Dear Brother,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I forgot to write you letters, to call out your name,
I’m sorry I forgot to whisper my worries to you and remind you that you’re still here,
I’m sorry I forgot what you sound like,
I’m sorry I forgot.
There’s this gaping hole in my chest and I’m still trying to figure out how to fill it with something other than the I hate I have for the world.
I’m sorry.
I realize that nothing I say can fix the brokenness, but I’m glad you’re up high.
You’re soaring through the sky, currently watching me cry,
And I wonder what it feels like to not have a care in the world.
I bet it’s relaxing.
You always had such anger burning through you and I’m sorry that I couldn’t understand it better but I’m trying to,
I swear I am.
The other day, I saw Osama in your eyes and I swear I nearly called out your name thinking you hid inside his mind.
I think the world is punishing me for trying to avoid thinking about your death.
It hurts.
It all hurts so much.
The tears and heartbreak of,
Not being able to hear your voice or go up to you and ask you to fix my mistakes or guide me, at least.
It hurts not seeing you often or seeing you at all,
It hurts seeing everyone ache silently over you.
I wanted to save you but I could barely save myself and I lost you.
The accident caused a riptide within me and now everything has shifted so drastically that non of my pieces fit back together again.
I’m sorry, Brother,
For being the way I am...
All I ever wanted was to make you proud,
All I ever wanted was for death to exchange you with me;
To grant you one more chance at life, while taking mine away.
I’m sorry it didn’t work
I’m sorry

Dear death,
I am a waste.
I am a waste of space, of air, of life.
I am a waste.
I am wasting away in this darkness of memories that I can’t seem to let go.
I am a waste.
How do I rid myself of pain that strings along the chords of my heart,
Playing it as if an instrument.
How do people make sense of the waste?
How do they learn to appreciate how their mind was meddled with and how their heart gave and gave only to be unappreciated?
I am a waste,
And I still cannot figure out how to make something out of nothing
I am still figuring out who I want to be and where I want to go and all I can seem to think of is you.
Death,
What do you do to people who are wasting away?
Do you **** the breath out of their lungs leaving them to slowly decay and turn to dust?
Or do you hug them tight and tell them everything will be okay even though all you’ll leave behind is a mess?
Death,
I can’t put my pieces back together again.
Sometimes it’s hard getting out of bed and I call you,
Yet you never pick up.
Sometimes I long to jump off of bridges and land into the arms of comfort...yet I never have the courage
Because giving myself to you or to life means commitment and I’ve never known anyone to be committed to me.
Sometimes the waste pulls me in and I drown in a sea of my mistakes; the ones people constantly remind me of, and it seems easier to let the water fill my lungs and sink than fight against the tides.

I am a waste,
Yet I’m still figuring out how to be more.
How to evolve and progress and become
To simply become something more
To want more
To experience and live more
To have said a waste but I certainly am not.
I have been put on this earth for a purpose, and I’m on an adventure of figuring out what my reason is.

Things I want to come home to after a long day at work:

Arms that hold and remind me that exhaustion is only temporary

Soul food, to stop the starvation that eats at my insides and reminds me I am too skinny to miss a meal

A comfortable bed that envelopes and introduces me to a world of dreams, where anything is possible,
Including leaving all that I've ever known and becoming someone entirely different

A good book that helps me escape reality with characters that feel more like family, than my actual real ones

Coffee. (Enough said)

A view that speaks to me about how the world is a beautiful place if only we stop and appreciate it

Myself, in the comfort of my own privacy. Free to let loose all the crazy that has been shoved down due to the fear of being judged

Since I had to lock her at home, away from the world, making sure no one saw my heart or any sign of emotion for fear that they'd take advantage of the sensitivity that is, Myself.
I'd like to come home to myself and let her know that it'll all be okay

Most of my thoughts at night drift from:
I am so much more than the entire universe combined
I am the Universe, the stars within the galaxies
I am the solar system, as a whole
I am the planets lost within the empty void,
Hoping to avoid a collision, yet still wishing for it
To create a nebula.
I am nothing but the air you breathe,
Needing both oxygen to give you life,
And carbon to **** the life out of your heaving lungs.
I am the moon and the sun.
I shine light on your darkest days and I make sure to trap you in the darkest of worlds as I dim your entire existence.
I am the blue sky and dark, black one
I am the plants that sway left and right,
Bringing color onto your blank canvas.
I am the butterfly, that was once a caterpillar:
I was once a questionable being but I bloomed into this thing of beauty that has everyone gaping.
I am the dream you have late at night but also,
The nightmare that startles you from your sleep

But the thoughts begin to consume me and I believe that I,
I am nothing
I am a waste of space  
And it's a struggle to try and figure out how that could be when in some sort of way,
The world needs me for stablility.