Great fades to gray
where commonplace turns to decay
where the abnormal becomes negatively neurological
which leads to the ingestion of government sector sedatives
and we wonder why segregation of brain and mind is prominent
promises never kept and mind that never gets better
but before we fix the broken we must make you broke.
Objects in the mirror to fit society's standards
E news, TMZ, fox- all the new cancer.
Throw your money at it
make it go away
and watch in awe as the auction of your autonomy accelerates-
your mind is money to the highest bidder
and they don't budge when they watch your wallet quiver.
Quiet in the courtroom-
little Kyle's got a drug charge
searched his car without consent
convict at the age of sixteen
which is sickening to see.
Kyle was just depressed and needed a little THC
the only thing that would help him with social anxiety
and now he's facing a charge for not taking the meds
marijuana manipulation of the municipals
and now little kyle won't be able to go to a good school
18 the record will be swiped clean
but the debt of the courtroom creeps into his credit.
Society's white lies will tell you you'll be fine
debt from the courtroom turn to slanging dope-
dealing with depression while dealing in possession
pulled over, twice moreover propaganda's progression.
They feed us the same lies we go out of our way to buy-
news channels, channeling bias views for more views
sitting idly by as our lives pass through
changing channels as we become the chattel
slaves to our own brain waves from the manipulation
we love to bow down to this free nation
led by puppets- controlled by intimidation tactics.  
It's just backwards, the backbone of the nation doesn't have one
Columbine happened because little Kyle could get a gun, run-
repeat until it's done, dictating your discrimination
it's fun until everyone has to run away from the shooter.
Bangs heard throughout the world
talk of how his head was on backwards smoking on these backwoods
But he was off the marijuana and on the medicine-
FDA approved turned into a bullet to the head.
BANG.
Sinister structure of society-
**** america why did you have to lie to me.

One. I was Seven years old when the pain started
it came like an apology note I didn't ask for
like a bullies mom making him say sorry because he had to.
You were my sad excuse for an apology
you wrote your sorry on my skin
etched it in sin
and stole the security of my seven year old self.
Months after the days got cold
and my body was looking for some sort of warmth
found inside my sexuality-
I broke down.
Too many '4am picking mommy off the ground's
and '7am dragging myself out of bed's
too many fist fights with walls I never won against,
too many knives hiding underneath pillows-
and I wonder why I have attachment issues.
A swinging belt from my ceiling fan
that wasn't strong enough to hold my frail 7 year old body
I didn't break anything except for my spirits
the pleather wasn't secure enough-
I have been afraid of commitment ever since.
2. The day I saw your face withering away-
cancer etched inside your skin like sand
and the daylight never seemed like daylight to me
because it reminded me how the next day
was just 24 more hours closer to darkness.
As the days passed, your strength diminished
and as I saw you break-
I started to remember the things my 7 year old self went through.
I kissed a boy for the first time and remembered how it felt
the musty basement smell and the hands around my waist-
in that moment I was in a time machine
reverted back to my childhood and reminded myself
why exactly I was so scared of commitment.
My grandmother's face transformed into a stranger
and as I looked into the mirror so did I.
I would lie to everyone and say that I was fine
took some pills down the hatch to make it all better
until one time it was too much.
My stomach didn't know the words
my lips were trying to sing
they couldn't handle the music inside of me.
So I regurgitated a chorus of falsification
and threw up a string quartet of lonely-
I've never really been good at reading sheet music.
3. My doctor painted a picture of me
she put a dark cloud over my head
and drew me into what she wanted
she titled me "depressed"
all I wanted was for her to fix my stomach pain
but instead she fed me pills-
levels in your brain can be fixed
but she wasn't altering the right chemicals
I took a nosedive.
Saw what she drew for me when I looked into the mirror-
it was nothing but 15 more pounds
of what already brought me down
so I wanted to be auctioned off to the highest bidder
heaven had in store for me.
So I painted my own picture across my wrists
but the paint brush wasn't thick enough
and the red didn't spill the way I needed it to-
I've found I'm not much of an artist.

1. I met you around the same time
I found myself-
around the same time
swing sets were more home than my own
and soccer fields were my safe haven.
Middle school love triangle-
you cheated on me with my best friend
I thought I loved you then.
You drew me a picture of us together
and stitched together a weird stuffed animal
I found you weren't much of an artist.
2. The bottle and you fell in love
and I was blinded by lonely-
the affirmation was my drug
and the Jack Daniel's was yours
I was accustomed to the chaos
and the inconsistency.
You brought back the bad memories
and they sung me to sleep that night after
as the chorus of your hands on my hips
led me into an abyss of heavy metal
which led to the silence of my cell phone the next day-
I was never really good at reading your sheet music.
3. Timid was the way we connected-
felt a sense of insanity from the start
and anxious like I never had before
you changed the way I saw things
molded me into yourself
and took the grips of my reality
and let them fit inside your box.
Every instance of socialization
would turn into an argument
then I would succumb to the solitude
All because I cared for you.
You're a lot like my father-
I never realized it until I left you there
almost in tears standing in your driveway
you watched me walk away.
As I see you now with clear eyes and a not so heavy heart
I realize you're a lot like the belt I used-
not strong enough to hold me up
but still you contributed to my downfall.
I laid on that ground for some time
saw as you confirmed my suspicions
of old feelings for exes and your girl friends,
morning texts to my cell phone on how you miss me
how you ****** up losing me
texts back from me agreeing with you
kicking you off the high horse you once rode upon-
realizing you never appreciated me as a person
not until this love slipped through your fingers
and you were forced to realize it was you
defense mechanisms became your fortitude
and you tried to act like this knife I returned
didn't stab you in your heart like it did to me-
I've been afraid of commitment ever since..

