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

I hope the memory of you fades away eventually
but as I am laying in bed instead of counting sheep
I count the reasons you should be with me-
I count the things you do that reminds you of me
the traces I have left behind in your mind.
My eyes close.
1- I hope every time you play Mortal Kombat
you remember I was the one who convinced you to buy it.
and every time you lose you remember I was better then you.
2- Every song on the radio has my name etched in the background
and that saxophone solo you like so much spells out my name
in the crescendos as if it was the same tone of my ******.
3- When you lay awake at night stressing about work in the morning
as you're still high from the hits you take before laying down,
I hope you reach next to you in hopes to find my outline there-
I also hope you don't find it.  
4- in this journey of yours to find yourself again you are reminded it would've been better with me there, rooting you on with every single thing you accomplish.
5- I hope you lay awake at nice missing my voice telling you goodnight and missing my lips as they kiss you to sleep.
6-  I hope you remember I was your greatest lullaby and that you never slept as soundly as you did with me next to you.
7- and that all your ******* exes were just reminders of how much better you had it with me.
8- how you actually had something with me and not just an imaginary preconceived love you didn't have to put any effort into.
9- that you realize I wasn't something you actually did put a lot of effort into.
10- I am falling asleep finally as the anxiety fades from my memory and I remember I love having my bed to myself and not having to worry if you're thinking of me.

1- I roll over and the bear you bought me for christmas speaks to me in a voice I hardly remember. "I love you Amanda"
2- I'm half sleepy and I smile as the thought of you kissing my back and telling me goodnight creeps its way into my mind.
3- Loving you became the only thing I wanted to do right, everything else was just background music.
4- Loving you became the only thing I wanted to do right, but you thought you only did wrong so I became background music.
5- I am having anxiety again as the thought of you clouds my judgment and I begin to stop breathing again.
6- I can't see the figures in front of me or the images on the tv screen I am low again.
7- pacing back and forth in my room trying not ***** the thoughts of you out of my mind, get out of my mind.
8- I look in the mirror and realize this is what you did to me.
9- I was a frail excuse for a women, just longing for the same admiration I gave. I loved you differently than you loved me.
10- we never loved each other in the way we needed. I always felt like I loved you a little more. Like I was a little too much and you were never enough and that these hands could only grip yours in a certain way or would pull back and just put them in your pockets.
10- I hope you find me in those pockets and when your hands get sore from working too much that you remember I never made you work so much for this your hands hurt. I made you better. I made you worse.
10- I am cradled on the floor now hoping to find you there, but you're not.
10- I wonder how this is any different than when we were together.
10- I find myself repeating the same mistakes over and over again.
10- I just want to sleep. So instead of thinking of you, I start to count sheep and I realize those sheep were your disguise all along.
I am done letting the thoughts of you control me
we're not together-
and it makes me realize everything I've sacrificed for you.
I try to count sheep again.
but there aren't any left.

Little control is had nowadays
and my head is the only thing moving.
The transient state of mind
leaves me motionless again.
Constantly trying to rid of these thoughts-
but the mocking in my eye reminds me they live.
The pangs in my chest remind me they mourn
and the pains in my head tell me they're here.
Waking is the hardest part
because you wished it a dream.
These steady hands and clear thoughts
were only for a short moment
before they were pinned to your neck again.
Taking something with you
that does not want to stay.
Fighting the refuge demanded in your chest
the way it itches it's way out
too much desire to be felt.
You can learn yourself well-
all too much can be an ache of the withdrawn
and you can teach yourself to be better.
That's what they tell me
behind soft words and vacant empathy
they try to convince me of this pain
try to learn it themselves and map ways through my mind
like it's a shortcut I've never really paid attention to.
But there are no secret pathways here
no ancient secrets of the unknown
Walking this cobble road has become
my sanctuary, I know it all too well.
Feed the lines in your head with the lies
they spill upon tv screens and convince me
over and over again that this hidden agenda
behind my eyelids is not masking some sort of pain.
They pray on the weak but that is not me
no I will not let them win they will not defeat me.
The jolting of my mind awakens me
coming to terms with my reality, I smile.
Knowing the only control I had were in dreams-
painting clarity on the background of each scenario.
It seems I have awakened. It seems I can be in control.
Only for a moment. Only with my eyes closed.

I have grown too attached again
stuck inside of this dark place
I cannot seem to rid of-
it provides too much comfort for my insides.
My head repeats the devastation-
so I cling to the only thing I seem to know
the only thing that can help me breath.

