Every inch of my being is tired,
exhausted really, or some other form of the word
that I can't quite think of because my mind is on auto-pilot.
and I can't exactly put into words how I feel right now
without sounding ******* crazy but basically-
I'm tired of wanting to see my hand go completely through a wall
and not exactly know why I want to let loose on everything around me.
I'm tired of one day wanting to ******* from the face of the earth
and the next loving every single tree and blade of grass there is.
The irritation isn't worth the euphoria
but the euphoria makes everything else seem worthy.

I have traced my hand on paper and turned it into something,
like a thanksgiving turkey or a cool art project
just so I am reminded that these hands can hold more things
and touch more people than I could ever imagine
all I have to do is utilize these words and harness them
into something, something other than rage and fury.
I'm so ******* tired of feeling like I am running a race
while wearing weights around my ankles
and a lock around my mind so I can't think of anything else
except the circumstance I am in right now.

Why is negativity so easy?
When everything else is so ******* hard
and I'd like to think it's because nothing good comes from negativity.
All good things come from positivity right?
Well what about to nights I want to be alone
but the whole world is on my back pushing me to maintain
and everyone is hovering around me with expectations and worries
But all I have to do is reply with a simple,
I don't feel well and it all vanishes.
But this isn't the life I want to live,
constantly feeling nothing but pain,
physical and psychical what the **** is the difference?
Because physically you're in pain it makes you psychically in pain
Vice Versa. Vice Versa. Vice Versa.  
This is why every vice we have like cigarettes and ***** are bad
because nothing good comes from the bad things.
So why are there any bad things at all?

I  would like at least once
to write and really think about what I write,
and get somewhere magical.
Write the best ******* **** i've ever laid eyes on-
But then I start and I get so enthralled in my stream of conscious
I am not longer in control of what my hands type,
it's like a teleprompter in my head leading the way.
I wish it all made sense.
I wish I believed in god and heaven-
that it would make all of this easier but it doesn't.
if god exists why do I see ghosts of lives past
creeping behind closed doors in the light of day?
Why in the **** is there so much corruption in the church?
You would think he would try to stop us,
but maybe this is the plan.

Maybe depersonalization is actually just being one with the universe.
and maybe manic depression is just reminding us
how we can harness the intensity of our emotions-
because I've felt that dry wall cling to the knuckles
on my fragile hands and ever since then I've never felt so alive,
but I look at the damage and start to worry what my father will think.
How will I mend what I spent so little time breaking?

I have no words for my current state of mind and it's ****** up.
Usually I can conjure into words
the way this situation makes my ******* stomach curl
and the mere idea of it sends me spiraling back
into the dark pit of angst and disgust that is my childhood
But this time, oh this time, the words I write will become
a cemetery for every ****** up thing you've ever done
I just wrote the words I'm sorry, but I don't mean them anymore.
Not to you, not ever to you again.
I'm tired of being the backlash of what's supposedly family
I'm exhausted on the idea of being caretaker
for someone who should be taking care of me
and the circumstances I am left with makes it hard to leave.
Because if it were up to me, I would've been gone so long ago.

Just like the day I ran away from home
because daddy was in our hot tub with someone who wasn't mommy,
the day I ran away because I wanted someone, anyone to notice me
to show me some kind of attention that wasn't unwanted.
I spent days of my youth sulking my own fake tragedy
only to find that no matter what, no one will pay attention to me
because these days are busy and daddy's too overbearing
and if anything get's ****** up it's war at the house again.

I will not be a refugee for other people's problems
I do not have the time or the sanity anymore to partake
in the fuckery that is adultery and selfishness.
I do not mourn for you anymore because I am no longer a child
and I no longer pretend just to get some sort of attention
so maybe you should stop as well..

You are a leech, you **** out any good left inside of all of us
and in my life and I am done putting up with it.
I will not stand idly by and watch everything I've made of myself
Crumble and go to ashes just because your burning down
everything you've made for yourself.

The day you took your palms and placed them where you shouldn't
was the same day you lost me for good.
These material possessions are just a filler for your guilt
and I will not be fooled by this deceit with your pocket full of the same.

This love doesn't come in currency,
and I don't take credit, so mourn in your tragedy
and face the debt you have placed on yourself.
I have no sympathy for a rich's man scorn.
I have no sympathy at all anymore.

I ******* hate myself
and I mean that in the nicest way.
I am the only one who loves myself
with a fiery burning rage.
But who also has the desire
to slit open the scars
I have left for myself.

It's like I'm my own back stabbing
***** of a best friend-
when all the world is sinking in
on these tainted shoulders
I'm the one who picks myself back up
because who else would?

I am as bipolar as the weather is
where I live and if you lived here
you'd think that was funny
but I find it kind of sad
that when the weather turns gray
and the sun is too shy to show it's beauty
that's the time I fall to my knees
and shout "no one loves me"
because maybe the sun is my security.
Or maybe my depression is seasonal,
either way I am one with mother nature
because she may be unpredictable
but you admire that about her
no matter how much **** we put her through
and ******* we feed her,
she's still there to make us cautious
that we will be struck by her lightening.

