The color purple.
A football field.
A hand of a giant in mine.
The smell of stale beer.
Cigarette smoke.

that was the first time
so young and so blind
yet the memory is refined
behind closed eyes
the beginning of the recording
when I hit rewind

counting days and numbers
has always been a thing of mine
a numerical reminder
that everything will be fine

a continuous count of days
'til I get to see you again
and another count proving
i've gone so long without a line of red

it may be all in my head
that this consistent counting saves me
but instead of waiting patiently
I count without ever ending

What would you do's
and who would you save's
and all the hard questions
we make jokes of and play
                 But one day we may
                 have to take them seriously
                 so now I consider them wearily
Between my life and yours
I'd save you in a heartbeat
and hope that one day
we may once again meet
                 Though between you and the world
                 I'd much sooner die
                 than have to decide between
                 what is selfish and what's right.

bite my tongue and bide my time
let them make their mistakes
as they let me make mine

talking again, 'that's good' I say
but in reality, I'm screaming inside
I just want to cry out

I can't see you die inside like before
at war with the one you once loved
please, no more

bite my tongue and close my eyes
and pray there will be no pieces
to pick up when their talking ceases

there are things that aren't mine to tell
the same can be said of you as well
even as our every cell pushes us to expel it

some secrets that I've bid people keep
were steeped in stigma, dangerous to sweep
into a corner with all my black sheep

the question comes now, 20/20 hindsight
why none of them put up a fight
as I made them complicit in hiding my plight

I was grateful then, but now I'm not sure
that keeping it secret was the best cure
but I still believe their intentions were pure

They were.
They were.

A history major, they ask, "What's the point?"
I answer: to learn the origin of disjoint
in our messed up society with ascribed labels,
nothing like the kings of old, sitting at roundtables.
To learn the origin of our government system
and all the subsequent attempts to resist them.
To learn the reason we all have to hide
or take the ridicule dished out in stride.
The past holds the key to the future ahead,
repeating the past ensures we all end up dead.
Yet serving as the fighting force against the majority,
often serves to accentuate our inferiority.
So history, yes, is important to me
because I learn all the reasons our society
shoves roles upon us, labels and judges.
I won't stand for that, I'll dredge up the past
and I hope next time you meet a history major -
you don't ask.

This newfound happiness takes a lot of energy,
yet somehow I'm not tired anymore

The days spent lying in bed are just memories;
I'm no longer in a state of war

Bypassing new obstacles cleverly,
life seems no longer like a chore

Happiness takes a lot of energy
but through it, life is restored

So this is what it feels like
to realize something is different
this is a whole other story
Do I have to come out?
Do people like me have to do that?
How does that work?

Or do I just go about
until an SO finds out?
Then where will I be...
steeped in my anxiety.
What do I do? Who should I tell?
Surely someone who won't scoff
and say I'm just unwell

It finally clicked tonight
why relationships failed
why I'm still like Mary
Why I judge people often
though their behavior is normal
and mine is glaringly different

Average age: 17.4 apparently
Where does that leave me
but questioning my sanity?

It's not the fact that I'm not in the masses
that bothers me here,
But the fact that I don't know what comes next:
it's unclear

Breathing is feeling
it can be revealing
if someone is there to listen

Steady .  In .  Calm .
HEAVY  IN  PAIN
r a p i d   i n   p a n i c
never the same

Breathing is living
and I am forgiving my past actions
now fighting to find satisfaction
waiting with bated breath
for what comes next

Half in,
half out
been running about
trying to find the right place
for my devout ineptitude
It's not for lack of aptitude
or deteriorating attitude of my situation,
but an alternative observation
and subsequent creation of a world
in which my station does not allow for proclamation of my revelations. 

Half in,
Half out
***** one night, then stout
Trying to avoid the past
filled with my proud mistakes
Not to misplace myself
or fall into disgrace, but to embrace
the oblivion brought upon by haste
to reach the bottom of a bottle
To soothe the distaste of reality
leading myself to waste

Half in,
Half out
I've learned to doubt
Trying to trust very few
Folding the hand I was dealt
Foregoing the bluff of a smile
Blocking how it felt on my side of the belt
now hidden by clothes and modesty
But honestly im doing fine
Though honesty is for only the devine
Did you catch my lie within these lines?

red drips slowly down an arm
elbow to wrist, silver scars
mutilating a once bright
life, and new additions
insist on existence:
gone is the fight

I've never had a way with words
though my thoughts run rampantly
Opposed to a herd or flock
running in every which way
instead of the same like a clock
But I've never been able
to pin them down
I write and frown as the words
Dont seem to say
What i want
Or i peel my eyes and wait
For the time my pencil wakes
And writes its own mind
Because mine has obviously forgotten
How to write out a simple plot and
Even as i look back on this
I see my words
have missed
a lot
My thoughts remain inside my head
Searching for a common thread
A path to that small bit of lead
In my hand, still,
waiting for something to break out

Words are so much more than a single definition
We all see the world in different ways,
just as we all use a different set of words to describe it

an argot is not a disadvantage
an accent is not condemnation
and slang is not uneducated

Different interpretations do not implicate
all but one is correct
Different views of the world are good
Together we can see things in a way
no one ever has before

This is not the time for a single definition
This is a time for argots
for accents
for slang

This is a time for learning the world
has more than one definition
And the people in it mean so much more
than one thing

A slip means a knick
            means a straight line of red
A slip does not mean that I'd rather be dead
So don't
              slant
                       your eyes and give up on me
A slip means a new start
                        a new chance to be

life throws out woes
to catch if you can
Catch, why catch a woe?
because dropping it means
you can't handle the throw

Hope is a word echoing down the corridor
after a friend just out of hearing range

Beauty is an imperceivable imperfection
impossible to detect

Remembering is the bittersweet chocolate
you can’t help but eat again and again

Knowledge is the admission of your
minds’ omission of omniscience

Music is the ray of sun peeking out
after a day of gloom and grey

Society is a broken clock without
a horologist to fix the hidden gears

Metaphors are buckets
bailing out the sinking ship of life