I try so hard to make everything I do enough,
but it never is.
& I don't think it actually ever was to begin with.
And these words I speak mean nothing to you-
your absence says it all.
I'm sorry you don't care the way you used to.
I'm sorry this life has hollowed you out
and turned every inch of your being into a black hole.
You're not who you once were
and it breaks my heart everyday.
Phone calls go unreturned
and text messages go unanswered.
This life is a disease and depression is like cancer.
I just wish I could have you back again.
But you're gone, I guess for good.
So it seems to my efforts are worth nothing anymore.
I hate to see the tides of failed attempts at empathy
turn you into someone who doesn't even know
what color my hair is anymore,
or why my boyfriend and I fight sometimes.
You just don't care.
& you stopped a long time ago.
I just wish it didn't have to be this way,
but I'm tired of trying for a cause
I will never change.
The piece of mind I have donated has gone bankrupt
and I have nothing left to give but my suggestions
Even then, you overlook my efforts
as if they were ants upon your walkway.
I am insignificant and unworthy.
and I have learned, things don't change.

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.

never break my heart,
because I will take every piece
you so harshly left
and stab your mind
with poems and prose
and you will no longer
be just a person
who came and went,
you will turn into
destruction and paper thin
apologies that you will never rid of.
I will turn you into paper cuts
barely there, but painful nonetheless,
reminding you every time you
attempt to wash away your regrets.

Do not break a writers heart, they will find beauty in your destruction and never, ever let you forget it.

Every inch of my being is tired,
exhausted really, or some other form of the word
that I can't quite think of because my mind is on auto-pilot.
and I can't exactly put into words how I feel right now
without sounding ******* crazy but basically-
I'm tired of wanting to see my hand go completely through a wall
and not exactly know why I want to let loose on everything around me.
I'm tired of one day wanting to ******* from the face of the earth
and the next loving every single tree and blade of grass there is.
The irritation isn't worth the euphoria
but the euphoria makes everything else seem worthy.

I have traced my hand on paper and turned it into something,
like a thanksgiving turkey or a cool art project
just so I am reminded that these hands can hold more things
and touch more people than I could ever imagine
all I have to do is utilize these words and harness them
into something, something other than rage and fury.
I'm so ******* tired of feeling like I am running a race
while wearing weights around my ankles
and a lock around my mind so I can't think of anything else
except the circumstance I am in right now.

Why is negativity so easy?
When everything else is so ******* hard
and I'd like to think it's because nothing good comes from negativity.
All good things come from positivity right?
Well what about to nights I want to be alone
but the whole world is on my back pushing me to maintain
and everyone is hovering around me with expectations and worries
But all I have to do is reply with a simple,
I don't feel well and it all vanishes.
But this isn't the life I want to live,
constantly feeling nothing but pain,
physical and psychical what the **** is the difference?
Because physically you're in pain it makes you psychically in pain
Vice Versa. Vice Versa. Vice Versa.  
This is why every vice we have like cigarettes and ***** are bad
because nothing good comes from the bad things.
So why are there any bad things at all?

I  would like at least once
to write and really think about what I write,
and get somewhere magical.
Write the best ******* **** i've ever laid eyes on-
But then I start and I get so enthralled in my stream of conscious
I am not longer in control of what my hands type,
it's like a teleprompter in my head leading the way.
I wish it all made sense.
I wish I believed in god and heaven-
that it would make all of this easier but it doesn't.
if god exists why do I see ghosts of lives past
creeping behind closed doors in the light of day?
Why in the **** is there so much corruption in the church?
You would think he would try to stop us,
but maybe this is the plan.

Maybe depersonalization is actually just being one with the universe.
and maybe manic depression is just reminding us
how we can harness the intensity of our emotions-
because I've felt that dry wall cling to the knuckles
on my fragile hands and ever since then I've never felt so alive,
but I look at the damage and start to worry what my father will think.
How will I mend what I spent so little time breaking?

Please don't break.
Not again.
Hold it together,
you've done so well
don't let the presence of death
upon your doorstep bring you down.
The blade is faded and no longer a vice
even though it calling your name
lures you in again and again and again,
it is not your friend.

Don't do it, don't cry.
You are more than the circumstance
that surrounds you.
You are stone,
you are strong and unbreakable.
The tides of the times you've tried
are heavier than the crosses you bare
so even when that weight is upon
your frail shoulders, don't break.
Pick yourself up and get some exercise.

The scars are finally healed,
and no one can see them
no more nagging questions,
no more paranoia.
The flesh isn't just skin anymore,
it's apart of who you are,
who you've become
so don't let who you are
in this moment of turmoil
break all your progress.
You are more than this.

Tainted,
life has been that way
since you were young
and although you know
what exactly it feels like
to never catch a break
because you're held down by instances
that can't be controlled,
The chaos is mandatory
but suffering through it is not.

So tie your worries to all of your dreams
and watch the dreams carry your worries away.
Today is not a bad day.
Take off your shoes and dance in the rain.
Today is a good day.

I told you I'm sorry,
for breaking too often and not building enough,
but you told me some things are meant to be broken-
things other than my smile.
So I smiled and you told me it was like poetry,
soft, troubled but always within reason.

the waves wash over me as the momentum of the minute consoles me
but there is no consolation, no consolidation
I am alone with only my irrationality that leads to sedation.
and when I sleep, dreams don't mean a thing
except lucidity and restlessness and trauma of being.  
But being me is more than just waves and sunsets,
sorry to upset, but I am no daisy or garden
I am uneasy eyes, where everyone is a suspect.
So respect my wishes when I tell you no
Because I know, that no never means yes to me
it means satisfaction to some, sorrow to most
and i'm done being buttered up like your morning toast
with that perfect crunch that you finish like it's your last meal..
My smile is my *** appeal.

So slither your tongue with verbs etched with sin,
and i'll let you paint your picture across my skin.
But this is no love poem, or rhyme scheme rendition
this is what satisfaction looks like when it's written
and I've watched myself die inside a mirror
found myself drowning in a ocean much clearer
but the salt kissed my wounds and my bruises
and reminded me, no one ever loses.
Chances are like a fine wine
followed by slow dancing and slowed time.
& I get confused sometimes with the way
you say my name and then sigh.
Don't say you will leave me
Just say you will love me.
Don't say you will touch me
Just say you will trust me.

because i've never known home until i heard your voices tone,
and I condone most things like kissing your insecurities
and falling in love with your tragedy but baby,
there's so much more to me.
I can see only with one eye because in the other i'm half blind,
but i will never turn a blind eye to the tides of your rise
and even your fall but baby, this is my kryptonite
and my light at the end of this dark dingy dim tunnel,
this all so ******* fundamental, the way you make me mental.
I'm so ******* metal.
Hard as ****, and I **** like I'm hard - to love
but I'm easy - like sunday morning  not easy like,
hormonal and *****, you can take my layers of lust and peel-
My smile is my *** appeal.

I would try to write about your eyes
and say all the sappy love **** I can muster
but you are more than that..
I would tell you how you are like a safety net
below a burning building
placed a little too close to the flames
but you are more than that..
I can't describe you exactly,
just like the universe you are ineffable
and just like life you are inexplicable.

I have witnessed my mother
brush swiftly passed never-again
as the contents of the bottle hit her palms.
I have seen the light removed
from my grandmothers eyes
as the life was taken from her lips
but it seems to me, being with you
is the closest to death I've ever been.
I have fought off death's name
with broken knuckles and battered wrists
but this time, only this time-
I think I'll let it win.

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.