One day when my palms are sweaty
and my knees are weak
and theres nothing I can do to let go
of the bottle that is clenched to my chest
I will remember that I love myself best
and if I succumb to my own abuse
that makes me weak and frail
and kind of fickle if you think about it.

My mind is an escape and a prison,
kinda like going on vacation
where there's a construction site
right next door to your hotel
but you don't mind because
the beach is in walking distance.

I guess it's kind of hard to explain
where I come from and where my head
is currently at but I guess all I can say is-
There is gold at the end of the rainbow
but everyone's *** looks a little different.

I try so hard to make everything I do enough,
but it never is.
& I don't think it actually ever was to begin with.
And these words I speak mean nothing to you-
your absence says it all.
I'm sorry you don't care the way you used to.
I'm sorry this life has hollowed you out
and turned every inch of your being into a black hole.
You're not who you once were
and it breaks my heart everyday.
Phone calls go unreturned
and text messages go unanswered.
This life is a disease and depression is like cancer.
I just wish I could have you back again.
But you're gone, I guess for good.
So it seems to my efforts are worth nothing anymore.
I hate to see the tides of failed attempts at empathy
turn you into someone who doesn't even know
what color my hair is anymore,
or why my boyfriend and I fight sometimes.
You just don't care.
& you stopped a long time ago.
I just wish it didn't have to be this way,
but I'm tired of trying for a cause
I will never change.
The piece of mind I have donated has gone bankrupt
and I have nothing left to give but my suggestions
Even then, you overlook my efforts
as if they were ants upon your walkway.
I am insignificant and unworthy.
and I have learned, things don't change.

There is no hope for this sanity I spend my days divulging in.
I dive and dig and burrow my way through these sands of time
trying to find a mind my body would work well with
but these days, these days are numbered
and my life is a leap year.
It's February again and I am cold on the inside,
but it's actually July and it's hot outside
but my mind can't tell the difference.
My body is indulging in the solitude of snow and darkness and winter.
Whether or not my body knows that the days mesh together
and the weather doesn't exactly make you feel invincible
well the verdict is still out.
The cold makes me feel invisible and the heat makes me melt
my mind is on thin ice and mother nature knows more about me
than my own mother.
I am in love with the idea of belonging to no one
and never owning a calendar because these years
they all blend together in the end
and you end up trapped under 50 feet of snow
and debt and diapers and divorce papers.
Nothing is set in stone
and these hands on the clock you spend your days watching
are just fixed elements in your subconscious
making it feel like you have your life together
when in reality, you don't and never will.
This life is calendar year and our days are numbered
365 days until you realize you spent another year
watching a clock that ticks for you and a billion other people.
But when will you stop and realize, the stars are watching
and they never skip a beat.
And somehow this earth still turns slowly
even when yours feels like it's weighing down on your chest
and you can't breathe because it's too cold
and you can't run because you can't feel your feet
so you're stuck there wishing
that you remembered what summer felt like,
it's just another calendar year
and your car door is frozen shut again,
and you're already late for work.
and it's just another calendar year.

I'm in love with the idea of belonging to no one
but I'm in love with belonging to nothing instead.
It's just another calendar year
and I'm not going to waste it wishing for a sunshine
that won't be coming anytime soon.
The weather is bi-polar, as am I.
So I appreciate the change-
because I can finally relate to something
when everyone else is stuck wishing for the sun.

I look up at the stars and realize-
we're all in different timezones
but we all share the same sky.

The hands of time seem to be speeding up my downfall
and I can't outrun the clock anymore.
These words I speak to you are frivolous and vacuous in your mind
and it seems to be thinking of ways
that you can break me down.
I will not be my father,
brought down by the circumstance in which I stand.
I will not be my mother,
letting anyone at all get under my skin and plant themselves in it.
I will not let your words grasp around my neck
and choke away any words I wish to say to you.
I have a voice, and it will be heard.

I will not be backlash for your insecurities
I will not feel bad for being me
I've spent my whole life wondering who I am
and I've found the person I have become.
I will not succumb to your paranoia and change me.
Inconsistency for me is an everyday thing
and frankly I'm tired of guessing-
waiting around each corner for a surprise attack.

This is not who I have been,
this is not who I want to be.
I should not have to sacrifice myself
just so you can be your idea of happy.

I am suffocating.
The elephant in the room is breathing all the oxygen
and my lungs have become too weak to function anymore.
The tiles of my veins are cracked upon the impact
of your expectations falling on my shoulders.
I am no soldier.

I've been drafted into a war I didn't sign up for..
I guess this is another civil war,
and I wish, oh god I wish I could be civil
in a house with no chivalry.
It's only consequential severity
of your actions and reactions
even when you take no action at all.

I am not your verbatim bully.
You will not be the hands that turn my time.
Not anymore, not this time.
I'm done choking on the tongue
I spend my days biting.

Your words are like razor blades
calling for my wrists again.
No, not again.
No, never again.

The war will end.
I will unleash every amount of ammunition I have
onto your doorstep.
Death and me have the same address.
My wrath will end you-
and subsequently me too.