I can't compete anymore-
a picture was painted at birth
and it doesn't reflect who I am on the inside.
I try to shy away from the insecurity
but the shadow creeps up from below my gut-
reminds me I am no longer worthy
convinces me I am nothing.

Seem you are a Monet,
and I am anonymous
thinking in colors
and painting in words-
but you are the physical manifestation
of the thoughts in which encompass my mind.
My outlook is meek again,
it seems I am maureen
because of her.

I try not to make myself
so black and white
and green all over
but envy has become of me.
Breaking away at the seems of beauty
and making a mockery of my outsides.
But the dream is real
and it seems every male knows it too.

Just a shadow to a city street,
a raindrop to a growing garden-
the colors surround her
and I'm stuck in black and white.

Metaphors make more sense
to me then anything else ever has,
you can speak to me in clarity
but I'll still question what it means.

These friends I have
they brighten me
but I'm still so black and white,
a negative of a positive picture
their appearance trumps my attempts
and they think in zest and breathe inside life.

The beauty that behold of them
triumphs over mine-
seems I love to surround myself
with the things that make me smile
even when I'm still black and white
they are the red and gold-
they are the much needed rainbow
after the hectic rainstorm.

The fear I feel is far from here
and these hands hold close to nothing.
Yours are wrapped around my throat
so I can't leave even if I wanted to.

I think in metaphors
and write my way through cursive
I can't make out what's in front of me
too many crossed lines, and not enough clarity.

Don't teach me what it's like to feel pain
and then put me in a situation to leave you-
to inflict you with the hurt you've taught me.
My inside are too lined with gold
to turn yours into dirt again-
to sell this tragedy for something worthy.

I can't let go of this anchor
because I don't want to be held down.
Fixated in one place
so you wrap it around my throat instead
and drop it where we're planted.
This way I can never leave-
this way I can never breathe.

You push me in and pull me out-
I will never make sense of what remains.
The anger in your bones reminds me not to be.
The look inside your eyes
while your hands are wrapped around my throat
makes me remember why I'm still alive
but makes me wish I wasn't.

You make me feel dead inside again.
I'm choking on these words I wish to say
and you wouldn't let go
long enough for me to speak them anyway.
I want what has been in front of me all along
you blinded the importance of a being
and now I'm left with just fog.

I never thought you would lead me wrong
and I am wrapped up in emotions too much
to bleed myself dry of thoughtlessness.
This mess has turned into chaos
and I continue drowning.
Deeper until this anchor
cuts away my neck
and chokes me of any hope I have left.

Cut the chains
and break me free-
this sinking ship can't see the horizon anymore
I'm not sure there's life left outside these trouble waters.
Wishing I could breathe again
please just let me breathe again.


love inside of trouble waters,
these waves won't stop crashing against this sinking ship.
seems I'm destined to drown again-
I was never one to be a captain.

sticks and stones can break your bones
and words always mislead.
these sticks I stick into my skin
never seem to bleed.
my mind is sick
these hands are tied.
so I can't put on my smile.
tired is the way I've been
and something in me is broken.
I tried to fix what's in my head
but it seems it's working against me again.
How can you fix this mind so fragile
if this mind is all you have to claim.
You can fix a birds broken wings
but he'll never fly the same.

I feel sick inside-
the days feel low and the weather is bad.
Haven't seen the sun for days
and I'm hanging on messages that never come.
This buzz inside of my chest
feels like I just drank a gallon of pure sugar
and I can't stop my skin from crawling.

worse case scenarios repeat in my mind
like a maroon 5 song on the radio,
painfully they never end.

The sun is out again.
I have placed both hands on the steering wheel
and I'm driving fast on the highway.
I see a cop and my heart races,
makes me feel like I did yesterday.
So I start to feel like yesterday.
My favorite song comes on-
reminds me today is not how it was before.

Hands shaking-
blood is dripping
and I wonder why no one loves me.

It's morning again-
I spend this one hating who I was the day before.
But stay up until 4:30 am because I can't sleep.
Enthralled in the idea I'm the funniest person in the world.
Things don't feel so bad here, in this moment.

But the day comes after-
only got a couple hours of sleep
and now I am scratching at my skin.
My boyfriend hasn't texted me back in two hours
must mean I did something wrong.
Must mean he doesn't love me anymore.
Must mean he's thinking of someone else.
Breakdown.
Multiple Texts.
a fight that makes me feel dead and alive
simultaneously.
I'm emotionally abusive.
But only because my mind is,
I don't want to be.

