I look at the world from a bird's eye view-
5 feet away from the edge again
and I keep walking close to it
convincing myself I'm not afraid of heights
Still I sit.
Wide eyes and looking through the bird's eye again
and I wonder when the sights I see
will turn into the beauty that I feel inside my mind.
I am mindless at best-
weeping in the tragedy at the feet I've walked with from day one.
The things that surround me formulate to the ambiance
and honesty has always been the first testament to my free will.
I feel as if the sights I see are set upon the sun again-
My eyes are burning from the dedication of trying
not to look at what gives me so much light inside my life,
what soaks inside my skin and gives me a less pale complexion.
My nature is never just stop and go
It's forever and it's fleeting.
I never seem to be in one place anymore
and the constant wheels inside my mind
are moving again and my tire has gone flat-
My head is on backwards again so the birds eye view
gives me a wide angle of my reality
my reality resembles the imagery I paint inside my mind
but lesser, lesser and forever depleted
as my feet move upon these stones leading me to my future
Normality isn't in my nature-
normality is only a perception created by the human mind
Dying one line at a time
Dying to be completely fine
I'm dying to lose my mind.

I wonder when the hurt will stop.
when this life that is forever fleeting
will become one with this heart that is constantly breaking
again and again and again.
I try not to care-
not to give **** about these feelings
that seem to take over my entire body.
Clinging to my throat in hopes
that I spill the things most sacred.
I want to be numb again
naive and grasping onto the oblivion
that was once my second nature
my proof of an angel in my wake.
No mistakes proved to be a disservice
because I didn't feel a ******* thing.  
I hope you realize you ******* ruined me-
at least you ruined who I was when I was with you
and as the exoskeleton of the girl
fades away into the background
who I am now grows stronger.
I realize that lying is your second nature
and being true isn't in anyone's agenda.
Only trust yourself-
because this life will make you drive drunk
and laugh when you get pulled over.
This life will invite you to the party
that no one really wants you at
and then watch as you sit around awkwardly.
They say time heals all wounds
but what happens when there's blood stains
on your new t-shirt from self-inflicted violence
but you still somehow wonder how it got there.
I am my own tragedy
but a masterpiece nonetheless
and the senseless emotions inside my head
all turn to stream of conscious in the end
I try to make sense of it all.
How I can never stay in one place too long
or even listen to a song all the way through-
**** what you heard.
I am the creator of my own destiny
and I have made mountains of these mistakes.
I will love harder than anyone you happen to know-
and if you seem to **** with that
I will ******* up harder than anyone on this earth
You can test me if you would like.
But these bones have spent so long breaking
that I will suffocate you with their ashes
and watch as my brokenness chokes you up-
makes a Tarantino scene out of your mistakes
and turns that **** into an episode of X-Files.
I am in the twilight zone again
wishing things wouldn't be so ******* different
every single time.
Wishing I could be real and sincere every second
but no one can seem to handle the things I feel.
They're not human enough-
not willing enough to feel emotion inside their bones
as much as I
so they wither beneath my facade
and hope to understand a fraction of me.
There is friction beneath my feet-
so watch as I go up in flames
watch everything I once was burn down
and watch who I am now rebuild.
Resurrection is an understatement-
Self-revolution is my only sanity.

Reek havoc amongst yourself,
watch it burn from the ashes of neglect-
simmer like the silence inside your bones
remember the things you chose not to say.
As your blood boils to the surface
reflect on why you're about to lose your sanity again.
In the dark of the night-
I sit on the roof watching passing cars
like I'm the only one who pays attention to their breathing.
I watch the sky and try to see the Earth spin
try to make a musical instrument out of the wind
I hear music in everything.
Somewhere along the line it became the only safe haven
so the blood that spills over and the ashes that fly away
become not just a passing memory-
they become a church choir for mistaken identity
for the facade placed upon me that I eventually threw away.
I remember hospital beds better than my own childhood
and I think memory is the only game of russian roulette
I have ever been good at-
because either way I die.
From the memories or the wounds it gives me on the inside
either way it cripples me.
Attachment is not my forte
but it seems to linger on my mind
like it's a bad dream I can't seem to shake.
Independence has always been the way I grew-
flourished under my own autonomy
and patriarchy has always been the enemy-
times like these I realize how genetics are strong
how father and son can grow to become the same
how times can change more things
than they make consistent
and how consistency is dynamic
in this world where everyone is so static.
I have become myself once again
found the fleeting feeble female
I was once was and grew her into something I liked better.
Felt the indecision of discretion
and watched as freedom became my second nature
but now it is my sixth sense
my conversation with the higher power
the light at the end of this tunnel
so use your words wisely-
they can become a disservice to you
and make you wander onto the edge of your own lips
only to have someone else remove them with their kiss.
Your mind is your own greatest magic trick-
use it to your advantage.

