It must be nice
to hang your broken wings upon
a bird that can fly for you-
to eat from the hands that have
been continuously providing you
without any effort for your own movement forward.

It must be nice to be able to actually move forward
but see I am stuck too far into my past
too far into my own mind
because when the sympathy comes
it's for a man who has always scorned
and never for the child who was scorned.
I see where the allegiance lies nowadays-
I have always seen it even at the young ages
when I begged and begged for the hand to feed me.
Those days when I wish I could've had someone else
pick me up off the cold ground and fly for me
but I've always been the bread winner
always been the provider of my own salvation
even in times when I could barely wake
there I sit making sure I would be okay
when really no one else was there to double check.
I need not be thrown into that category anymore
I need not the same things others desire or long for
wishing for these things in my world
would be like wishing for a windstorm
when you're trying to write your will
in the dark depths of the same forest you got lost inside.
It will never work-
too much chaos and not enough stillness
for you to capture what this means to me
not enough calm anymore, only storm
and I am at the eye of it once again.

Your hands reach out for those familiar
and I wonder why you don't reach for mine
until I realize we are just strangers-
living inside one home
that has never really felt that way to me.
You don't know that I need to get a grip
you don't know I long for a bed where I feel safe
a place to confide where I feel as if I really belong.
Your hands reach out for those familiar
and you do not reach for mine.
It has been this way most of my life
and I have come to learn all I need is mine.
All I need are my own hands to pull myself back together
to grip onto the edge of sanity-
show everybody I can make it on my own.
Save your handouts-
they don't exist, when I wish they did
but I don't really need them anyway.

I've found a light at the end of my dark tunnel
and it looks a lot like your smile.
Where the road bends the fog lifts
and I see things more clearly now.
You are standing by each roadblock telling me venture on.
I tell you the same.
We both are stubborn in nature
and cling too much to the trees and not enough to the roots.
We are built on survival of the fittest
and the place where we seek refuge is our worst critic.
On most days-
your voice is the only sane thing I've come to know.
On other days-
it is my own that I use to pick me up off the ground.
You are the spotlight in my city-
helping to illuminate what's important.
Without you I can still glow-
but with you I can see everything so much brighter.

Inconsistency breaks me-
when the routine you have inplanted inside my mind turns into only seeds.
I have no room to grow.
When the words are no longer leaving your lips I linger for the affirmation.
One moment the love comes-
The next I am questioning it's authenticity.

Breaking has been the only thing I've ever known-
Fists broke walls
Repression broke bottles
and circumstance broke me.
These walls that built me
The ones I have been trapped inside
are caving in now-
no one is here to help me stop it.
No one is strong enough to save me.

Bring me routine-
find a sunset inside my eyes
that always starts at the same time.
Wake me when it rises
and let me watch it by your side.
I'm sorry for all the times
I talked too much
and didn't listen enough.
But my mind runs circles
around my logic sometimes
and becomes too dizzy to continue.

I've never been good at emotions-
never learned what they were
until I had to stop pushing them back
eventually they demanded revenge.

I was dealt a ****** hand-
no one was there to shuffle the cards when the game ended
so I kept getting dealt the same.
I folded a long time ago
but it seems I've become too in debted to the past.
Cash in my chips-
spend it on whatever you wish.
Just don't play these games anymore.
I'm tired of not knowing your cards
I've had enough trouble predicting my own.

Give me routine
and I will give you my happy.
Give me consistency
and I will give you the best of me.
Tell me things you're too afraid to say
and I will do the same.
Love me consistent-
It will rid of the erratic.
Love me routinely-
I'm tired of breaking.

close-knit but tongue tied
these knots have formed around my limbs again
and all I seem to want is to cut ties
but I keep running in circles
the rope gets tighter now
there's nothing strong enough to cut
close enough to break from what brings me down.
There are days when I don't see myself too clearly-
I make a mockery of all this progress
and reversion encases my jawline
builds a fortress around my cheekbones
lets these tears I own fill an arc all the same.
Never sane in what I am saying
never too close for comfort
never still
always silenced.
See this mind of mine has torn in two
and I am seeing stars again
I looked too closely into the light
that became of me
and now I have trouble seeing anything.
Blind optimism has turned a blind eye to currently
to the reality I live which feels nothing short of a fiction novel
but these spells are not long enough for many chapters
So I fill this shell casing of who I am with novellas
and hope the print isn't too small
and the dialogue isn't too excessive.
Feeling apart of something bigger
has always been my call-to in this world
has always been the north star guiding me
to the place I want to be.
See I've never really felt the words "family"
warp around my skin and make a home inside of my psyche
but it's the only word thats ever meant anything to me.
Which is why these words turn to a warm gun
and I hold it close to my chest
inching to pull the trigger
in hopes more of me will scatter onto the floor
and into the world.
But I strive for consistency and stability
so the gun is just a way to protect me
these words will always be there to protect me.
When I grow old-
when the color fades from my hair
and you can no longer see the outline of my youth
etched inside these expressive tendencies
that is where you will find my happy
in the names of every offspring
and every person I've ever loved-
every good deed I have ever done
that is where you will find my happy.
I have lost myself inside the toxicity
and it clouds the mirror on most days
but sometimes the smoke clears
and I can see who I am again.
Repeating "I am here"
until I convince myself it's true.