I fear closeness.
I fear close knit and tongue tied
I fear you and I.
these days I think myself
into a coma more often times
than I am actually awake.
The thought of mere interaction
shakes me to the core
and I don't want to find myself anymore
because I'm terrified of who exactly I'll meet.

I am hanging at the edge of your lips again-
realizing what it is I have made you feel
which is less than nothing, but also everything
which is eggshells and self-preservation
and a mindset that is filtered when I am around.
I would like to know you too-
but I am afraid we will not connect
as good as we did once.
I often find myself missing where we were
even if it was disoriented, at least it had a name.

Often I fear I am too much-
too dysfunctional, too erratic
to ever find love the way I would like.
Looking into the mirror
the reflection I see reminds me I am something.
Here. Present.
That if I try hard enough I can get to where I need to be
and the sun is shining and my mind is free again.
Until the moment comes to where I am low
and I try to look at myself in the mirror
tell myself I am something- Here. Present.
but all I seem to see are the tears
and the smeared makeup-
all I seem to see
is the past that keeps repeating in my mind
the memories that my retinas like to replay.
I guess I'm not over it.

I would like to marry someday-
have kids and show them love,
show them happiness can exist
and that marriage isn't a death sentence
that love is not just a word
that it is everything.
But I find myself sitting here
on the bathroom floor
waiting for the shower water to warm
just the way I like it
and I'm afraid that's how my life will always be
waiting for things to be consistent
and manageable
just the way I like them.

But then I feel the water and it's cold-
someone used up all the hot water again
or maybe there's no propane.
Either way I'm cold,
either way I'm cold.

I fall sometimes-
and some days I can't get back up.
Clinging to the pangs in my stomach
left there because anxiety likes to remind me
she's still breathing-
Clinging to the knife in my side drawer
left there because I don't trust myself
and depression is right in my ear
telling me to do it again and again and again.
There's two devil's on my shoulder-
and no angel to be found.
I fall sometimes-
and end up making a home out of the ground.
Leave me here in pieces
I've always picked them up alone anyway.

You-
you have a lot on your plate
and me-
I am just pushed in next to the others
that weigh you down while you're trying to carry
a thanksgiving meal of responsibility
and at the same time not be crushed by it-
You don't like it when your food touches.
So there I am waiting at the edge of all the chaos
trying not to step over boundaries or cross the line
I am just another thing thrown onto your plate
of responsibilities.
I am a shadow.
A walking disaster.
And I try to avoid all the things
that are so ferociously trying to bring you back down-
but all I do is end up making it worse
making all your **** end up touching
so it becomes a mountain upon your shoulders
that eventually turns into a chip upon it-
you have gone concave-
you became acute when you were once so obtuse
so full of life
so 180 degrees out of everyone else's ******* box
and I closed you in.
Made you realize what you needed to make yourself small
so you could eventually fit the plate just right on your shoulders.
I try to take the weight-
try to pick it all up myself and do something to help you get through
but I just end up touching everything-
You don't like it when your food touches.
You-
you are concave in my convex world
always looking inside yourself-
always hiding away inside of the parts of yourself
I will never see because I'm too busy looking outward
to find something I can do for you.
We are trigonometry-
which is the only type of math I was ever good at in school
but I can't seem to find the right angle anymore
you are too scalene and not enough isosceles
there's no symmetry in the way you look at me-
there's too many different sides to you.
I'd like to think I've seen them all
I'd like to think I've solved what degree
every angle you feed me turns out to be-
but it seems that the angles aren't what I should be finding.
You're just a circle-
I can find your radius
but I don't have enough of you anymore
to find your circumference.
We will always be abstract.

It takes more than just words, more than just endless apologize to reason with my nature. These hands have held more things dear to me than you and honey don't think for a second I'm not special. These universes inside these lines painted me a picture a long time ago of the person I would hope to be and the sails are setting in the bay again and I am the windstorm they are getting ready for. I am no last place or home base. I do not fight to win or lose to show pity. I do what's best for myself. These eyes have seen death slowly creep it's way into the picture frame one day, four years at a time. They have seen what it's like to remember blank pages of your history somehow finally filled. The ending to this novel that is me is complicated and messy already and I wish you knew what it felt like. How the wind beneath my feet felt more like a hurricane than a boost from the ground I kept weeping on. How these tears fueled these fingers to write for days on end and how things just don't seem to feel good enough for me anymore. I am a garden constantly trying to water myself with the nutrients I need but somehow never seeing any growth. These hands have made mistakes and these eyes have seen better days but all in all I am a force of nature that will turn your world upside down and put it right back where it came from. I am the *** of gold at the end of the rainbow, but I am also the storm that got it there in the first place.

when the skies get gray and the sun burns out-
I will always take you with me.
when the smile from your face fades
and your life is nothing but a hollowed out memory-
I will always take you with me.
Maybe indecision is still a decision
but this body yearns for your touch-
and I can't shake the feeling.
when I'm with you every inch of my being
feels whole again, and I am who I've always wanted to be.
you never hold back, or tell me half truths-
so I will always take you with me.
when the sun reignites and the sky is a lighter shade of blue-
I will always have you
whether next to me or in the back of my mind
I will always take you with me.
I still look at you like you're the only one in the room-
even if you're too busy with insecurity to see
but I will always take you with me.

But you-
you seem to look at the other-side and don't realize-
these words are not just words
they are everything I feel for you-
since the first day I knew.
I hope you realize this
and I hope you never forget
I have and always will-
love you.

I come from an environment
where change is an everyday routine
and people can flip their switch
at the strike of a match
so I apologize if every instance
of difference sends me spiraling
downward into a self inflicted
illusion that may or may not be real
but I can’t help that every small
indication of separation
makes me cringe.
I have fallen in love
and fallen accustomed
to hyper sensitivity
and hyper awareness
because the only love
I’ve ever been apart of
was unrequited and
I was inadequate.
And the only love I have
ever been shown
was intoxicated
by madness
and left in the cold
with mental scars
and bruises on young arms.
I don’t want my past
to destroy my future
but if you’ve seen the life
I have been shown
you would think there were
roaches in diamonds
and disease in gold.
Love is not
what makes me paranoid
it’s loyalty,
because how can I learn
to receive
what I’ve never in my dark past
been shown or reciprocated.
I need to learn to trust
in mostly myself and I
because I’m tired of thinking
every beautiful day and genuine person
is all just an a illusion of my mind.

I tried to write about you
but couldn't convince myself to
because repression has always been the forefront of my emotions
and I would rather not admit to myself that I love you again-
but I do.
I feel as if it is the only thing I've ever known
but when I start to convince myself it's true
I end up mimicking my irrational, inane tendencies
ten times over until the blood dripping from my bottom lip
paints your outline on my thigh.
I'm beginning to wonder why
this writers block
is causing me to only write about you
to watch as my lips venture inward
and taste the inside of my mouth
only to find you there
only to trace my tongue on the outline of you.
I cannot feel you in the same way
or see you in the same light anymore
it must have burned out
it must have made way for this darkness
inside of me that keeps wishing upon
any living star that you will still be here at the end of the day
but stars aren't living, they're dead.
They're just a faint glow in an ever burning atmosphere
like the sun has to hand out an apology letter
to us when it has to set again and again
so it leaves us stars and awe struck.
Reminding us of the destruction we can cause ourselves.
I never make much sense anymore.
Waking at 3am of dreams
that hold no relation to my state of sanity
that crush inside of my body and leave me empty.
I'm tired of this fuckery
of my hands gripping my head
to stop my mind from spinning out of control.
Why does bipolar have to mean no self control
why does it have to mean tracing my own legs
to remind myself I am still alive
why the **** does it have to mean thinking about death.
I am never in control of myself
so how can I ever be in control of the way I love you.
It will always be messy-
it will always be missed phone calls
and repeated text messages.
It will always be always wanting to be with you
because I can never actually convince myself
you need me as much as I need you.
But all I need is me and sometimes
I close people out so they know it
so they realize this mind is always on the brink of destruction
and then it is followed by a redemption so beautiful
that the sky opens up and I can finally see again.
I want to ******* see again
but outside it's night
the stars are dead
and I am reminded why.
again and again
night after night
I am reminded why love is never simple
why nothing ever really is.
We are a product of our environment
mine in laced in red and has fallen from grace.
Encase a scarlet letter upon my blouse
I'm not trying to apologize anymore.

