I tried to write about you
but my hands became tense.
I look around to all the people who surround me currently
stuck inside their worlds and speaking of things
I will never be able to understand.
They map out their talents on computers
and blank sheets of paper.
They form monuments of talent
through just their fingers
and I would like to think I'm the same way.
I would like to think these fingers
hold a talent unique to only I.
But my fingers are frozen on the words
Cancer-
spelled out inside your skin
corrupting all the progress you had made thus far.
You beat it-
used your willpower
and by god's will you lived through it.
Many people do, many people can.
Until it happened again.
Then my bones shook
made a mockery of my belief in anything-
after years it finally ate you away inside
and your lust for life became a chore.
I tried to stay away-
to avoid the fact it was happening
avoid the fact the world was taking away what was mine.
You were mine-
now we have been left here alone again.
It's been years now since you left
but the imprint in my heart
is still the same shape as when you were taken
and I'm not sure it can be filled anymore.
That part of me is unique
and I'm beginning to think it's the only one.

I feel so broken-
not in the I'm-falling-apart type of way
but more so like I-can't-functionally-normally.
Some people try to fix me
whether it's tightening a ***** that's lose in my head
or making me stand up straighter
and breathe a little deeper,
I always end up in the corner alone
because no one wants something that's broken.
Something that probably could be fixed
if someone tried hard enough
but no one is willing to try hard enough.
I can't fix myself,
because every time I ask
someone to reach out a hand to help me
or maybe just support me so I don't fall apart
they look at my brokenness and realize-
they just don't have the time anymore.
I'm starting to think I am beyond repair
because all I seem to do is fall apart nowadays.
Everyone around me is watching
but they just pretend they don't see.
No one wants to be the blame for my downfall
and I guess they aren't.
I guess it was just the way I was originally constructed
that made me turn out this way
so unable to receive help
so incapable of fixing.
It was just a matter of time before I broke down
and I finally did.
Alone with only these four walls to comfort me
and a shadow that reminds me I'm still here-
still looking as broken as I was when it first started.
There's only a few who come around and repair
what is left of me-
and then all the others just seem to have left me.
They only want me when I appear fixed,
when I am at their beck and call
and they can get good use out of me.
I guess I'll never be kept around
because I'll never actually be fully functional.
Look at all my pieces lying before you-
build me like Ikea furniture
prop me up, wear me down
then throw me away like the rest of them.
I'll be fine here on my own.
My shadow likes to keep me company.

The poison touched my lips again
the morning after I awoke feeling more like myself
than I have in ages
and I started to realize-
this is the only version of myself I have known.
Instability etched into my genetic code
I was destined for the toxicity lining my bloodstream.
Once, I felt on top of the world-
standing amongst the people who thrived
and longed for the same passions I had.
Then I watched myself fall
third person point of view
my lifeless body had landed
where no one could reach me
I was too far gone.
So I let the sweet taste of surrender
fill my mouth and kiss my insides.
That's where I found myself again-
the only version of myself I have come to know
the one I became so familiar with.
I guess I don't know who I am anymore
without the foggy brain and the steadfast demeanor.
Passion is a *****-
especially when it seems like everyone is staring
watching as you fall to your own demise
and only a few are there to dry your tears.
They are never who you'd expect
but they live for this as much as you do.
No one understands unless this fuels them
unless their bones are aching from the lonely
that has become of me and what I tried to create.
Everyone is watching me fall
and most of them are too busy to notice
I can't hold on anymore.
The will I had to move forward with this
has been depleted by indecency.
Only a few remain-
they help pick me back up
and then hand me a pen
but when I go to grab it,
it slips through my fingertips
and falls to where I was on the ground.
So I start typing instead.
"The poison touched my lips again..."
but believe me-
none of this has ever been easy
remind me to not forget who I am again.

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