I think I've been lost since I was young
My dad used to have this homemade train room in our garage, with cubbyholes you could come up into by crawling underneath. I would sit in there for hours losing myself in this tiny world that only I had control over. I think this is where my need to have control over every factor in life developed.
I think I've been lost since I was young
When I was eight I split a bedroom with my older sister. our two single sized beds were connected at a right degree angle with a giant hallow, white box connecting them In the corner. I made this box into my sanctuary, entering through the hinged door. I set up blankets, pillows and a fan spending countless hours alone in this hot condensed place. I think this was where I started seeing suffocation as a means for survival.  
I think I've been lost since I was young
I used to throw these deafening tantrum attacks when I was little, throwing myself on the floor, parading to everyone what a brat I was. My family would call them spirals because once they started it was all downhill from there and there was no way of stopping it. I would pound and beat the ground, screeching at the top of my lungs. Once I even started beating my grandma with a broom. I think this was where my unexplainable, hidden anger first began to bloom.
I think I've been lost since I was young
When my parents were still married their walk in closet was my hiding spot to listen to their arguments. Even though I didn't understand it I still liked feeling apart of it. I remember looking at their clothes, my mothers on the right, my dads on the left. Separate. I think this was where I realized it wasn't love if it didn't make you feel good.
Can you even be lost if you're not sure you even have a place to call your home anymore?

Resting on the dock with my feet dangling into the water I earlier called filthy, I swear I could hear the tiny stars trying to understand to me.
"What are you attempting to accomplish by doing this?" They all whispered in quite tones as if my answer held the world in its words.
"This isn't you, since when have you needed alcohol to do anything. You're changing and maybe not for the better."
I feel like crying but my eyes won't let the tears escape. I look over at him talking all excitedly, The moonlight holding his freckled face in her hands with a warm caress.
Him, I tell them. He is my step back, he is the root of this all. If you were to delve into my mind, he would be at the beginning saying hello.
"Would he also be at the end?" they all twinkle and ask.
We haven't found our end yet and I can't tell the future. This won't last but I have been saying that for months, it's a never ending cycle of confusion and hurt and I can't seem to get myself to get out of its rotation.
It's like the feeling you get when you ride the spinning teacups. Everything around you is blurred, less impactful. You can only see the person right in front of you and nothing else seems real. You know you'll regret it afterwards but as of now it feels oh so liberating. When you finally get off, everything comes back in full force, you feel sick and you swear you'll never do it again. The sad thing is you make yourself believe that.
"You still do it countless times after though, why is that?" The moon is listening now, her gaze is on me but her caress is on him.
Because it's fun and the feeling is amazing, it's the after part that hurts. The pain of worrying and overthinking everything, wondering why it has to be so ******* complicated when it's simple.
"You aren't talking about the ride anymore are you?" They all whisper in unison.
He shouldn't have to be drunk to tell me he loves me. This isn't love and if if is, get me the **** out, Id rather be alone.
I ****** up
"You made a mistake from which you will learn from"
I want to hate him
"Hate is the one thing your heart doesn't hold"
I need to stop seeing him
"You can't control who your mind and heart choose to like"
He is a tsunami only leaving wreckage behind that I can not clean up
"You will repair everything with time. Time is the mender here and also the breaker, it just wasn't on your side"

I envisioned each of my cavities as bad memories, the fillings able to lock them up so I wouldn’t have to feel them so wholeheartedly anymore. These fillings didn’t last forever though and when they wore off the past came back with a persistent vengeance.
The dentist would play these celestial piano songs that would tune out the sound of the drill. Sometimes i felt like I could get closer to you in these moments. Forced to stare up at the ceiling, I wondered if this was what you too saw in your last fleeting moments.

The novacane made me realize I didn’t want to be numb anymore, I wanted to take everything in and get over it but that’s not how grieving works. You don’t call the shots, you only hold on for your life hoping that the end, although nowhere near in sight, is good to you.
My first poem was about you, how you’re like the sunset. Now looking back I realize you are the sunrise, washing away the worries of yesterday. Bringing in new light and a clean slate, Your smile is the beginning not the end. I refuse to use past tense when it comes to you because I keep you alive with the words I speak and the memories I keep.

Whenever I’m lost I wake for the sunrise and find myself again.
Whenever I feel like I lost you I wake for the sunrise and find you again.

I used to laugh in my sleep, the giggles would resonate like church bells during a funeral, hopeful despite the dreariness. I slept so that I could hear myself laugh again.

