I want a love I cannot destroy-
so I must love myself.
On the days I feel low
and like no one can be of service to me-
I must be that to myself.
No one can love me like I do
and I think that's why
I have such a hard time keeping people.
I am not one to be kept.
Constantly faulting-
afraid someone will run away
when they realize who I am.
Who am I?
Most days I am never sure
I see the outline in my shadow
of who I can be
who I would like to be.
A stencil I have yet to trace.
I lost myself once-
regained a part of me I never knew
back when I found who I was again.
But I guess I'm still searching
in the parts of the world I have yet to know.
Days like today I do not wish for solitude.
Spending my days
searching for someone to spend my days with
but when they come to me
when they desire me it never turns the way I would like.
I scare too easy
most times I cannot remember what commitment means
even when it is spelled out for me inside of someone else.
I am not one to be kept-
no secret inside your suitcase just awaiting the x-ray.
The airplane ride to a location you haven't learned.
So teach me.
Wishing for someone in a world full of nothing
is simply childish.
Take off the mask,
let the cage open and run free.
I am not one to be kept
at least that's what it seems,
trampling over my sanity-
turning my desires into demons.
Take what's left of me
I do not wish to keep it anymore
you have burned it all away
I am now just ashes in your wake.
Blowing away with the words you never said-
the people you chose over me.
I am mine-
for eternity.

I wear this smile painted across my lips like an eviction notice-
like you have two days to wipe it clean before someone else does.
So my smile goes away for a while
reminds me it was never really too fond of commitment
I guess it takes after me.
Some days it finds it's way back to me-
sulking because it couldn't find anyone else as good.
Even though it tried-
really ******* hard.
Apologies are the only language it seems to know
and advice is the only thing it has to offer
but no one cares to find it when it runs.
When it's busy playing hop scotch
with this heart of mine-
then someone pulls something
and the pain starts.
No one notices it until it's already too late
until the pain has made it's way into my mind
and formulated itself into my edges
planted seeds in every part of me
so it will always be growing
no matter how much I forget to water it.

Some days-
my smile sings me lullabies
and reminds me how beautiful the music is
then someone kisses me and I am reminded
that music is just a synonym for therapy
and no one will ever be able to play the keys
in the soft mellow tune of the saxophone the way I like.
I'll always be destined for that eviction notice
because it seems I haven't paid my dues.

People come around and feed this scene I like to play-
they realize they are trying to fit inside this image I present to them
feeding off the fiction inside my facade
and when it comes down to me-
when the cape is ripped away and it is shown
I am a mere moral amongst men
they start to run away again.
They realize this me that they saw
wasn't what they expected-
wasn't what they thought they wanted
and I turn into the *******.
Always hurting those who don't realize who I am-
an eviction notice at your doorstep.
A smile, not even I know how to keep.

It seems that no matter how much *******
you pump into your body to try and hide the pain
it never goes away.
The pain learns to adapt-
it will find its way through again.
You can hide it with scars
and bottles and pills
but it will always find it's way through
it will hurt much worse when it does
because it's mad you tried to **** it.
The only way to **** it is get to know it-
it strives off ambiguity
and lives on your tragedy
don't let it fester.
Get to know yourself,
it's the only way to rid of the pain.
If you end yourself it wins.
I'm trying not to let it win.

Knock, knock-
who's there?
No one?
Just a pile of **** on your doorstep again
and look it's on fire!
But you know better than to stomp it out.
you run and get the water but by that time
your house is up in flames.
As you look out the window you see life running by
throwing his head back and cackling.
What a ******* joke.

Everything is **** at my doorstep again-
it won't be long until the flames wreck everything.
I try to hold on-
but it seems as if every time I try to be happy
life is patiently awaiting around the corner
to steal my smile and run away with my optimism.

Optimism has always been a two-faced *****
she will come around when you least expect it
and help you with a ****** breakup
but then you get a call
your aunt is in the psych ward-
and her husband has bone cancer, again.
So optimism looks you straight in the face
says, "**** this" then runs away.
Each time becomes more routine
and each time you get your hopes up
that it will stay by your side but it never ******* does
because this one seems to be blind.

Life is always the thief
a getaway car two streets ahead
before you even realize anything is missing.
Life is the one you see at parties
and you just can't remember it's name
so you just use dude, or homie.
But life isn't your ******* homie.
It robs you blind at your most vulnerable moments
and laughs as everything is crashing down.
Seems to me it sometimes has a soft side though
giving you a little slack when things are going too bad again.