I'm asleep-
but it seems these dreams get the best of me again
so I'm locked inside of this bed
it has me like a cage
and it seems I am drowning in bed sheets,
falling in love with this comfort zone
and hating what's outside of it.

Do not make me move-
I like it here too much.
It holds every inch of me
and keeps all my secrets safe.
It promises me it will be here
when I need it and it never lets me down.
I weep inside my pillow
and my insides are found here again.

Waking up to a new day
just wishing I didn't have to leave.
These bedsheets tangle me
and make promises always kept.
and I was never a promise that's been kept.

You work until your hands are sore,
and I am such a sore loser.
Competition is my second nature-
but I'm not fond of comparison.

I work until my mind is sore,
and we have that factor in common.
Awaiting the moment until
we can make sense of commodity.
Awaiting the moment until
we can breathe again.

I'm always writing the same things-
and for the first time
someone has made me speechless
the lining of my mouth
has been worn thin before.

But now I am building back strength,
my tongue no longer
gets stuck in my throat
I don't choke on my words anymore
my freedom of speech
comes with peace of mind
and I am able to withstand
the feelings as they come.

And we come.

and we love.

and we ****.

It feels like a waltz in my head,
the smooth jazz plays in the background
of your embrace.
I see nothing but silence when I kiss you.
The breeze runs through my thoughts
and all I ever hear is music.

And music is the only thing comparative
to this novel we are writing together
because it's not just a story between us.
It's well-versed and natural
it comes to us like routine
like years have been spent
practicing and rehearsing this love
but it's only been the hook.

Piano plays.
I smile again
and hear it in my dreams.
You were there once
dancing around my insecurities
and making dust out of all the pain.

Now you've
manifested into this life
and it doesn't feel like just mine anymore-
but ours.

The smile on my face hasn't left.
not since you've come around-
not since we basked under
architecture older than us.  
Not since we danced under-
timid lights
with the soft hint of *****
moving us across tile floor.

you are amor-
and everyday since I found you
has been bliss
and elation.

You saved me,
and continue to everyday since.
You work until your hands are sore,
but you still find time to hold me.
Competition is my second nature-
seems I've won.

I'm tired of being empty bottles
and filled spaces there for your temporary usage.
I never stand too firmly on the ground
because the other foot awaits cautiously
for my next wrong move.
Even when I think I do everything right
somehow I end up breaking the empty bottles
and filling the space thats supposed to be sacred.
All I ever wanted to do was make someone else happy-
but I suppose I'm better off alone.
So take this as my open-ended apology letter
and feel free to walk away
because I am, for the last time-
for good.
Never again.

What the **** am I doing with my life? A question I don't think I ponder enough. Whenever this question arises I simply reply to myself. "I don't ******* know?" and continue on with my day not thinking about it again until my broken record of a mind wants to stick on that subject for hours on end, making me replay every decision I've made up until this point and oh ****... am I ******* failure? I have no clue what I want to do with the rest of my life, what if I wanna have kids or get married or be successful? WHAT THE **** AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE. "I don't ******* know" and I think thats ******* okay because **** I am only 19 and I'm not like Ted Mosby who thinks he has to be married by thirty.... ****, do I even wanna get married? The only thing I'm sure of in my life that stays is this pen and this page, these fingers and this rage and this insane desire to eat bacon at least once a day. I am ******, but I mean that's okay because I'm doing my thing, working it all out as I go. I am inconsistent and I change my mind more than most new parents change diapers, or housing, or credit cards when trying to pay for their groceries. I will never stay the same and that's one thing I can say for sure won't change. I'm okay, and I may not know what I want to do with my life but there's time for that. I have more walls to punch holes into, more nights to spend drunken slurring more secrets than I care to recollect, and even more nights spent alone crying into my pillow wondering why the **** no one treats me with the same decency I treat them. I guess this is growing up and **** I think Blink 182 depicted it better.

Sacrifice yourself for the ones you love
for they will only stay long enough to see progress
and as soon as the shade becomes your eyesight
you cannot find anyone else here in the dark.
Everyone is too busy trying to find
that light that was once inside of you
but it's not there anymore-
it was burnt out but those who said they cared
when they were only harnessing that glow to use to their advantage
all in order to see things better
and now all you're left with is this darkness.
No windows with the sunrise to peek through
because no one seems to be able to see through you anymore.
No phone to use to guide you
because people stopped reaching out a long time ago
so you figured you no longer needed to hear the silence
that clings to you like dust
like dog hair on your black pants
and there's no lint roller strong enough to keep it off
so it stays and you keep looking at it
wishing you didn't get yourself into this mess
but at the time it seemed like such a good idea.