People like me strive for stability.
The kind of person that can be-
the calm before the storm
because I am a hurricane.
Name all your destruction after me
and remind yourself why you love it so much
as soon as it leaves
and you are left cleaning up the mess it made
inside your chest and ingrained inside your mind.
These letters I paint across a page
are just empty broken homes
and chaos amongst your feet-
so walk with me.

Run-
but only if you think you can endure such a thing
remember only someone special can keep up with me
I'm not too good at the chase
so you'll have to be prepared for when I don't follow.
I'm not one to keep things against their will
and if you do not want to keep me
I will not fight for your grasp around my throat-
let me go.
Wake when the chaos ends-
hope that every memory you grew old with
isn't washed away in the rubble
and remember to make room to rebuild
because I will make a mess of you
no matter how badly I would like to make you beautiful
and re-piece together your brokenness-
I have too much work to do on this home.
On the home I made out of my body a long time ago
and etched everyone who's ever hurt me
on the front porch like my address
they contribute to the broken parts of me
they've all taken a part of the blueprint
and I can't fill in what was there
because I honestly don't remember
that was way too long ago
and I am still searching for someone
who will remind me of what I have lost.

I think I can stop looking now-
I think I have found the things I'm looking for
and they were never inside of someone else
they were inside these line I write
where nothing can turn to something
in a matter of seconds.
Where these teeth stay clenched
and these fingers are always moving.
These things inside of me were never actually lost
they weren't stolen or taken away from me-
I guess they were just misplaced.

I'm nearing the brink of insanity again
because as the days pass by
I can no longer get the thoughts of you
out of my mind-
I wonder when I will lose it.
Cave into the solitude I've always known
and end every tie I have with those around me.
See when you left-
the music stopped
and my hands stopped being able to write
these fingers would type and type
but no string of notes formulated.
I do not hear the bells anymore-
just the sound of a car crash
because everything feels like such a wreck.
I can't seem to dream about anything anymore
except for something relating to you
and I would like to think these
are all signs we should start running back-
that all we need in this life is each other again
but now I'm too afraid.
I've become scared and insecure since you left
but gained a facade thats hard to let go of.
Hiding my feelings was routine before you showed up
and reminded me what the good ones felt like-
until you showed me even you can cause
the bad ones too.
I always keep things inside
clinging to my repressive tendencies
I wish I never had to.
I feel lost-
I just hope you find yourself
and I hope you find your happy
I'm just sorry it couldn't be with me.
I'm sorry I keep searching
for pieces of you I will never find-
for signs that one day things will be different.
I just keep clinging on to a hope
that I'm not really sure I should.
But love just doesn't disappear
it crashes and burns.

the sad fact is-
this is progress.

This is what
years of trying
have painted inside
of my demeanor.

I leave him.
The freedom makes me fly-
then I put myself
right back in the same position.

Constantly
******* myself over.

But this is still progress.
Still happy.
Still okay.

My best friend died
College starts.

I keep it together
for the friends
and the boy.

Help him maintain progress.
I had drifted too far from mine
  before.

I think about this time last year,
and the months that came before.

I think about the inconsistency-
the insane mood swings
accompanied by the
suicidal tendencies.

I've made progress.
Repeat this.
Try to memorize it.

I took medicine
because one of my boyfriends
convinced me-
I was crazy.

Shortly after-
He cheated.

Took him back
Because I blamed
my own inconsistency.

I should've made
him feel more wanted.

Seems I am the cause
for so many others'
problems.

My mom
blames herself
everyday.

I think about
if I wouldn't have told her.

My friend
dies in a car crash.

I think about
how I should've been there more.
How I should've taught her
to wear her seatbelt.

My boyfriend
drinks away his emotions.

I think about
how that's not
the kind of person he is.

But I am a hypocrite.

I have started drinking again
The pattern repeats.

Here I go ruining everything.
Here I go missing the old me.
Cooped up inside lavender walls
with my phone turned off.

Seems that was when
everyone else was happy.

Living life without me.
I think I could do without me
  too.

Little blue pills down the hatch,
I follow in the footsteps of my mother.
Pondering if this is what repetition feels like
whether this is what consistency looks like
tablets made up of milligrams I pay no attention to.

The irritation stems from my hands-
it's hard to feel things when numbing the pain
is all you have ever seem to do.

I mask this urgent sense of complacency
with illness that doesn't exist
to avoid any sense of responsibility that comes my way.
Pretty sure they call this mush-faking.
Just another part of an endless discourse
that I would love to see myself separate from
but it is etched into the lining of my genes
and it seems I have been losing a lot of weight
so these genes are the only that fit now.
Now destined to follow suit of my parents.

They are, as I am-
two people who make up what becomes of me
I am scared I am too much like them both
and not enough like me-
because these hands reach out to substance
the abuse part comes after.

When the pain starts to go away
and sanity seems formidable
achievable
something within reach-
all I have to do is find a bottle.
But pills are poison don't ya know?
So I move to the more socially acceptable addiction
the one you can find in a 12 pack at the store
or the one you can chase
with your favorite beverage
make it seem a little less toxic
because making yourself feel better
seems to be taboo.
Emotional instability is the new fab
and everyone seems to be following the trend.

Little white pills down the hatch
so I am not mimicking the behavior of my father.
To crush all the eggshells I throw out for others
so their feet don't rip upon impact.
My encounter is counter-intuitive
and also counter productive.
I try to make it less of the latter
but seems these eyes know me all too well.
They are red from over exposure
and tired from pressure they're under-
the invalidation painted upon your eyelids
with heavy words and absent thoughts.

You become defensive
I do the same.
You can't fight fire with fire
But we're both hot headed
So when all the **** goes down in flames
which one of us is to blame?

The arsonist fell in the love
with absence, absolve and absinthe
and all are ingredients
to this recipe of disaster.
You love me
I tolerate you.
That's what family means right?

I'd like to think this happiness
isn't just a dream-
isn't just these pills that make it seem that way.
Wait till you see the other side-
and everything will become a sink hole again.
I destroy everything I've ever loved
and watch as it delves
deep into oblivion
like these pills that fill my fists
and these nights I've spent alone.

Fear what I've become-
so I'm not the only one.

There will be no version of me you will ever think to admire
as your hands grasp my words and alter them as they leave
I realize this was never how I wanted this to turn out.
Your words to me are like waterproof mascara
running down and staining my cheeks-
you're the opposite of what you promised you'd be
and you make a mockery of what makes me feel so beautiful.
You showed me what it was like to actually feel something
and now I remember why I never did in the first place.
I seem to be at fault for all the faults you think you carry
and this misplaced insecurity is now our imminent demise.
I don't feel anything anymore.
Remembering what it feels like to be in your arms
seems to be a distant memory
and sometimes I want to keep it that way.
I am tired of making myself small so you feel bigger-
and I am tired of using all my strength to light your world
when you insist on living in the darkness
and never giving yourself enough light too see-
that I'm walking away slowly.
You can either run to me, or watch as I leave-
because I am more than you make me out to be
I will no longer be your nothing.