Dear me-
I lost myself inside of you
and I will be coming to collect soon

you walked swiftly in and out of our lives
and left footprints along the way.
The alleyways you danced through
and the homes you left your mark in
all mean something to this world.
You smelled of ***** and cigarettes
your teeth were stained yellow
and your gut told war stories
of nights you've spent dealing with your mania.
You lost your best friend
and then you lost yourself
I don't think you were ever the same after that day.
Always a black sheep, sitting in the back seat
waiting for the car crash to come.
T-bone you straight to your heart so no more pain is felt
and that's what happened.
Your heart gave up around the same time you did.
Didn't let us know the infection living inside your bones
how your lungs were rotten and hallowed out
because of all the things you tried to keep down
because of all the things you washed down.
I think this is for the best-
the hands became too heavy to hold your heart
and your body followed suit
it's not a full house without you in it.
The humor never left your side
even when the gray went from your hair to your face
you still spoke like you were on a stage
like you had to prove to everyone
you were still worth something-
that you were something aside from family.
The black sheep that lost a chance at a heard
when his companion shed their skin for salvation
and took the kin along with them.
This doesn't feel like the reality you were in-
I still think it a dream sometimes
and but I know you have found your happy.
The same thing that took your love away
took you away
and I'd like to think thats irony at it's finest
but it's really just a sick twisted
twist of fate we have all fallen dizzy to.
Wake me when this ends-
remind me everything will be okay again.
We were hesitant to invite you to family events
because of the drunken nights you drove away
when you probably shouldn't have
but thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there..
Thanksgiving is coming and you won't be there.
I'm still trying to convince myself I am awake.

I would like to wrap my words around this page-
outstretch my arms so I can hold up the stage below me
tell it-
tell everyone
things will not be this bad for too much longer..
But I've never really been much of a liar
just a melancholy toned razor tongue
with a quick wit and keen punchlines
I am all and I am nothing in the same breath.
Breathe. I try to track how many I take
but there's too much breathing and not enough oxygen
these arms are now making me choke
held too tightly around this stage
that has become my throat
these words are slipping
they have become my will, my oath
my proof that something exists
and as it is all drifting and drifting
I am reminded-
nothing does.
My mind plays tricks on itself
my left brain likes to tie a lasso around my right
until all of the creativity is squeezed beneath my toes
under a microphone,
in front of a laptop,
for everyone to see
and laughs when it realizes this is all I have.
Then my right brain retaliates
excellerates into oblivion
and becomes one with my anxiety
it speeds up everything in my thinking process I own
until I am the one-
spinning and swerving and crashing
until I am the one-
manic and crying and thinking about death
and it laughs when I'm clutching my legs again
when it thinks it's won the battle
and see I wake up everyday and fight.
There is no beautiful music to play-
no genre to this madness
You can spin me like I'm on a record player
and watch me slowly turn.
There is no going backwards for me
only forward and repeat
and my history sounds a little like
a skipped disk in the CD slot
because you keep replaying the same parts
over and over and o-over and o-o-o-o-ver again.
This cycle plays on repeat for days on end
until eventually everyone gets tired of it
and it's thrown away-
These arms let go.
I am left speechless again.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting
for the soft spoken tap of the keys to reel me back in
whispering a string quartet of desire and longing
only to watch my mind begin the game again.
Gaining only scratches on my surface-
Skip me.
I don't wanna play anymore.

Saying I love you just hurts
its a void that can't be filled within me
because inadequacy has made me numb again
it has made you numb again.
So I settle for never being yours-
I settle for the freedom
you have mapped out in your veins
they travel through your skin
like roads you have yet to take
and I wonder if you will bring me with you..
But I already know the answer-
love is never enough to rid of these worries
you carry with you like luggage
and I am the worst kind of baggage.
People search a lifetime for a love like this
I have searched for 18 years
trying to convince myself it is real
but I have discovered just like everything else
it is eventually masked by the pain
and thrown away for self-preservation.
I am too selfless
maybe it's because I have little self worth-
spending too much time
making sure others do not feel the pain I do
but when it does come
this pain of mine-
no one knows how to react
they stand there because
this is not what they expected.
Leave me be if you must-
wander to places you will never see
follow the roadmap inside your arms
and the signs within your eyes.
I will never be fine
but I was this way before you traveled through me.
I was just a destination you had to reach-
another point on your map.
You always knew you weren't gonna stay
and I guess I was the last to know.