These words are always punches-
to myself and the ones I love
I'm so used to being broken down.
So guilt trips are the only survival tactics I know.

I promise I'll be better baby.

Morning-
I slept well last night,
my heart feels filled with love
and admiration for everyone around me.
I spent $200 on clothes at the mall.
Things feel good.
My desire for sexuality grows stronger,
and I want to be tamed.
His arms gather around my waist
and kisses are placed upon my neck.
I feel the love inside of my bones.
Wrong hand placement-
my mind goes backwards
dark room, hands- hands and hands.
I smell it, that day.
Small child again.
I wince. Crying again.
He holds me in his arms, makes me feel okay.
I think about it for a week straight after that.
Not wanting anything to do with love making
or any of the sort.
Emotions aren't too good for me as of late.

I can't stop writing-
so many things I want to say
but never knowing how to say them.
Typical ******* cliche.
I stand in front of an audience.
My hands shake
but no nerves ever feel as bad
as the ones my mind likes to give me
on random, every other day.
This is where I feel okay.

Sticks and stones will break my bones
because they have before.
Words repeat
and these memories
will always be inside me.
***** floors and Dusty rooms
these hands they seem to stain me-
I will not fall victim to
this chemically imbalanced insanity.

This life is like quicksand
Seems I'm caught up and sinking again.
Trying to talk my way out of it
But it seems my mouth is covered now.
Blocked by passive aggression
and the weight of my heels dragging me down.
I can't come up for air.
The grains have taken me
And there is nothing left.
No matter the strength I try to muster
Or the screams that leave my lips.
Seems my lungs are sinking too-
Seems I'm too middle of nowhere
And not enough city streets
nature is too familiar to me
And these buildings not enough.
Throw me a rope
and watch me drag myself out of this mess
and untie it from around my neck.
I'm dreaming of ways to make it out
But all I see is black.
All I seek is black
Because it's nuetral
It's nothing and it's calm
It seems that's what I need now.
It's dark under this sheet of grain
And I wish the sun would shine
Hard enough to make it glass
Bc I've never been one to live outside of glass houses
Too inside of the box
Never beside it.
Always beside myself.
Watching everyone look into me
But they don't really see
The whole picture
Just the box they put me in.
Turn me into stained glass windows
And I will show you what a church looks like at mass.
Belief and praise and worship.
I am nothing like I said I would be.

you don't understand.
stop telling me that you do.
you are not me, I am not you
therefore empathy-
is the only means of understanding you have.
but you are not where I am now.
you are not walking upon these eggshells like me-
not the same ones at least.
do you ******* blood inside your mouth?
do you feel your lungs cracking under the pressure.
pressure of being everything to everyone
and nothing to yourself.
who am I anyway.
I need a break.
these limbs are shaking
and these hands can't move
I'm exhausted with thinking I can function.
do you understand?
because I can't even seem to find words
to show people how I feel.
so why don't you do it.
take this pen and show me that you do
speak some sense into me.
but you can't-
so you won't.
I'm alone
and I'm broken.
say you understand but that won't help me now
say you understand but it only makes it worse.
breathe air into my lungs
and watch life breathe into me.
I'm in need of some oxygen
something to take away the smog.
my life is a blanket of lost memory
and irrationality.
Pull me out of my own head-
but don't tell me you understand.
Don't tell me.
Empathy doesn't mean you understand me.

I'm crying on the inside..

seems like the only thing I can control as of late.
I blink both eyes until I see stars
and hope I will see something worthy of myself.

My breathing has slowed...

this anxiety in my chest makes me aware
of the damage it has caused me.
Fourteen years ago I made some progress
and then repression became a warm hand gun
I liked to sleep with at night.

Someone took advantage of me...

and now my mind likes to do the same-
knows I am weak in this instant
knows I can break more times than rebuild.
knows I will sit here and makes these same analogies
until everyone tires of my poetry.

I tried to think of things differently...

but all that comes out are the same words
just in different order
and it seems my mind likes to run circles
around this idea of normalcy.
it also seems like it doesn't exist
because just when I'm on the brink of sanity
my mind likes to remind why it's never ******* possible.

Seems I'm too ****** again...

the only words my vocabulary seems to remember
are the ones people deem as less intelligent
and I start to wonder if that can be defined
by the numbers in my bank account
or in my gpa this semester-
if so, i think I'm doing aright.
if not, which is the case-
I think i'm growing stupid.