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 am on the receiving end
of an emotional hierarchy
on the power dynamic of control
and it is based at the core foundation
of my childhood
rooted inside the deep seeded
fear of isolation and abuse.
I have come a long way since then.

Since the corner
of my shut closet
became a museum
for these guilt pangs
in my 7 year old stomach.

But the shouts of my parents
still haven't diminished
and neither have these pangs.

A constant reminder
I am closer to my childhood
than I am my progress.

So I have to take a step away
from all of these things
putting me back into
that dark closet
into the Eminem show soundtrack
on the 6th grade bus
crying because I didn't feel loved.

I don't want to go back
to not eating for weeks
or showering for a month
just so I could get the attention.

I never had it anyway
so why was I fighting for the nonexistent?
why am I fighting, still now
for the constant validation
and acknowledgment of existence.

I am still closer to my childhood
than I am my progress
and I keep stepping back into
people, place and things that put me there.

every friend and boyfriend
reminding me of my father or my mother
and every minute of isolation reminding me
that there is no lesson that I haven't been taught
from loneliness and inadequacy.

So I should be thankful
I am closer to my childhood than my recovery
because that's where it started,
and for me-
that's where it ends.

Somewhere between the closet space
and basement walls-
I am buried there.

I've spent all my years feeling sorry for myself
for these emotions, for the things that I have little to no control over. Honestly, i'm ******* over it.

I could build you mountains and amusement parks
out of these words I conjure up
but you would tell me you're not amused
and I shouldn't haven't wasted all my energy on you.
But love is no obligation? Or is it to you?

I would paint you sunsets and write you novels
and you would tell me I'm just wasting paper.
I told myself no one would control my feelings,
no one would make me feel like **** for them.
But here we are again
which is why these fingers press these keys
building an ocean for you with my words,
but you don't feel like getting your feet wet.

I would throw a lasso over the moon,
rap all my feelings for you up in it
and then bring it down to you with
all the reason I love you etched into the sand
and you'd reply, my efforts are just way too much.

I am willing to do almost anything within reason for you
but your eyes are so blinded by the circumstance that surrounds you
that you have trouble believing anything I say to you.

It seems as if I am too much, and not enough all in the same breath.
and I'm done trying to make you realize these metaphors are not just
metaphors and over exaggerations, they are how I feel.
So if this is too much, or somehow not enough
can't say I didn't ******* try.

I broke again today-
my feet fell from under me
and I wept until I bled.
Nothing has ever hurt this bad
I thought I could make things right
with my hands grasped around my own throat
I choked any words of distain out of my mouth.
But still you stood upon my chest
like you were the elephant in the room
and my heart was just as heavy.

I broke again a minute ago
the things I thought had worked themselves out
came festering up and I felt like I was drowning again
Currently I feel two hands all over me
one of them born from my childhood
the other one showing me all of my addictions.
I try not give in again.
Try to wrap my hands around my throat
even tighter so they do not swallow too many pills
so they are too preoccupied they can't take to my thighs.
I write through the tears.
It seems I can no longer use a notebook
because my tears eat through the paper
and make a mockery of my coping mechanism.
It's funny how pain can make and break you
all in the same second.

I broke again and I continue to break
because every decision feels like a bad one
and I'm tired of being this person I've become
though it is who I have always wanted.
It's not as a great as I had once hoped it would be.
I try to breath away my pain
but my hands are wrapped around my neck still
and I'm afraid of what will happen if I let go
but my lungs are empty and so is my heart now
so I have to let go-
the ring around my neck reminds me I'm still alive
and I run my fingers through my hair,
I caress my thigh where the scars are traced in white.
White lines can be two types of addictions-
I would like to think mine is the safest
but some days I'm not so sure.

I'm breaking once again-
and everything I've held down inside me
since 2007 has resurfaced
and it feels as if I have to deal with it all again.
There's different hands around my neck now
but the face doesn't look too familiar-
I don't think I have ever recognized it
somehow it still causes me pain.

I'm broken.
I can't seem to find a way
to put myself back together again
because even when I do
someone likes to make a mess
out of what remains of me
until I am just ruins.
The sun hasn't been out in days
so I forget what it even looks like
it's hard to grow when you can't feel warmth anymore.
All I am is cold
a ring reformed in the chill of the air
I don't fit like I used to.
Neither do you-
the puzzle pieces of our heart
have been trying to connect by a small thread
but you took the needle and stabbed it inside my heart instead.
You looked at it and said you needed time to practice your aim.
So I continue to be broken and ruins and remains
and try to forget everything that has a name a face
because I don't want to feel things anymore.
Separating myself from my empathy
unless emotionless I become.
It's hard to write poetry when you have nothing left.
It's hard to write poetry when you are nothing.
It's hard to keep living with a needle inside your heart
but you will die if you try to remove it-
so here's to hoping it falls out.
Here's to hoping I can breathe again.

I broke for the seventh time this month-
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I ask myself as I undress my thoughts in a mirror
as the tears stream steadily down the sides of my face
mascara stains my eyeballs and burns into my mind.
I can feel everything now.
The running of my makeup
causes a chain reaction
to me running toward the sink
to wash out what makes me feel okay.
After it is done-
and the makeup is cleared from my eyes
it seems I still don't see things clearly.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I saw him again today-
it seems I am seeing his face in everyone nowadays.
I don't think I'm actually over it
I don't think the experience will ever leave my mind
and every single man but a few seems to have his eyes-
the square shape of his head and the curve of his spine
that I don't think he actually has
because who needs a backbone
when you spend your youth
taking away someone else's.
Mine-
It was the seventh year of my life
and you took my backbone back then
in the black basement, blanketed with self-condemnation.
You see innocence is an antonym for guilt-
but what happens when you took away one
and caused the other?
What does that leave me with now-
Innocence means the opposite of guilt
which is to say childhood and you
do not share the same zip code
but somehow I let you invade my home
and seek out refuge inside my ribcage
now I find you in every corner,
encompassing the outline
of every male figure I encounter.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I saw you seven days ago-
in the face of the man at TGI friday's
then again in the face of a man waiting in line at the store
then again in the outline of a shadow
then again in the nightmares I keep waking up to.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
I keep repeating to myself
until the sound of your voice fades to just background noise
until the soft hint of you breathing on my neck
doesn't seem familiar to me anymore
until I stop feeling ashamed of what you have made of me.

There once was a home inside of me
but now it is just a house fire-
burning down any memory of you here
you made it too hard to breath
although this smoke encases my lungs-
and these pills aren't the blanket
on the fire like I wanted them to be
they still seem to help ease the burns.
See you are nothing but ash and dust-
The lining on the inside of my throat
that keeps me from spilling your name.
Your shadow in the back of my mind
will become nothing
in the wreckage I have ensued upon my skull.
"why are you so ******* fragile?"
Haven't you learned?
The most prized possessions are.

