I fell into a world
Where glass slippers
And shiny chariots existed
I danced on floors of marble
And crystals shown in chandeliers.

I spent awhile living in this dream
But glass shatters
And chariots became fuel guzzling cars
My feet grew sore on marble floors
And the crystals grew dull with dust.

This
Is the first time you got
Dirt
Under your fingernails
This is
The first time your dad
Didn't come home
This is the first time
Your little sister got
Drunk
And told you about her
Nightmares
This is the first time you stood
On the top of a mountain and
Screamed
At everything
That ever wasn't anything
This is the first time you stepped out of your pants
And into another person's
Body
This is the first time.
Maybe all of your parents' fighting was just a test.
Whether you passed or not depends on how
Late
You went to bed, listening
Or how
Empty
The palms of your hands looked when you
Held them against hers because
You were taught that you should
Hold it all.
Music is hard to dance to when you've been
Taught to stuff your
Fingers so far into your
Ears that you can't even feel
Your own heartbeat.

You were taught to hate the color yellow and have two left feet.

I find myself apologizing for the
music that I like and the way I talk,
letting people know that I say one
hundred wrong and I'm constantly
saying words with the wrong tone
apparently I say theater like an old
man and I'm sorry that I don't know
a lot about the pixies I can't fix these
little things about me. I will never know
more about john frusciante or IGN, I'll
never look into video games on my own
whim

I'm so tired of putting my radio
away and being afraid, that if
I play my music everyone will
walk away. That I have to make
the rhyme obvious to see, that I
have to split these paragraphs to
make it more easy. That I have
to censor everything I say, that
I have to stoop to a level that was
never easy to reach. I thought things
that were higher were the standards
to vie for but bending down is a task
i have fight for.

My shoulder blade is slicing into his chest
but I don't mind,
because his skin is against mine
and I'm stabbing him at the same time.

There is no self reflective, only what infects that ****** ****** state of mind, fraternal and stupid. Responding to text like what it used to be, that's why nobody gets me, a dog barks at eight nineteen and I become more aware of my mortality as I lay down to sleep. Until the night became the day, I sat there with my tooth decay, we never exactly were the type of people to break bread on. I told my dad I needed new experiences every night or I couldn't write, that I like to strike matches, and sometimes they light under houses. Don't make a habit out of breaking mirrors, otherwise it will reflect poorly on you.