Drown yourself everyday.
Let your blood sear your insides, beneath your crumbling crust.
Let the world around you descend into destruction and decay.

What made me the expert...
To say these horrid, putrid things.
Because I am you and we both lay in the dirt.
Driven mad by the persistent echoes of our own misgivings.

I'm no expert... I am just a broken man.
Telling you to let yourself be caught in your own sad and angry song.
Be weak... Be as weak as you possibly can...
So you could rise from the ashes and emerge hale and strong.

I've become addicted to pain. The kind that leaves you troubled, broken, and insane. 

I've become indifferent to shame. So cast out all your sins and let me shoulder all the blame. 

I've become distracted by flames. As I watched you burning out, I felt nothing- what a shame. 

I've become indifferent to rage. I've put the past behind me, I'm not bothered with why you didn't stay. 

I've become addicted to pain. Not the kind were skin breaks, but the one where the heart's ripped out its cage. 

No one said forever would ever be forever enough.

I'll be honest
I'm not exactly sure how to write myself pretty
I don't think I'm capable of making desire out of words
Or forming the way I sound into something you would want to fall asleep to
I cannot mold my body into a figure that you would want next to yours for more than one night
I have more passion in myself than I know what to do with
I often give it out as hope for people to take in their hands, find something good in all of my chaos
Everyone always advises not to fall face first in love
Forgetting that the those who fall by accident
Often land the hardest
Hitting the ground full force
Cheek against the pavement
I was built with 206 bones in my body
And I will break all of them from my mistakes
Before I dare to stop falling
The crash is worth the high
Ask me every time when I am still hung over from yesterday
And I will always say yes
Having regrets has always seemed better
Than having nothing at all
I was born with steel layed out upon my chest
All of these attempts at language
Are done with the intention
Of removing some weight off of it
I have been made heavy by my own silence on too many occasions
At times I have been told not to speak
That my lips should be kept shut for protection
There are bolts on my jaw
My tongue is sandpaper
And I will risk grinding my teeth for the possibility of igniting a flame
Inside someone who has spent years trying to find a lit match
Let me be the thing that starts a fire
Rhyming doesn't always incite romance
But I can try my best
See the problem is that there are so many ways to say I love you
But not enough to make them love you
The problem is having a million things to say
And a million ways to say them
But not knowing the right way how to
There is no right or wrong here
Only hold back or release
So stutter instead of staying quiet
It is much more beautiful on paper
To disregard format, or style
And structure
I will mess up
As best as I can
And in the morning
Look at it again
Remember how it felt
To live
Then reread,
Review,
And edit.

"I'll make a picture of you" I told her
"Are you a painter?" she asked.
"No, but I can paint you in words" I answered