I wonder when the hurt will stop-
when the thoughts of self-inflicted pain will lift
and I realize I cling to the things that cause me pain.
It's as if self-sabotage is my second nature
and my 6th sense is anxiousness.
This is all consuming.
The thoughts in my head will never fade-
the depression living in my bones
has made a home out of my skeleton again
and my heartbeat seems to be demanding refuge.
I wonder when my heart will get tired
of trying so hard to beat through this frail chest-
I am constantly trying my best.
Attempting to turn this anxiety into art
and this hopelessness into a canvas
but my mind is blank now.
The watercolor insecurity
has mixed with my acrylic insanity
and you should never mix two types of paint
but I was never one to follow rules
so this masterpiece turns into a mess
and eventually everyone is looking at my pain-
like **** this is so pretty
how she turns her sorrow into a sonnet
of metaphors and smilies
**** I wish I had her energy
her zest for turning nothing into something
and all the bad things into good ones.
But it's never that simple-
I must bare it all
become naked with my emotions
in front of a crowded room
and that is all I seem to ever do-
release my emotions for people
who don't know my story
they only know the way I have written it
the first person viewpoint of this tragedy.
I am a broken shell casing of who I was again-
It's been a while since I've seen this place
this cage, and felt this rage inside my bones
that sends me spiraling downward.
This place feels so ******* familiar-
almost comforting...
So I cling to this sense of solitude
and familiarity
as nostalgia creeps it's way into my neckline
and makes it way to my brain stem
I am sinking into oblivion again-
Alone is how it's always been for me
and as soon as lonely left
it headed to the ******* gym
lifted weights, did some squats
and came back stronger than ever-
I am now weak so lonely can take it's toll on me
it's trained for this all year
it's won a race I didn't really prepare for
and I am left in the dust again.
My eyes are tired from fighting through the waves
and my stomach doesn't take much to fill anymore.
I am aware this strength will not re-return over night
but I'm wondering if it will ever come back...
I am fighting for strength-
but all these thoughts inside my mind
make me weak at the knees again
and these bones can't only take so much breaking.
My heart hurts-
I am trying to numb the pain
and deal with the things I can
but some things just take time.
Time heals all wounds-
but wounds tend to leave scars
to remind you of the skin you lost in the process.
You will never forget what makes you bleed.

Insert cheesy metaphor here about how
I want all of you-
but you will not open yourself up enough
and I am too timid and insecure
so I idly sit here and wait for you to come to me.

Insert life advice here about how
the ocean can make waves
but it takes skill to swim
and once you learn
you will always know
how to beat high tide.

Now,
make the font pretty and add your watermark.
You don't want anyone stealing your work.
Maybe put it juxtapose style on a pretty piece of paper.
Make it so stereotypical people eat it up.

Helpful tips.
1) make sure it's generalized
2) try to put as much emotion as possible
but don't put any of yourself into it.
3) always write about love
4) make people think you've experienced a lot.
5) follow as many people as possible to get a lot of likes.
6) edit until it sounds like it's from a hallmark card.
7) take yourself out of the poem
8) make it hollow.
9) make yourself hollow
10) get nothing out of the experience but massive likes.

repeat until you feel better about yourself.
repeat until your fingers don't feel like
they will burn themselves off with lack of confidence
make your mind work in propaganda
and feed into the masses
because who needs creativity
when you have publicity right?
Likes, likes and more likes-
because that's poetry isn't it?
Not a true, genuine expression of ones self
just some **** on a page that sounds pretty
and probably rhymes.

I'm tired of cliche's
and rhyming-
tired of the disingenuous nature
of something that saved my life.
I'm not looking for relatable
I want to ******* feel something,
someone, anyone-
make me ******* feel
something.

Here's the dagger
use it in the same places on my back that you always do.
It's my only form of consistency.

Every time I turn around you're there, making me feel so unworthy.

Remove you from my mind and I become nothing-
just another sick sense of normalcy I've never been accustomed to.

This anxiety shakes my ribcage,
I'm having trouble breathing the same.
Having trouble feeling this way-

I haven't in a long time.

Not since the alcohol made you confident.
Not since my turtle neck and long black jacket.

You can only make progress by trying
but I am too consumed with your timing.

See I'm either reprimanded or taken for granted  
and in my mind that's inane.

In my mind I've gone concave.

Caving in again
I am now sheet rock and monolithic.

Show someone who has always had nothing
what having something is like and they might use it against you.

Too worried about who will have the last laugh
that we never think about the satisfaction.

I will become dust in your wake and we will both
make the mistake of letting stubborn tendencies fill the void.

This tension is leaving me desperate.
Wanting nothing from you, but all of your attention.

I'm dying to find your insides again
you lost them behind friends who never knew you.

but I still do.

I would like to explain to you
how my insides burn down the cities within myself
I have spent days and weeks and months trying to rebuild
from the last time I set myself ablaze
but I cannot.
These hands cannot grasp yours and guide you into my dark mind
all the while still trying to hold onto any sanity I have left-
these knuckles are bruising and you can see the scabs
but you don't seem to realize how they got there..
This heart is aching and you stare and wonder-
how the **** it got so exhausted..
I could try to show you exactly how I feel
but your eyes would be blinded by naivety
and your desire to act like everything is okay
when it's not, when I'm not-
I'm not ******* okay.
And I can continue to write it down
until my fingers wither away
and become one with this keyboard
until my pencil fades and all that's left
are the marks from where I tried to erase everything-
these feelings are not made out of ink.
I can't just put them on a page and show you
I can't pour out the ink and make something beautiful
you will never know what it's like..
I was never really good at explaining things-
like the way you make me feel
or the color of your eyes when the light hits them just right
but I think I'm getting pretty **** close.
And you see this mind of mine
is more like a maze nowadays
because I can't get through to other-side
to find where the **** my happiness lays
and I think it's ******* hiding
because it's afraid of what I am capable of.
Because the last time I found it
I sat on top of my roof at 2am
looking at the stars and laughing hysterically
at every single passing car
because it reminded me of my life.
The last time I found it-
I tried to take it and fall in love with someone else's lonely
but you see that **** nearly destroyed me and my happy
so now I think my happiness is afraid of me-
and I think I'm afraid of my happy...
Because without my sadness and this pain in my gut
that causes me to sit here and have to explain to you
that I can't make this **** go away-
**** even the FDA can't make this **** go away...
it keeps me thriving and hoping and clinging
to this pain in my gut and these thoughts in my head
reminding me that at any moment I can die-
wither away like I don't give a **** about my life
but what good is that
when it feels so ******* lovely to be alive?

I would like to take a paintbrush
across your eyelids and paint for you
what it is I'm going through.
Maybe take a picture so you can remember
this battle I face everyday
as the emotions I posses weigh you down
and as the words "this is too much for me to deal with"
leave your lips and you wish you wouldn't have signed up for this-
I hope you remember what it felt like to wish you would die.
I hope you remember that everyday is a struggle for me not to-
I hope you remember loving myself isn't easy either.
I hope you remember as I carry the weight on my shoulders
the burdens you carry on yours
that my life isn't a cake walk
it's more like walking on a gravel road barefoot
and although I may not suffer as much as most
that doesn't ******* mean I don't suffer.
I have spent most of my life cradling the idea of betterment
in my arms and making sure the people around me were safe-
I have spent too many years-
taking care of who should be taking care of me.
Now it's my turn to take care of me-
So don't you dare ******* say, I'm not trying.

desired.
all I want is to feel like
someone wants to feel my hands
grip at the edge of sensuality
but the echos are no more
and the only time
my body feels wanted
is when I think back
to the darker times
when I didn't want to be wanted.
But now that I do
the feelings will never be reciprocated.
Jaded, I will always be.
Fading into the background-
just pictures and ones out of your reach
is the only sense of sexuality you seek-
perfection isn't me, nor will it ever be.
I just want you to want me
but I guess that can't be...
standards too high for you
memories too strong for me
what does it feel like to be happy?

comprehension isn't in your bloodstream you are too busy apprehending these repressive tendencies. Everything is messy lately, and I can't seem to see things clearly. This can't make sense to anyone but me- and it never will. Memories are isolated events. My trauma is a movie only I have seen but everyone tries to write the review of. I'm tired of this being a competition. Like whoever has the most ****** up life wins in this potato sack race to the finish line- I'm far from fine I'm two steps back and trailing even farther behind. Everyone seemed to have had some kind of advantages, these genetics were defective for me, my motor skills and processing delayed and defective see I can seem speak on these things too clearly. Mumbling at the mouth of memory and retention, I'm trying to articulate what's piled on top of my heavy heart and this chest full of weight and ***** slate and angst. I'm having trouble marking the place on his face. I'm having trouble marking the place where I laid, where he laid, where I can find peace. I'm having trouble not having trouble. I'm alone in my struggle too. No one knows you better than you, but no one knows me like I know me and it seems this is factually accurate from an everyone standpoint. Am I okay anymore? Or is this void the only voice I will hear when I am being called back to sleep. Where will these secrets always be kept? Inside of the locks behind my retinas, who the **** forgot the combination to the safe. That would be me.