Meet in the middle again...

somewhere between empty caskets
and getaway trains
I'm not sure which way I want to go.
My mind says get me out of here
and my feet won't stop running towards the exit.
Conflict and inconsistency are bred into my family,
my genetics are lined so neatly with tragedy.
Seems I am ****** either way.


Breed me into existence
and I will breathe you empty in this instance....


These words forms paragraphs
I do not know the meaning of
and I share this to make sense of it all.
I fall into the seems of myself
and no needle can trace the mistake I have made.
The giant hole inside of my track record
cannot be redone with sharp objects-
believe me, I've tried.


End me here before the road does it for me...

I'm feeling exhausted from lack of progress
and this feeling inside of me now has no origin
no originality- it's just sitting there.
Waiting for me to understand why it is.
But I can't.
I'm not even sure why I am here
these stories are an accurate representation
of my current state of mind
and I'm not even using any metaphors-
this is just the way my mind works now.


I bred myself into bipolar
and made anxiety out of my animosity.
I start to wonder how much better
I would've felt if I had some stability-
probably a lot less crazy,
but look at all this mess I've made
and look how good it makes me feel-
look at the difference it's made them feel.

Turn this repression into progression
and watch it flip to poetry,
feed me-
I'm dying to hear your words.

It isn't always little boxes,
you can ask who put the baby in the corner
but the only thing this one could muster up is-
Why is he there?
Did someone put him there to **** with me.
Should I kick the baby?
It's not holding any substance in my life,
so what keeps me from kicking that ******* baby.
Squint, breathe, think-
no.
No no no no.
Don't think, thinking leads to thinking
and thinking leads to more thinking
and those thoughts lead to these ones.

I'm out in public again clenching my hands,
tensing my shoulders until the veins
are the only uniformity I've come to know.
All eyes are on me
even if they're staring forward.
I assess every move I make
in each person's direction
in hopes it will not be a grenade in their wake.
In hopes these hands will not break them
or these thoughts will not harm them.

Aggression followed by paranoia
paranoia followed by over self-awareness.
Nothing makes stillness seem real anymore
is it even real anymore.
Why the **** am I like this?

Sometimes I hear voices in my head not my own.
They sound more like the people I know
The people I love telling me everything I hate
and somehow they get louder than my own thoughts.
Drown me, no drown them.
The bridge is the closest way to make their downfall
and maybe they could stop hating me
long enough for me to apologize to them
for these hands I hold in front of me too often.
These arms I flex, and this face that mimics just the same.
I start to wondering why I am apologizing in the first place-

Merely because I am existing-
****,
am I actually existing?
what if everything is made up into little boxes
and none of them in order
like my thoughts they are misplaced
misused and tampered until dismemberment
I have not agreed upon these terms and conditions
now I seem to be self depricating in the fine print
that no one ever reads
what if I'm signing my life away?

It isn't always little boxes
clean bathrooms
and the 21 times you rewashed your hands.
Sometimes it's big boxes,
trapped inside darkness
hearing nothing but your open wounds
yelling at you
telling you they will never heal
but the voices sound too familiar to not believe.
You try to run towards them,
but your feet are too insecure to step forward
your hands are clenching too tightly to stop the bleeding
you feel and you feel and you feel
the wounds they never heal.
your head never seems to heal
but you deal and you deal and you deal.

Mark the calendar for a date of death you're not sure is coming-
mark it for a life you're not sure you're living.

Know that when and if tomorrow comes
I will scream at the knock of my door
or if I accidentally knock over my drink
and spill out the milk
I have spent so much time trying not to cry over.
Seems I need it for cereal.
Seems I need this for survival.
Seems these thoughts aren't so bad after all-
seems they've made me not so bad after all
seems they've made her fall in love.

Mom, I wanted to tell you I love you
but all that came out was "Have you ever thought of the world in an existential sense to where we're not really here, but we are actually here. What if it was like the Truman Show?"
and I ramble and ramble and ramble.
But know I love you
sometimes words are hard to find
and if I take the time to write them
they are a canvas of their own.
They make sense of something
to someone other than me.

She looks at him with golden hues
and looks at the mess he had made
still seeing a canvas in his wake
waiting for him to break it
waiting for it to shatter into pieces-
knowing it will be
just as beautiful.