Why do I still write these jumbled scrappy poems?
Who am I even writing for anymore.
A few words on a screen passing by in one swift scroll
A freshman in high school's brand new outlet
A freshman in college's over dramatic cry for help
That she probably doesn't even need

He whispers to me softly
Darling I can make it stop
Let me touch you. Let me feel you
And he wraps his empty arms
Around my body, squeezes tight
He kisses my neck
And leaves freezer burns
He presses his body into mine
For an empty man, he sure is heavy

But I didn't even reach for it
There are papers to write
Cats to pet
More ******* **** to do

Street lights, pavement and the air is so cold
I stand in grass staring up
My childhood park, how I've gotten so old
I think I'm just down on my luck

The night comes much quicker these days
And so do these fleeting thoughts
Wool gloves and my eyes are glazed
It's always a shot in the dark

The liquor, the drugs, all my fantasies
Well, even they aren't enough anymore
And though I've never been much for reality
I find my dreams have become such a bore

What will find you on such a night
And whisk you away in a flicker
Is it God, is you, is it she, is it I?
Whoever it is must be quicker.

I am rediscovering who I am

I'm truly afraid
I'll never feel at home anywhere