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.

When  was young, my first word was "Momma"
because I was always reaching out for someone who was never there.
Always a little bit too infatuated with her occupation
and her husband was always too in love with the bottle
maybe that's why my second word was "doggie" instead of "daddy"
because a dog brought me more emotional security-
spent too much time trying to drink away the long work hours
and not enough time trying not to break our spirits
like the empty miller lite bottles thrown at walls and faces-
When I was seven, I first discovered ***.
A man placed his hands where he shouldn't have
and then a year later a girl did the same thing
so by nine I was feeling the urge to fornicate with everything
because I thought that intimacy was normalcy
and I could give myself to anyone who would take me.
But I was nine, so no one would take me-
and I was terrified of any arms that tried to hold me,
and I thank someone, whoever is out there, for that everyday.
By thirteen the crosses I bared began crawling their way
out of my spine and into my lungs making it hard to speak
and then into the back of my mind so I couldn't think
no more denial, or lost memory, I saw it all so ******* clearly-
The hands that turned me futile tried to end my life once
but they used me as a host
tried to **** whatever was making me sad
a bottle of vicodin down the hatch to drown the memories
that I could never ******* get away from-
Darkness.
When I was fourteen my savior became poisoned by circumstance
the edge of the hands I used to grip when I was young
turned cold and the face I had grown to admire looked sickly.
These crosses I bared didn't win, but they didn't lose.
They continued demanding refuge
and the memories kept demanding to be heard
and the denial of my grandma having cancer grew stronger-
then he moved in.
And I'm not talking about grief, although the names sound similar.
I was weak.
Prone to the demons I had been hiding-
had to face the man that took away my sanity, my sexuality
every single ******* day.
So these razor blades became a paintbrush and my body the canvas
and every time I took it to my skin I would call it a masterpiece.
At some point, around the time my mom starting listening
she heard me crying out to the demons I spent my days fighting-
Around that same time my grandmother died.
So my weakness became strength and her strength withered
and she tried to drown her pain in a bottle of morphine.
9:25 am. "ring" "ring" "ring"
hello? mom? where are you? A mental hospital?
The words "I could've tried harder" keep repeating in my mind
and kept taunting and nagging at my skin
telling me to paint one more ******* time
to make something so beautiful out of all of this ******* mess-
So I picked up a pen again. Started writing.
I was about 17 when things started getting better,
met a boy who smiled at me like I was ******* God
and found hope in the curve of his spine and the whites of his eyes.
But I wasn't looking for an escape again
and I knew that's just what he would be.
Falling victim to the hands that have seen better days
and the eyes that only needed someone to say,
"I am here for you." something I didn't want to lose.
Now I'm almost 20 and these recollections feel just like stories-
the control they once had over my mind has diminished
somewhere between the bottle masking my pain
and the friends who listened when I spoke
I ended up seeing the sunshine for the very first time
and ******* it was beautiful.

Pull your hair out, pull your ******* hair out.
Punch yourself in the face you ******* deserve it.
Can't breathe again.
Weights pressing down on your chest.
**** not again, no not again.
Gonna say something you regret-
Don't ******* text him, don't do it.
******* did it.
Great, now your relationship will probably be over.
Everything feels over, everything is ending.
I want everything to end...

The tears stream down my face
the lungs I use to breathe are the only things holding me back
these hands I use to write are gripping the pavement again
because I don't think I've ever felt so low.
But just yesterday I was on such an endorphin high
I was running in the rain until my socks were
just puddles below my feet
the sky was just an outline of the child I used to be
and now everything feels so ******* temporary-
you can't catch your breath long enough to tell yourself
everything will be okay and somehow earlier today
you were doing just fine.
But these hand clutch your skull again
as you pull your hair-
hoping you are ripped to shreds
because you are trapped inside yourself
a prisoner of your own body and it will never leave
everyday you fight harder to survive
but it seems like each ******* episode gets worse.
Every mistake makes you feel worse-
every mis-autocorrected word on your phone is like
someone punching you in the throat
and you somehow let that control you and you breakdown-
throw your phone and it crashes at the wall again.
You hate yourself for these things you can't control.
Everyday is a battle you can't win
and everything falls to the ground again-
including yourself.
There is a city upon your shoulders now
and it seems your mind is only building it even higher-
you wished you could throw it off but it's getting too heavy now.
All you can do is sit and wait for it to crush you from the inside out-
slowing breaking you down one missed phone call
and un-replied text message at a time
you are breaking down.
All the help you once searched for has gone out of business
and the man on the inside ran away because it was too much to handle-
you've always been to much to handle.
But those days when everything seems wonderful come-
those days when the hands you possess seem like shooting stars
making your every wish come true again-
you are invincible.
Nights spent laughing at four walls encased with your sense of humor
and indulging yourself because everything seems so good again.
But you remember this won't last too long and your back-
back to agitation inside your bones and the war inside your head,
city on your shoulders you are crushed under the weight.

Some days it feels as if all I need is myself to make me happy-
some days it's this same self that brings me so much misery.
Other days I'm just myself, getting by like everyone else.
Then on the worst days, they all hold hands and become friends
they all form a clique and I become a target for misplaced aggression.
My manic depression is a bully, 6pm traffic jams-
and spills on your new t-shirt.
My manic depression is a sugar high, 3pm mid day naps
and waking up just in time for McDonald's breakfast.  
My manic depressions is nirvana and insanity
it holds my hand across busy streets-
but will also never let go of me.

I want to trace sonnets into your fingertips,
because it's like poetry when you touch me.
I will let your smile be a blueprint
for the outlines of my heavy heart
so you know exactly what's been broken from those before you
so you know just what only you can rebuild.
I want to watch our world burn
and then rise again from the ashes at our feet
making rose gardens and hydrangeas out of the rubble
until the world that was once just ash and dust
becomes forests, fields and valleys of what can be-
I want to grow with you.

I spend so much time telling myself not to break
I forget to acknowledge the fact-
I'm already ******* broken.
The pieces of me are spread out
amongst the hearts I've ripped to pieces
not realizing because the bottle
masked any emotion I thought I had.
It ***** listening to the stories of her
how highly you think of someone
who tore apart your heart-
I guess just like I did
and maybe that's why I hate her
maybe because I actually hate what I did to you...
But still hearing her ******* name makes me cringe
because you were the first person I actually opened up to
and **** I ******* cared for you.
If you think for a second that I didn't
then good, that's exactly what I wanted back then.
But now, I wish I could've let you know
it was never you-
the reason that I ran
It was insecurity and low self worth
that sent me running far from what I wanted all along.

I gave love a chance again,
because I didn't wanna **** up
the way I so royally did with you.
I know you never loved me
not like you thought you did at least
and you never fell for me exactly
just the mere idea of who you thought I was.
But I am damaged-
and I would have destroyed you
every single thing you gave,
because that's what I did then.

