this isn’t going to make sense
cause it’s not supposed to
and if I’m being honest
this isn’t for you
it’s not even for me

I’m stuck
I’m trapped
I’m lost
I’m every other word that describes people who feel at a dead end

I’m typing on a ****** phone
That’s connected to a ****** connection
That could possibly be a metaphor for my life

I’m writing
Because I don’t know what else to do

I’m writing
Cause that’s what they told me to do

But they also told me that what I think isn’t always true
That I’m special and I just don’t see it

But that’s the thing
I don’t see it

And if I don’t see it then why should it matter if anyone else does

And if I’m thinking something why should it matter if it’s true

What matters is that it’s in my head
What matters is that it’s always there

But here I am
Stuck in the same place
Back to square one
No progress made
The same questions, whether true or not

Will I amount to anything?
Do I really help?
Am I really worthwhile?
Do you actually care?

I see these people
When I’m online
They smile and post
They edit and pose

I can’t help but wonder

Do you really smile, or do you just do it to look happy like me?
Do you really feel happy, or are you trying to lie like me?
Do you understand what I feel?

Or is it just me?

I’m not trying to be selfish
I don’t want a lot
I just want to be happy
And I want others to be happy with me
But neither is happening

So instead there’s a poem
That doesn’t even ryhme
That makes no sense
  I’ll try harder

530

You cannot put a Fire out—
A Thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a Fan—
Upon the slowest Night—

You cannot fold a Flood—
And put it in a Drawer—
Because the Winds would find it out—
And tell your Cedar Floor—

1725

I took one Draught of Life—
I’ll tell you what I paid—
Precisely an existence—
The market price, they said.

They weighed me, Dust by Dust—
They balanced Film with Film,
Then handed me my Being’s worth—
A single Dram of Heaven!

1261

A Word dropped careless on a Page
May stimulate an eye
When folded in perpetual seam
The Wrinkled Maker lie

Infection in the sentence breeds
We may inhale Despair
At distances of Centuries
From the Malaria—

I am sad
I see blues and purples
      Sometimes even reds
Sometimes the colors hurt
Sometimes they hurt a lot
Sometimes they hurt too much

So they gave me pills
Pretty little pills
To hide the blues and purples
        And sometimes reds
They say to find the yellows
And greens

I take the pretty little pills
And the blues and purples hide
But I've lost my yellows and greens
And all that's left

Is grey

It’s just easy for them
Isn’t it?
This couple on the train.
They walked on laughing together
Holding hands
And I felt that familiar something-
Not jealousy
Not envy
But...
Chagrin.
Astonishment.
Incredulity.
Incomprehension.
Looking at them feels like looking at one of those
Impossible pictures
Where the stairs keep going forever in a loop.
It’s just
Easy for them.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, that thought,
But thinking it feels so odd in my mind
When I can’t imagine loving someone without
Shame,
Without pain.
They fit.
These people,
They fit without having to carve anything out.
They fit without punishing each other.
They fit like puzzle pieces cut from the same board-
No worries, they just go together, and that
Is that.
They fit like
“Of course.”
Like breathing.
Neatly.
Simply.
Carelessly.

I can’t imagine what it’s like
I can’t comprehend it-
To fit
Somewhere
Much less to fit somewhere
With someone.
I am always trying to corset myself into this world,
Lungs burning,
Trying to remain small enough to squeeze by
Catching myself by the wrist to keep from reaching
For anything.
And if there seems to be a spot where I might be able to exist as I am

It is always

Occupied.

Like a shiny pinprick
That thought hurts-
Not like the others it is newly cut
And still ******.
The idea that maybe there is a home for me
And that maybe I was too late for it.

They’re laughing.
He says something clever,
Passes a hand along the small of her back
And she leans into it,
Smiling because she loves that he wants to touch her innocently.
They seem to exist behind glass.
Not for the first time I wonder
If I could just slip into that life
Like a drop into an ocean
I want it badly
I want it stupidly
And I examine all the parts of myself,
All the edges and cracks,
All the things I’ve worked so hard to protect and repair.
It is not a welcome sight-
I am not a home
I am like an old ruin
Full of murmurings and cold spots
Full of dusty sunlight.
I sigh,
Knowing the secret I keep so poorly-
That if I really had a choice to be otherwise
I would have already made it.

I couldn’t reach them if I ran for a thousand years,
They are too far away.
They walk off the train, arms linked
Talking about nothing
And I watch them go
Like a hallucination,
Like a mirage in the desert.

Her perfume smells like forgetfulness
And it lingers.

Too many Thoughts all at once
yet I seem to find comfort in the chaos
I may look lost but no one ever really knew where they were going
My patience tested on a daily
and my actions questioned at every movement
But what are my motives?
Am I slowly losing my mind
or am I living too fast
Everyday seems like I'm on auto pilot
Can't remember the last time I cared
I'd find my nitch but I don't know where I put it in the last life
I forget what I did but I relive it somehow
Follow the stars but they don't  often shine around the city lights and I'm not following names on a sign because those roads have already been explored
Boots laced up nice and tight let's see if I can catch some wind and finally fly.

Will there ever be a time when fallen love
releases me from it's talonous grip?
Allowing me to flow into my own
pulse, like river water free?
Like freeing air blowing from the West,
Like the crack of dawn, all yesterdays forgotten?

Will I ever be reborn, will the night purify
my new day until I awaken and only  
warm arms to keep me
welcome me back to life?

Order I say, order.