You left these eggshells at my feet when I was born-
Placed them each two inches away from me at every angle.
I would like to think your purpose was to make me stronger.
So these soles would feel the pain of indecision and inconsistency.
You helped build me.
Although the castle you made was lined with bottles
And the moat filled with liquor
I still ended up being a prisoner at the end.
You locked me away in your box.
You stuck me into the four corners of discipline
And made attempting to speak such a basket case epidemic.
I learned that you were the dragon
That made me fear for my escape-
But I also learned you couldn't hurt me.
So these words became my only sense of sanity.
I threw them back at you until you realized what you made me
Was you.
So as you're staring at your reflection again
both your children are staring back and I wonder if you like what you see.
I wonder if your years of being a father whisper in your ear at night
So you're kept awake by your own mistakes.
I wonder if you realize you are a better man now than you've ever been.
These eggshells have been stepped on so long they are now just dust at my feet.
I'm attempting to clean the mess you made for me.
I'm not a coward anymore-
I don't blame you for these things you have placed inside my memories
And I no longer have animosity towards all the things done to our family.
You've been the backbone of a broken home-
Built from broken bottles and ****** noses.
The tragedy didn't win this time.
Your words no longer deplete my integrity,
They no longer make me weep
Because you've provided a home to lay my head at night.
A forefront for these words I write
A muse for my misunderstanding.
If it wasn't for the mess you made
These words would be dishonest-
They wouldn't sound pretty and fly through my fingers at a pace I can never seem to regulate.
Without you-
I wouldn't be a poet.
So thank you for the tragedy
Thank you for shaping me
Because the misery built my happy.
The misery led me to poetry.

I think too much on the outskirts of life,
never in tune with the waves and how they
sway back and forth like they're making a point
to give you something you are never capable of returning-
it makes me think the ocean has a sense of empathy
and a sense of humor that we will never understand.
I will never understand the way life blanks me out
the way boxes are made around our souls
and the way minds have the ability to think
way too many times a second which leaves me
empty-
not being able to picture the words I want to formulate
not being able to grip my sanity around the edges
of the skyline long enough to see the sunset-
these things are all optional
mandatory was never in my nature
and my stature has always been tall
which is why I stand in cities and see my own reflection in them.
The destruction and peace and corruption
living inside these streets of myself
but everything you need is capable to be found somehow.
Nothing is ever black and white-
which is why I see others in every rainbow
because everyone is flamboyant at best.
When the light hits their eye just right
and I see a sparkle of life in another-
I'm always reading others.
Spending time learning their pages
so I can write a synopsis out of their smile someday.
I am a writer, and on my best days a poet.
But most of the time these words are just a dishonest
depiction of what I'm feeling inside-
the things I don't really have the guts to say.
Every time I put my fingers to these keys
it's just a shade lighter of the stream of conscious
that likes to paint dark pictures in my mind.
Everything is subjective at best.
The fingers I use to touch these keys
and write these words are just machine
and I am the one holding the controls
until I lose control again
and I'm back searching for the consistency
I've never really had.
Because life doesn't tell you it's plans-
It comes to your house at 1am
and doesn't leave
not until you're hallucinating from exhaustion.
It sends you a 4am "you up" text
and expects *** after the first date.
It never asks how you're feeling
so you just have to wonder if it really gives a ****.
But life doesn't ******* give a ****-
it takes your words as a disservice
and makes promises it knows it can't keep.
I am a promise never kept-
always fleeting, always changing
mind never consistent enough for normalcy
privilege was never in my human nature
and eggshells have always been the shoes
I wear upon my feet
so I try my best on most days not to crack them-
not to worsen the shards that peg my soles.
I am wandering
constantly fleeting from the feelings
I never want to admit are there.
They are there-
somewhere in a place I haven't been in a while
where cob webs collect and the dust settles-
I have made a mess out of what remains
there is no consolation for me
just a collection of art most people don't understand
with inflection and tone that protray my words
in a way to which I hope people with grasp onto
I'm living for others-
to write the words they do not have the guts to say
to pin down the insecurities they bottle up
to let the elephant in the room
put on the best ******* show it can-
I would like to be the savior of someone's sanity
as seeing as I cannot be my own.
I will flourish and grow someday
but in the meantime I will use my light
to feed others until they feel strong again.
Alone is the dark corner feeling
the pit of your stomach anxiety ridden emotion
so burn the desire to feel it down to the ground
smother it with your blanket ray of light
and watch what grows from the ashes.
I did.