This went on for weeks, then one day the laughing halted altogether. No more symphonies of hazy laughter and crinkled eyes. Why did something so altering and harmless have to end?

It was a lesson, never become dependent on other people for your happiness. They can give but they can also take.

I found my laughter again in the unsteadiness of the ocean, the moodiness of the current. How the rip tide could carry you away but only if you let it. The sun tasted like serenity and that was where I found my purity. 

I found my laughter again in the words that appeared in the steam of my tea. Cinnamon was the flavor I drank when I knew you but I’ve moved onto blueberry now. They whisper look at this, look at her, look at the world. I drink up their simmering advice.

I found my laughter again in the patience of clouds. How they absorb everything for a little bit, let it all out for a day and then move on. I try not to lock all my worries up inside myself anymore, but when I do I always make sure I have an umbrella handy.
I thought I found my laughter in you but turns out you were only a hiccup that interrupted it.

Those wise stars twinkled so luminously, I looked over into your eyes thinking all the answers could be found in their depths.
I wouldn't call it pathetic maybe just hopeful and naive with a tinge of foolishness. Intellectual depth was mistaken for insightfulness and the spark I thought I saw in your eyes was nothing but a dull, passionless blown out star.
The ocean breeze, salty air and Piña coladas tend to make you drastically romanticize everything (especially that hideous necklace that looked nothing like Something I would've worn).
That last night I had to beg you to stay up with me watching the Florida coast line come into view. The outline of the whole state was visible and that was when I realized I really ******* love my life. I looked over at you and you were half asleep.
Different priorities, different mind set, different ideals .You were a bland key-lime pie while I was a red velvet cake. I, Rich with prosperity and thoughts and you were content with the life I dreaded seeing myself stuck in.
Hey, if a a big house on a lake with a dog and a boat is your thing, go for it. I strive to not follow in my parents footsteps.
The day we ended I went down to Davis island where we always used to sit. The carnival cruise ship was leaving. I watched it sail all the way out into the horizon, the warm thought of you went with it.

I will wear you until the threads begin twiddling into former ghosts of themselves.

The last wooly remnants still slightly smell like your woodsy scent and that’s why I don’t go camping anymore.

It’s not because I hate the thought of you but I’ve Always hated kicking someone down when they’re just beginning to get back up and the thought of you does that to me.

The memory of that truck doused in flames on the way to Washington remains in my overworked brain still. The smell of burnt, charcoaled tires and metal prominent in the chilly December air. I never feared fire until I put myself in the shoes of that lonesome truck driver and that was the night I wanted to try dying a little as an attempt to get closer to you.

You see it’s not death that paralyzes my emotions and sends me into a numb, fearful state. The thought of regrets and things left unsaid with people, that didn’t understand what I was going through at the time is what gets my anxiety pumping.
Oh, why do I wear this sweater despite the warmth outside? To thaw the frost surrounding my heart

i dreamt of you the other night and i cant say i've felt the same since
why were the bumble bees on the appalachian trail so furry and friendly? Maybe it was the fresh mountain air that turned them into fuzzy mutants. I swear i could feel them softly whispering calming pleasantries into my ear, like stop worrying you're going to fall off this mountain silly girl, that wont be the way you die.
a white spotted greyhound tagged behind our group on the trail for a solid thirty minutes, my heart ached for the loneliness and hopelessness it must've been feeling, depression cant only be limited to humans? i thought about that dog obsessively for a week straight while everyone else shooed it off easily. No living thing wants to die alone and that dog reminded me of that paralyzing fear i inhabit.
bare feet padded down the beaten dirt path, walking sticks and grime galore. smiles graced their content dirt streaked faces. this must be an early preview of what my heaven will appear as.
cows were dotted everywhere, in another life i hope to be apart of a cow herd on a mountain filled with dandelions. they aren't weak, they are assertive and docile, only a ***** if you mess with them.
i wish words could fathom the beauty in the orange that sunrise contained. rustling sleeping bags and soft sighs of sleep enveloped the tent in a hazy glow, chilled faces turned rouge from the bittersweet breeze. this moment awakened my resonating need for individuality, the feeling of standing alone amongst others who seem to be enduring each day in a sleepy zombie like state. Only surviving for the moment they can finally collapse into their homely, bundled sheets. I'm afraid of being like them.
where did i leave off on you, something about a dream?