You break once because of someone
they will break you again
and this is the one thing life has taught me.
People will hurt you-
they will lead you in with intentions of change
and then proceed to ask you for some money
because they know the change was never there in the first place.
I wish you still didn't owe me money
and I am picking pieces of myself to give to you
in hopes you will see how much of me you've torn apart.
I'm standing here with my heart in my hand again-
looking at myself in the mirror
wondering why I so badly want everything to end
wondering why it always comes back to this
and the cycle keeps continuing until I am nothing.
I guess we are doomed to repeat our past
because this feels a lot like when I was a kid
and I had to pass out or fake sick for attention
but I don't have to fake these things anymore-
they happen to me now anyway
and I guess this is just my sick twisted fate.
Karma came back around and now she's looking for a fight
she's already won round one
I guess she's looking for the belt.
Take it-
it will only end up around my neck anyway.

You were my serendipity-
but turned into my catastrophe.
Found you when I wasn't looking
but now I see where that left me.
You were modest in nature,
I was always running with the wolves
but even with my instincts-
you still somehow ruined me.
Never saw it coming-
like how I just stopped rhyming.
Never saw it coming-
no such thing as perfect timing.
You were my sweet serendipity
nothing will ever hurt me like you.
Inconsistent stature-
you were my natural disaster.

I'm drying my face with a hand towel
The smell of you fills my nostrils
And I'm back in the basement again.
Not 21 drunk in her boyfriend's bathroom
But 7, alone in a musty basement.
7, alone in your room.
The smell takes me over
and I have to pretend I can function again.
Pretend the look on my face is only from exhaustion.
That wouldn't be a lie.
Your image in my mind makes me grow tired
and sleep isn't enough to cure this kind of immensity.
Inhaling through my nose
And exhaling from my mouth
I continue to breath you in.
Washing the impurities from my face
while I let you infect my body,
my mind and my entire being.
I must keep it together
Cannot break, you don't deserve this type of power.
My face is dry, so is my pride
I'm tired of wringing the despair out of my bones
and letting it soak-
only to grow roots beneath my feet
and vines on the backbone I have molded for myself
Out of tragedy and abuse and sheet metal
too hard to sink your empathy through.
But enough to let you sink your teeth into.
Break me from memory
rebuild me from the times
you have tried to smother my willpower.
You cannot do this to me anymore

I remove the towel from my face
Look at the person standing before me
Built from nothing but her own struggle.
Rising from the ashes like all the times before.
You are the only form of soldier
a uniform like your smile can wear today.
Give yourself a Purple Heart
you've fought this battle and deserve some honor.
Bruised you may be,
purple has always been your color.
Tragedy has always looked so **** good on you.

I try to remember the good times, but they are written out in brail and I've never been taught how to read anything but the outline of your shadow. You were never there. Even at times when you would convince yourself you were, you were just a shadow. Painting your way into my life one postcard at a time, one sealed letter and three words at a time. I was never really meant to be anything but lost inside these wounds the world has left upon my skin and inside my memory. I am a tree trunk, and you can see the hell I've faced just by looking at me and if you were to chop me down and open me up you would see the hollowed out pieces and the places where I couldn't seem to stand any longer. I am infested with bugs that are eating away at my insides and they're all named memory, anxiety, depression, and insecurity and somehow no one ever called to help me. No one cared if I lived or died they were just waiting for me to rot from the inside out so they could make room for something they thought was better. But what people never realized was that I was what kept you breathing, I was what made your scenery so ******* beautiful and you watch as I break down and rot away from the inside out. I wish people could see the destruction underneath. As my leaves fall away and the cold days speed up my process I hope you will remember, all my beauty and my glory. Insecurity is getting stronger as I become weaker, depression is like the cold crisp and it's weighing upon me like a chill I can't quite escape from, no matter how many layers I seem to have. Anxiety is like the lack of water and all you can seem to do is show people that you're thirsty but everyone around you is too busy taking ******* pictures of your pain while drinking away their sorrows in 40s and ***** bottles when all you really need some ******* water.. So memory comes along and reminds you why you needed it in the first place, reminds you how ******* thirsty you are, reminds you everyday that you're rotting away on the inside and there's nothing you can do to stop it..
I'm thirsty, longing to fill that empty hole inside my chest that just keeps getting bigger as the days get longer and all I want is for someone to lend me a hand but as they reach out to grasp mine, I break.
I want to stop the process but I don't know how-
I'm afraid of my own shadow again, because it reminds me of what I've lost.