1. Memories do not control me-
they kept me inside a cage
and watched as I outgrew it
prying the bars away from my hands
the memory can't touch me anymore
2. Two of these people don't belong on this list-
because they only showed me what love really
isn't.
3. Don't even think about falling in love with me, or hurting me-
unless you realize you will become poetry.
3. I've been afraid of commitment ever since
I realized you weren't a very good artist
so I've been racking my brain trying to read this sheet music
but I realize now who the **** needs sheet music
when you don't play any instruments.
3. Im tired of being around people I cannot read
seeing things that remind me of my seven year old sin-
take away the bad and remind me things can be good again.
3. Now I am invincible-
because the list of love will grow
while the other will be just a list to me.
Listen to me...
don't fall in love with someone who writes poetry
they will make beauty out of your tragedy
and sonnets out of your personality.
3. Personally, that's the only beauty I'll ever need.
The one that comes from me
shoots through my fingers quicker than
1, 2, 3-
I can count all the times I've tried to **** myself on one hand
1, 2, 3-
I can count all the men I've ever loved on the other
1, 2, 3-
but what I can't count?
All this poetry that became of me
because of those 1, 2, 3s.
And that's the best **** part about tragedy
you turn it into your own masterpiece.

I have mastered the art of invisibility again-
you don't see me the way you need to.
I don't show my emotions anymore,
hiding away this vulnerability
denying myself the ability to feel again-
you don't see this the way you need to
I don't want you to
see me.
Not like this.

I have mastered the art of hiding again-
alone in this spot I have found for myself
you're getting too close to finding me.
I don't want to be the one left looking,
I'm afraid I won't be able to find what I'm looking for.

I was never fragile
never let another's opinions sway me-
You ruined me.
Showed me what jealousy was
and let it rip through my flesh
until it was the only thing left of me
it's still buried beneath the cracks
awaiting to come out at every crevice
I wish I knew what trust felt like.
I wish I didn't have to lose it so badly
I wish you didn't steal it from me.
Why do you wander on my mind
like a bad memory that creeps unexpected.
You are a common cold
the thought of you lingers
and there's not much I can do to make it go away
other than sleep and comfort food.
I've mourned my entire life-
I'll continue on just fine again
mourning everyone else
like they're just another pair of eyes I wear.
I never saw your eyes
they were always bloodshot and broken.
You never saw me
your eyes were too busy hiding.
I don't want this mess you made for me, so ******* clean it up.
Take this feeling from my gut
this anxiety you left me with.
Take this love I so selflessly gave
and remind yourself how selfish you were with it.
I hope one day I forget you-
and all the ******* you left
creeping inside my mind
and hiding beneath my insecurities.
I will mourn for you,
I will move from you.
No longer will I be frailge.
No longer will I be sorry.
I am stone again.
Harder than most.
One day I will become a diamond.

how satisfying is it to feel nothing-
numbness living inside your bones
on the days when nothing else feels lower than you
when the ocean floor couldn't even capture your darkness.
how comforting are the racing thoughts inside your mind
that no one can know.
No one knows.
How the good everyone else feels is just a coping tactic
for all the bad they feel inside their bones.
A tragedy to deny yourself the liberty of lonely-
the hands you feel in the dark wrap around your throat again
and you don't say the things you desire in the end.
You become the end-
You become an end
the means to it just diminishes under your skin
and you are lonely again
all because feeling things has never been in your nature-
maybe just once.
But those times never turn out the way you want them to
and timing is the biggest ****-block you will ever know.
Wake for me
breathe in and out until your lungs forget what panic is-
until your brain forgets that you don't control your own breathing.
Put this life on cruise control and wait for traffic to *******.
Sulk in the fact you're stationary.
Convince yourself this body you live in isn't worth the trouble
that it will make a mess out of the remains of another
and leave you emotionless and empty
watching as the person you wish you could care about
withers away in the corner of your mind
all because you wish you would've tried.
Break around your edges and remove the dishonesty-
reality is the only villain in this movie
and you just play it at times you have nothing else to do
dreaming is your aphrodisiac
and waking up never feels as good as when you were a kid.
Built yourself a castle-
four walls and bridges surrounding the ****
you try to convince yourself you are
but your aura likes to paint a different picture.
Cast away-
remind yourself you are broken
remember how you got there.
Run fast in a different direction.
Choose wisely,
or don't choose at all.
Lose.
Lose again until winning feels abstract
fill yourself with the insecurity behind your eyelids.
Remember you will break someone
Remember they will break you-
don't forget to tell them thank you as you leave.
Apologize for the mess you made
but never be the one to clean it up.
Selfish is a second nature
and I am the mother of all mistakes again.
This self-assurance was short lived
and I'm on the brink of breaking for the 100th time.
Swoon me into sanity
and push me into the depths you like to call self-righteous.
Rebuild.
Remember waking up to the sunrise.
Remember the lowest you've ever felt-
run fast in a different direction.
Just Run.
Think of me when you do
because alone is not human nature.
Running has always been what I'm good at
and when I stopped I became stagnant  
then stagnancy became my state of mind.
So run.
and think of me when you do,
we will never become weak
as long as we keep moving.
So run.