But because of you
I found great love
and opened up in ways
I never thought I would.
I learned to love myself
after I lost you.
My days are spent loving someone
in a way I never thought was even possible.
I never want this feeling to end,
and god I hope you get what you deserve.
You deserve so much.
Find it, and never let it go-
I know **** well I won't make that mistake again
I will love until I can no longer take it anymore-
It's an addiction, and ironically a cure.

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.

I wanted to write about how the curve of your smile made me tense inside, the way his harsh words echoed inside my memory. But the only thing I could seem to muster up the courage to write were things that were vague and dishonest.
I shelf my feelings for the sake of becoming someone else. For the sake that some day I will be worth something, to someone- anyone at all. You spoke your words to me and I listened to them like a poet, unsymmetrical and all relating. I felt dead again.
My heart had trouble calming that night as I danced your words around the edges of my mind, back and forth and over again hoping to hear from you. Hoping to understand this language in your mind that I don't seem to comprehend too well. You're often not too english. More so metaphors and undertones of sarcasm. Of off handed remarks and cynicism. I can never read you.
I want to blame it all on you. That the hurt that lies within my heart is all because of you, but the blame is on me. Though I am not the only innocent one. Your words a thousand scars upon me. Your words a skipped disk stuck in the CD slot, constantly reiterating in my mind. I don't know how to read you anymore.
You were once the person that held all my secrets like they were gold and you let me understand things in ways no one else did. You just listened- but now I realized you were just awaiting the moment at the bridge of my words to jump off. Onto something more fruitful that was to your liking. I've never felt good enough.
So I take the long distance road maps to destinations I haven't seen and I look at every option before I decide to travel again. You were the road less traveled. You were the cornerstone of every decision I had made. The land-mine for my insecurities. I let you trip me up. I didn't even try to catch myself. I let you trip me up- somehow I'm still falling.
Still awaiting at the foot of your words and the edge of your thoughts for something, anything to guide me home again. I feel lost inside your love. The distant river has overflown and I've forgotten how to swim again.

I strive for any sense of sanity my body has left
and you could inject lithium into my bloodstream
all you wanted but that will never take away
the stream of conscious to which I face every **** day.
And I speak these words in a volume only sincere ears
could hone into and leech off of for their own sanity,
but things are never that easy.
Affirmation is like a drug and sanity like a ghost
you get addicted to those things in which
we are not usually accustomed to
that sincerity so comforting it's hard to let go.
Most people do drugs to forget,
but ******* with you,
I want to remember every single moment-
harness it inside my memory and save it as draft
so I can post it to my retinas later that night
when I'm loosing sleep because I cannot rid of the ghosts
I've spent both my night and day fighting off.

I want to crash and burn
I want to live a life like all the crazy poets
and authors and writers that never held dear to their sanity
they embraced their madness and embarked on a journey
throwing away any sense of normalcy they had.

But maybe, I should do as you say
or do as my father says-
ya know,  just deal with my problems on my own.
It's kind of crazy because you both say the same thing
which leads me to believe that women do end up
marrying their fathers which I fear-
more than any other obstacle in my life
because my broken wings were built upon my fathers shoulders
and upon mine is more weight than I can carry,
So i'm sorry you've become a muse for my misplaced sanity
and a drawing board for my dilemmas
but baby, you have not seen dramatic.
Not from me at least and it's not safe for me
to hide this part of myself away from you..
But it's like you want me to.
And one day, oh god one day
I will crack under the pressure placed upon these shoulders
and try to fly with these broken wings
and I will crash and burn like alll those people
and it's then I will realize
that hiding away this part of myself
in spite of everything I know,
will be the best and the worst thing I've ever done.

and I'm so ******* tired,
that tired isn't even the word to describe it,
more like futile or unavailing because
I hide away parts of myself for the ones I love
and they itch to come at the surface like a growing tick
ready to explode distracted by euphoria filling it's stomach.
I am not okay, and I'm kind of tired of acting like it.
I am a ticking time bomb
ready to blow your ******* head off at any second
one you will never be able to disable-
and this, this is manic depression.
I wish it was as beautiful as Hendrix made it seem.

There is no hope for this sanity I spend my days divulging in.
I dive and dig and burrow my way through these sands of time
trying to find a mind my body would work well with
but these days, these days are numbered
and my life is a leap year.
It's February again and I am cold on the inside,
but it's actually July and it's hot outside
but my mind can't tell the difference.
My body is indulging in the solitude of snow and darkness and winter.
Whether or not my body knows that the days mesh together
and the weather doesn't exactly make you feel invincible
well the verdict is still out.
The cold makes me feel invisible and the heat makes me melt
my mind is on thin ice and mother nature knows more about me
than my own mother.
I am in love with the idea of belonging to no one
and never owning a calendar because these years
they all blend together in the end
and you end up trapped under 50 feet of snow
and debt and diapers and divorce papers.
Nothing is set in stone
and these hands on the clock you spend your days watching
are just fixed elements in your subconscious
making it feel like you have your life together
when in reality, you don't and never will.
This life is calendar year and our days are numbered
365 days until you realize you spent another year
watching a clock that ticks for you and a billion other people.
But when will you stop and realize, the stars are watching
and they never skip a beat.
And somehow this earth still turns slowly
even when yours feels like it's weighing down on your chest
and you can't breathe because it's too cold
and you can't run because you can't feel your feet
so you're stuck there wishing
that you remembered what summer felt like,
it's just another calendar year
and your car door is frozen shut again,
and you're already late for work.
and it's just another calendar year.

I'm in love with the idea of belonging to no one
but I'm in love with belonging to nothing instead.
It's just another calendar year
and I'm not going to waste it wishing for a sunshine
that won't be coming anytime soon.
The weather is bi-polar, as am I.
So I appreciate the change-
because I can finally relate to something
when everyone else is stuck wishing for the sun.

I look up at the stars and realize-
we're all in different timezones
but we all share the same sky.

I'm coughing up my lungs again,
smoking cigarettes I never had any intention of starting.
This isolation becomes inhalation
but it seems I cannot breath anymore.

Constantly searching for satisfaction I will never find
because it is found inside of things
I do not trust myself enough to keep
somehow I ruin everything.

Shallow tendencies weighing heavy inside of me
I guess I prefer semblance over substance.
So here I go again, locked inside an idea
rather than an entity.

I don't trust myself with sincerity-
too wrapped up inside attention
to be able to hold on to anything.

Carrying love would be too much.
I would crush the weight of it in my palms-
ash it like one of my cigarettes.

It would disappear every time I inhale.
It would disappear every time anyone got too close.

So I do not let them,
I tremble inside walls
and long hours
and become nothing
because that is what is expected of me.

Maybe I will gain the courage
by seeking someone that doesn't scare me so much.
Or maybe I just like the rush.

Stuck in an endless cycle of wanting love
and being scared of what it does to me.

So I **** down another cigarette
knowing this smell will stay with me.

Knowing this is as close to commitment as I will ever get.

You spend
most of your nights
missing her.

You steady your walk-
forcing yourself
towards a double bed
you no longer find comfort in.

The floor wraps it's
fibers around your feet
and you cling to the carpet.

It smells new like-
this isn't a house you've
spent most of your life
buried in.

Move away.

Remind yourself
what freedom feels like.
Be up early to admire
the dew again.

Let it seep
through your bones.

Soak inside of it
like moisture is your head's
only ticket to closure.

You think of her again.

Break the blades of grass
between your fingers
and convince yourself
you and precipitation
have something in common-

these tears they contribute
to your growth.  

Wake up.

Pay attention to
the fact you lived.
Don't be mad she didn't

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.