I'm not opposed to my introspective nature
that most cling on to with broken fingers
and ever trembling lips.
I am forever embracing my most outer self
in more ways than just one.
The sun never really rises and falls,
the earth where you're standing just changes locations
and I am located just above the brink of insanity
waiting until the world turns just enough for me to fall again-
but as the fleeting world speaks to me with tone deaf hears
all I can seem to dissect from the conversation is
that forever means nothing in a world where
tomorrow could never come again-
I could never come again
but I will not take that liberty from myself
I will not sacrifice my freedom of expression
for a small sense of morality
I'm not sure exists in the eyes of those around me anymore.
The one being of my own being means more to me
than being something I'm not
so the facade I play day by day
seems to break away at the edges
like a clay molding of who I once was
and I will make a stone masterpiece
with just my broken fingertips.
Spongebob ain't got **** on me
because these hands can carve memories
into the retinas of another human being
and make this life a masterpiece.
Don't ******* try me
because I will swallow you whole
and spit you back out faster than you can tell me otherwise.
I have self-inflicted my own pain too long
to not come back strong like stone.
Like dark canvas silhouettes syruping over sunrise
when sibilance meets promiscuous  
that's where you will find my sunday best.
My meeting with the God that may or may not exist
the self-loathing meets with the self-fulfilling prophecy
and I am the head of the dinner table.
So dig in-
feast your eyes upon the glory that can be.
Feast your eyes upon defeat below your common nature.
Remember morality is a game that only you like to play
just to show others you can win-
but what good is winning if you don't know loss?

She is happy-
which is usually defined as
feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.
But for her it's a three way intersection at most
always watching as the others slowly creep up to it
never knowing when to show signs of advancement
hoping someone else's happy doesn't move too fast
and end up ruining hers.
Her happy is dangerous-
it's 2am pints of ice cream and
late night selfies because she's feeling great.
But don't **** with her happy
because when she is not-
she is contemplating
her ideals in the forms of narratives
that she can ruin you with.
It's lucrative, the happiness of hers.
She can wear it like the heart on her sleeve
or she can sell it like it's nothing-
auction it off to the bidder who needs it more than her.
Her happiness is selfless at best.
She never really knew what it meant to her
all she would ever feel is the lonely and the low
and the friends that they would bring around.
Things got pretty hazy before she found her happy.
But it's quick wit and inconsistent nature
makes it hard for people to stay.
The happy will run away with her lonely
and come back with her mania
all the while her contentment drinks wine
with her depression until it's a ******* party
and the only one she sees across the crowded room-
is confusion .
She fell in love with it at an early age
never knowing her true self
letting confusion take her out on dates
and show her things that only made him stronger-
but eventually the happy came back.
It made friends with the rest of the emotions
and lit her spirit on fire again.
She's never written a happy poem-
at least one that wasn't about love
and she knows it still exists somewhere
because happiness caught the hope
that was once so fleeting.
Her happy isn't just happy.
It's not just a single strand of emotion
inside her brain stem-
It is a mess.
A tragedy.
Summer days
and rainy weeks.
It is bipolar and mania to a tee-
new shoes and cold sweet tea.
Her happiness is insecure
a small child on the school bus for the first time
waiting to go back home
even though they just arrived.
Some days you see it clearly
others its like a smoke screen
sending caution to those who are surrounding.
My happiness is me-
describing it would be all too complicated
and depicting it in a manor lessor than me
would be an injustice.
My happiness is the justice system-
it never knows what the **** it is doing.
But I like it that way-
so lock me into solitary confinement
with just me and my happy
and watch me make a masterpiece out of misery.