When the internet became prevalent
I was enthralled by it-
curious as to what life had to offer
and how everything fit into one box
a ****-load of information in one place
a journey to discovery I never had before
except in books and news stories.
I always stayed up late on my dad's computer
tower below me-
humming, humming as I swayed feet
dangling from the computer chair
I was just a small child.
Age 8-
browsing something called a history
it showed me everything my father did.
I wanted him to be proud of me
so I tried to mock his interests
until I found his ****.
"BIG ***** BLONDES"
"*** GUZZLING *****"
My eyes widened-
I was going to throw up.
I regurgitated the anxiety of my life
onto the computer screen
I became entranced by discovery of the fuckery
keeping tabs on the tabs he had opened.
Age 10-
found my dad was on a dating website for hookups
found his ***** emails to other women
and more ****-
that he paid for.
Building up ammo to throw in his face
until I was awake middle of the night
saw it right in front of mine.
Looking out my bedroom window
two ****** in the hot-tub
one on either side of my mother's husband-
all naked.
I shut my eyes and walked away.
Laid in bed and thought about how
my mother was asleep in the next room.
I would like to think this is the reason for my trust issues.
Why social media scares the **** out of me
because this day and age there's consistent
access to the fuckery-
a window of opportunities.  

My first boyfriend would never let me see his phone
I didn't really want to
but every time I got near it
maybe to check the time
or hand it to him when it rang
he got nervous-
conflicted and anxious.
Tore it away from my hands on multiple occasions
never thought twice,
just thought he was protective of privacy.
He was cheating on me-
with my best friend.
How cliche.

Age I don't know 16.
Met a boy who liked the same music as me-
made me laugh every time we spoke
and I felt like I could finally be myself
but he was inconsistent-
a mind-**** and would go weeks without talking to me.
Then he would treat me like I was his
and invite me out with his friends.
Drunken nights turned to early mornings
leaving and him never texting,
never calling.
It ****** with my mind
I was left confused as he flirted with other girls
on Myspace, then Facebook.
He told me liked me-
I told him I felt the same.
He got drunk-
****** someone else behind my back.
Found out from his friends.
Burnt the **** of his he left at my house.
Always inconsistent.

I had never been anyone's
they always leave when the title becomes me
or they always end up leaving me for another.
I'd like to think that's where my insecurity lies.
Never really been the kind of girl guys like to date-
afraid of commitment even after spending a year with someone
He ****** me-
over, up and good.
He broke my heart too-
didn't even leave me for someone else
he left me to become someone else
so I stood waiting to become something someone enjoyed.
It happened.
Found inconsistency again-
he also liked the same music as me
I'm starting to think that's not such a good thing.
But he showed me I needed to stop thinking so much-
stop looking too into things
and just be myself.
Anxiety wasn't a factor for me with him
only jealousy.
I didn't have to work so hard.
All that really mattered to me was me-
but the inconsistency was too much.
My inconsistency was too much.
Now I am never enough.
I'd like to blame my insecurities on all of that.
Shout at my father in the face and tell him he ruined me
found love only once and it tore me apart.
I'm trying to mend that again-
find it, harness it and be okay with it like I was once.
I'm scared to death I'll never find it again
scared to death of everyone else but myself.
I'm afraid of my own shadow again
because it reminds me of what I have lost.

most people try to convince,
an entire universe
filled with people they've never met,
and minds they've never come across
that they're someone worth looking at.

when i've been scattering my brain
and cowering in fear of my own judgment
attempting to convince myself,
i'm someone worth saving..

all things come to end,
and it's hard to convince
myself why that shouldn't mean me,
but it can and it will.
one day, someday.

i'm hoping my mind will have enough guts
to convince my heartache that this is just a phase
and that every day may seem hard
but every day can get better.
and i try to talk myself out
of what seems to weigh me down
in the first place
but all these misplaced repressive thoughts
and pent up aggression
has me wondering if it's too late,
to save me.

i've worked hard to keep everything inside
and now it wants out
and i'm not sure how to confine
my mind into a barrier
it doesn't want to be restricted to.

I am my own affliction,
my own restrictions,
i am my own painful crazy addiction,
I want to save myself,
but ******, I won't listen.

I watch as the days decay you,
as every inch closer  
makes you that much farther away.
It wasn't too easy with you
and it isn't so easy now with someone else.