Things are going pretty bad again-
but life doesn't have time for my **** anymore
it has a kid on the way
and I think he named it suicide.
The spawn is what keeps you up at night
when life can't handle you anymore
and you can't handle it.
There's suicide knocking at your door
but it doesn't leave a bag of ****.
It's just there-
reminding you all the time, it's there.
You used to babysit it-
feed it, give it nutrients to grow
but you realized it was too much work
and it was just intensely bringing you down.
So you had a dinner date with optimism
and you agreed to get back together.
But sometimes you wake up at 4am
and suicide is crying again begging you to hold it-
maybe even acknowledge it's existence..
You want to-
every ******* day you want to
just to stop the crying.
But you realize it's not your ******* child
it will never be your child-
and at this point it's getting a little too old to be babysat.

I would like to put into words the way you made me feel ******* crazy-
but you would just see them as an apology note written at your doorstep.
Your ears would close and all you would notice is that I'm standing-
right in front of you so I must be crawling back.
It is never that.

One-sided is the way we fell in love.
You told me you loved me first
I said it back when I actually meant it
but somewhere along the line the roles got reversed
and I ended up being the one who felt more in love
like I had to keep the strings just perfect length
or we would both fall apart.
I was never a jealous person but in your attempt to keep me
you became what held me back
and I guess that was your idea of keeping me.
You never liked my friends-
talked **** every chance you could get
and then wondered why I got so upset when you did.
Blatant disrespect.

My dad called you the wrong name last week-
tried to make fun of the fact we broke up
but I laughed as another's name left his lips
you were just as much of a stranger to him as you've become to me.
I realized we've always been one-sided.
My family doesn't ask when you don't come around
you've become just another face inside their world too
I bet yours do
and that you cringe when you hear my name leave their lips
Took the time to learn about your family-
but you never had the decency for mine
it was like you knew this wasn't going to last
or were you so scared it wasn't, you didn't even try.

You were my trigger-
my relapse back into old habits
my cutting addiction-
my tendency to repeatedly punch myself in the face
you made me feel ******* crazy.
So I just laugh when you say you miss me now
because I don't miss any part of you
aside from the late night **** rips
and cuddling asleep.
I only miss you next to me or inside me.
But emotionally?
You can miss me with all that **** again and again and again.
But all I will ever be is a friend.
I will never feel that kind of insecure, jealous and crazy
not the way you made me.
growth is not an option at this point,
it's mandatory.

Conviction in my confidence and conflict in my consistency.
My mind is on an endless loop.
It keeps reminding me that alone is the only four walls I need.
There's not much talking here anymore.
Just the sound of echoes bouncing off the things we wish we could say.
The silence tells more about me then I would like to admit and there are days when the sound of my own voice
is something I no loner recognize.
The lingering hope to proceed in this awakening, this coming to god moment makes my knees weak and praying isn't an option anymore
Because my hands are too preoccupied trying to dig you out of my throat-
Too busy writing down words I should be saying outloud or at least acknowledging to myself.
But even if I did they would all come out distorted and faulted and weak,
a true reflection of ones self.
They say intelligent people are more prone to being depressed
because they understand more of the harsh reality that is life.
So give me ignorance-
I don't wish to know how I want to kiss the nape of your neck forever
but I live in a world where forever is fleeting and reciprocation isn't working in my favor anymore.
I am never one to be rooted into one place, so I don't expect anyone to stay long enough to water me.
I'm half sun half shade
Both tend to work in my favor on most days.
But then there's days like today where I am awakened by the soft pinch of the reality
squeezing just hard enough to break the skin.
I don't want to bleed anymore.
I just want to be
But what happens when my mind will not let that happen.
I am a zombie in my wake
always searching for something when everyone else just ******* runs away
Don't worry, I only want to eat my own insides.
Rip them to shreds and turn me new again.
Basking the glory of what can be.
But someone cut off my head-
They did what I had been planning to do all along
And now I am alone in my solitude.
Watching as everyone around me realizes that I compared myself to a zombie and flower all in the same poem
All because I am one part beautiful
And all others destructive.
and it feels like I've been writing for hours
But I'm not sure how long it's been because time is never something I was good at keeping, kind of like you.
I am a broken wrist watch
stuck in time-
and you are a hourglass
always running out of it.