I place my hands three feet above a restricted area
three feet above the vulnerable place I have built for myself
the safety that was once such a zone of comfort
is three feet away from my grasp again
and I am on the loose.
Crush it-
remind yourself what it feels to be alive
and crush the weight upon your chest
because you must break muscle to rebuilt it.
You must lose yourself in order to find yourself again-
these bones are built to repair the brokenness.
I am reminded every single time these knees
crack on impact of the ground
because too much pressure
has been placed upon my feet
that hurt is always temporary.
That feet will feel the wrath of your entire body
weighing down upon them
but they never notice when you get heavier-
they adapt to the force that has been built upon them
they were designed to sustain inconsistency.
Just as these days were designed to have an end
even when endings don't exist.
I placed these two hands
three feet above my sanity
and asked God what am I living for?
I never got the answer I desired
so I took five steps away from faith
and six more in the direction of pill bottles
accompanied by the Jack Daniels
and remembered why 7 is such a lucky number
because that's all it took for me, a week.
A week to remind me the weakness living in my bones
is just another metaphor for this **** I'm tired of writing
these problems I get exhausted from depicting
because I have ate what is left of my old self-
used it as fuel to power the person I have become
and I lost who I used to be again.
She's hiding somewhere along fault lines
awaiting for a break in routine-
waiting until I trip up and give her a change to shine
but nine times out of ten it never happens.
So she withers amongst the neglect-
lets herself become one with the demons again
because I won't let anything control me.
Crash and Burn-
remind yourself why you write these words
remind yourself of all of the people you can save
and then remember you are the most important.

I've always wanted to write something beautiful-
to make these words I speak not just some letters on a page
but rather a picture painted inside someone's mind
a story no one has thought to tell
but I realize that Mark Twain has always been correct
nothing is ever original and no idea is just your own.
So take the things pigmented to fit others
and formulate a tone that coincides with yourself.
Build yourself a new glass case of currency
with metaphors and similes
so I am reminded why these words speak to me.
Crash and Burn-
because it was the best thing I've ever done for myself.
Crash and burn, repeat, repeat and repeat again
until you find yourself amongst rubble thats to your liking.
One man's trash is another's treasure
but look in the mirror and we're all trash to ourselves
treasure will be found among us again.
Everything is lucrative-
so flee from sanity again
it's the only freedom of currency you have left for yourself.

The ink I use to write these words lingers upon my fingers-
the stain from this pen reminds me of the words I printed,
printed onto a page like they were my last will and testament
like every last word is breeching a secret code-
I love discovery.
The way words can wrap around lips
and be partnered with indifference and passion.
The way you can turn something so destructive into an art form-
every piece of beauty can fall in-between these lines.
These are permanent, in the same way as the ink that leaves my pen
and I hope for sin again-
for some kind of solitude that will help me write better.
But I realized I don't need tragedy to fuel my poetry
I can become inspired by the way the sun kisses the ground
and remembers to do so again every single morning-
how the world is so small but it still rotates
like it has a point to prove to the sun it can still manage.
I live for the early mornings-
the dew filled grass and the damp sock sunrises.
I live for the conversation of life-
experiencing everything through my wake
and being able to feel just enough to continue my day
happiness is an art form-
it's never just paint brush and stroke
never just words on a page
it is continuous-
late night rooftop star gazes
and becoming one with yourself again.
This world can ruin you
only to help rebuild you into a better model.
I laugh until my eyes are no longer dry-
I make a point to lend these hands to anyone
who's ever been at a disadvantage.
I breech my security to those around me
so they experience a sense of solitude in similarity-
compassion in comparison, to each it's own
the kind I never really received.
So they can know they're not alone
but realize their experiences are their own.
I want to grow with the world
find myself in the earth's crust
and build myself a fossil out of lost time.
Nothing is ever lost-
some things are only meant to stay so long
until someone finds salvation in what you lost-
nothing is ever really yours.
That's the beauty of this world.
As the ink stains my fingers
I realize if I shower enough it will disappear
and if I say these words too much
they won't mean so much
so I take pride in discretion-
I let the ambiance speak for itself
and let the obsolescence of life take course.
Nothing is ever planned
but everything is apart of the plan.
As I am driving at midnight-
windows rolled down and rain pouring upon my arm
I realize this is what freedom feels like-
each raindrop touches my skin
and reminds me of what it means to be alive.
We must feel things, even the bad-
because if we didn't
life would be so ******* boring.