I can't breathe
The darkness doesn't pull me in anymore.
My body is too used to this lack of lighting inside of my life.
Everything is not what it once was
and I'm trying to wrap my mind around the idea of night-
how it is a solace to me
sleep being my only form of therapy now.
It seems as if it has been ripped out from under me by my own sanity.
This is the cruelest fate, yet again.
Always my own worst enemy,
creating problems for myself even on a strictly unconscious level.
The dark has never been a friend to me.
Let me sleep.
I mutter the words over and over and over again but I still lay awake.
Still try to exhaust my brain so it will shut off-
but my eyes don't want to shut anymore.
My mind does not want complacency anymore-
I am breaking at the seems
and it seems I am the only one who is the blame for this madness inside of my mind
because I'm honestly ******* losing it.
Deprive me of oxygen
so maybe I'll rest.
But their ain't no rest for the wicked
I guess that makes me ******* evil.

These hallowed halls remind me of myself-
the way I would attempt
to see the sunlight on days
there was nothing but darkness.

I'm always writing about
how I can't breathe.
It would be nice to know
what oxygen feels like,
what living before you feels like.
But I do not live in that world-
not anymore.

You reside in the skin under my nails
and the corners of my eyelids.
Buried beneath these things
I will never notice-
but utilizing a place so important.
Nothing kept me going
not the sun or the stars
or even the idea that love exists.
Nothing has.
It only hinders my progress-
people like to run away
return their investment
for something they bought prior
or for something that seems so much better.
No one wants damaged goods.
No one sees the potential they have
to become your favorite thing.

You ruined my life,
and continue to.
Every time you are far behind me
you catch a flight and find me again.
You are the reason I cannot breathe correctly-
or love enough, or trust in someone.
You are the reason I cling to what's terrible for me.
I wish all of this was an over exaggeration for art.
I wish this wasn't my truth.
But it is.
I have to deal with it-
I wish you did too...

This time of year always breaks me again.
Skipping over these days would help me breathe
but theres no livelihood inside of me
only misandry and misery.

Just know that you have ruined me-
know you have succeeded.
Lastly, you won't find me where I'm going
so don't even try to look.

This form of appreciation only comes in zeros-
but the well has ran dry
and I have left empty handed.
how do I show people
the only thing I've known
when I lost it all so long ago?

Dimes have turned to
my only form of decency
and my love only comes in currency-
how did I grow this way
following the footsteps
of a man who did the same

Why was love never my forte?
Why does it cost me everything?
and leave me broken,
fixated on reciprocation
no one knows the name of.

Struggling behind the self worth
of a coward.
He raised the stakes
And now I make his mistakes
and continue to pay the price.

Put a dollar sign on happiness
I'll buy it till I'm broke
I've done it all my life anyway.
I'm sorry
I'm not so good with words-
or feelings.
I'll pay the amount
everyone is dishing
in hopes to clear my conscious-
In hopes to show my hand.

Truth only comes in the evening for me
Anything else is found
inside a carbon copied smile
and the flick of a wrist.

I work hard to make a living
but it just ends up falling
in the place of loving.
I wish someone taught me
money doesn't buy the kind of things I want.
I guess I'll have to keep learning.

I worry I will never be okay enough to survive.
each step in this life leads me into more trauma
and I am collapsing inside the hands of tragedy.

here I am hiccuping between breaths
and hoping for a hint of harmony-
but my diaphragm won't let me feel it.

everything hurts today
and I am choking on promises
I never got the chance to make.

my therapist tells me it's okay to grieve
the things you never got a chance to have.

well then I will spend most of my life
forgiving everyone for what they never gave me.

I will sit wrapped inside this idea of a happy family
or this idea of monotony and normalcy
or this idea of a friend who doesn't try to take advantage of me
or abuse me, I am exhausted thinking about where I have been.

when will my limbs be enough to pull me up-
when will I be strong enough?

everyone is so quick to let me down
but how can they carry me with this spine
full of trauma, this darkness that weighs on me?

I have been my own backbone for 23 years,
so why can't I do it anymore?

What does stability look like?
Does it have a face that resembles mine?
Will I ever get a chance to know her?
Or is survival the only face I recognize anymore?

When will it turn survivor?

I wrote you notes in high school
and we talked about our future.

I always thought my depression would **** me first-
but at least I know now how badly it would've hurt you.

A car wreck broke my chest
and I'm left here picking up the pieces.

Somehow a death has kept me from leaving.

I told myself I wouldn't write for an entire month,
but as my anxiety attack of a mindset
blended with my desire to fly
I realized I was driving with the windows down
when the rain outside was pouring down my arm,
making a puddle at the thigh of my pants.
I had never once felt bliss like this.
The night sky kissed my open wounds
like mother nature was trying to let me know
everything will be okay.
I was told that I was nothing,
spat to the ground as the words left your lips
and you took a drag from that cigarette
you've been trying to quit for months now.
So I realize you are weak,
clinging to the addictions you cannot escape from
and I'm not talking about the cigarette stained teeth
or the coffee smeared t shirt..
You are self-destructive.
just as quick as 3-2-1
you explode your insecurities onto others
and I will no longer let that be me.

I fell in love once and didn't know it.
The eyes I saw the world from were blinded
by your keen distaste for life
and your knack for self-righteous cynicism
I grew up thinking love was just a myth
and no one, not even me was worthy of it
Then someone made me realize that the life I lived
was the one that made me who I was-
which was someone worthy of love.

So as I drove with the windows down
and rain pouring on my cheeks,
I realized this is manic if I had an explanation for it.
Then I smiled and realized
this is the closest I've ever felt to flying
and ******* I don't ever wanna come down.
So let me lift myself up until I can no longer
remember what it feels like to be grounded,
where all the logic is nonexistent
where I can learn to love myself again.  
That's where I was, that's where I'll always be
the day I picked back up my pen.

1) I still have not erased the imprints your hands left all over me. These days are numbered, just like the times you tried to ruin me. I've stopped counting on you to let me down again. I've stopped counting period.
2) I compare every single guy I meet to you, so far I'm doing my best at avoidance. So far none of them have made my stomach scream outside of my throat when they kiss me.
3) These pills are taken because I want to get better now, not because I don't. Milligrams don't always equate to death. I'm learning the language of recovery and self-discovery from a bottle and a progress book.
4) I can't see your face behind me when I'm naked inside the mirror, or under the sheets of ****** desire, I do not find you there anymore.
5) You do not control me- the reigns have loosened and your voice no longer lingers upon my tongue. I am no longer afraid of big crowds without alcohol. I am my own form of stability and sobriety.
6) This face does not need to be masked by propaganda in order to leave my bedroom, confidence has accumulated into my conscious now and there is no room for criticism.
7) You have left me for dead, just weeds upon an empty field- you made me feel as if my existence was a nuisance, like it was too minute to even recognize fully. But I will not let you be my deforestation, I have spent too much time growing these roots in a place where I will flourish- you will not be my wildfire, landslide or any form of natural disaster. You are a single raindrop at best.
8) *******.
9) *******.
10) You don't even deserve to know I'm better than what you did to me. But you need to know that when my father objectifies women, it cuts a knife deep into my spine that makes me slouch a little more and when other men do the same- it makes me stand up straight again. We are not a product of those who make us, we are just a result. But with repetition those results can change. All of us are theories, not to be proven. Always changing, collecting new data. Ready to be disproven. So test yourself, push your own boundaries and don't be afraid of change.

I got out of the box someone else put my innocence in- I found my way back to it time and time again but I realized it was only to get back what I had lost. Only to find that the box was empty, only to realize they never really had a hold on me. It was just a theory, you are just a theory.

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.