The tips of your fingers were halfway out the door,
the bottom of your heels were close to the clouds
I knew you were never coming back to us.

This life is just a mis-categorized movie in a netflix cue.
Not exactly what you expected, but has some potential.

The beds where we lay our heads at night
could so soon turn into our coffins
and I often imagine a world where
stars are our only home
and death is just an alternate route back.

We cling to these feelings.
And if John Green can turn it into
something seemingly beautiful
why can't I?
Maybe because this is real life,
and this life comes with no storyline that's written
it takes more days than I have hands
and more thought than I have love in my heart
so I wonder why we find beauty in tragedy
and entertainment in things we don't suffer through.

We all feed off of the story lines and the drama,
the death and the heartbreak
because it makes it all seem interesting and worth it
when in reality,
no matter how much we say we want to be happy-
we're all just looking for a chance to feel something.

We never know the whole story-
We only see the outside
of this life we spread our minds upon
Take our hands and grasp them around anything we can reach out to.
But they always seem to slip through our fingers anyway.
Words have the power to ****
They have the power to resurrect
and save you and also leave you helpless
but the ones that puncture the worst
are your own.
Repetition inside your mind
Leads you to draw outside the lines on the skin you find yourself shadowed beneath.
Don't drown.
Come up for air sometimes.
Shed your skin and throw away the drawing pad
You don't need it anymore.
You are already a masterpiece.

I haven't wrote a poem
since I could inscribe your name
inside of the stone cold outline of my cerebellum.
My movements are etched inside these lines,
but it seems you write too much in cursive
which consists of you
interweaving your thoughts around mine.
I believe these movements are meek-
that these hands can only write for so long
before they feel as if they have said too much.
Or too much of the same thing-
I cannot wrap this head around your literature
how you walk and the way you switch pages in an instant-
I didn't even get to read you.
But this comprehension is merely subjective
when it comes to your eyes under these sheets
and these hands all over your brain
trying to rack it of what is left of us.
You speak in tongues
and run in and out of me-
but somehow I still can't hear you.
Just a soft faint whisper
behind these outlines and inside of these four walls.
You encompass me
but it seems you still haven't a clue where you're going.
Time and time again
I try to rewind these words
and read another page of your insides
only to have it ripped away from these fingers.
Now all you do is collect dust
building up these leftover skin cells
because you would rather shed yourself thin
than open up.

I haven't written a poem such as this-
since your words ripped me in two
and I had to rebind this spine of mine.
Seems I am a renewed version of myself
and still a used copy all in the same two hands.
There isn't a page missing here
but somehow they are all defiled and bent
backwards they seem, lacking uniformity
just read me-
because I need you to see me
because I need you to let me see you.

My father was always one notch on his bedpost close to hypocrisy
and my mother was a couple notches shy of getting there-
she never dabbled in multiracial relationships like my father did.
You see when I was growing up
I had a crush on the little mixed boy down the street
and I was afraid of telling anybody
but it wasn't because of his skin-
but because ew, feelings. Right?
I never saw just black and white,
skin color was never a forefront
it was all just background noise-
to me it was all just gray.
There's no handbook about who you connect with
and there's no color scheme that's gonna show you who to trust.
I realized that because before I had a boyfriend
No black people where allowed at my house
not because they didn't want me hanging out with black people-
but because they were afraid I would end up with one.
Segregation was my father's second nature
and I would like to blame it on the era he was born-
even though I'm really not so sure.
And now that I have a boyfriend everything is fine...
It's like in their mind the more melanin the more sin
I'm sorry father and mother but there is no color coordination
to this thing we call life-
I never grew up afraid of colors because I loved rainbow-
I never grew up scared of the skin that wasn't like mine
just because of all the stories these white folks like to tell-
But the funny thing is
it was a white male, and a white female that molested me....
And my parents probably would've warned me
about the mixed boy down the street-
so really? who should we be afraid of?

Everyone. Equally.

The ache inside of my heart
has become an open wound.
Everyone is staring at me
like nothing seems to be wrong.
like I can patch it up
and all is well.

But all is not well,
it never has been
not since you left.

I start to think about the cruelty of life.
How I lost two best friends
in the course of a month
one by death
and one by the pain staking
ambivalence of makeshift love.

I feel so lost and alone.

Sleeping next to someone
who is hurting too
so it feels like my hurt is less.
Not for lack of effort
but because of the thoughts
that consume this distraught mind.

I think less of myself
than others
so everyone else needs time
and I just need to **** it up.
Move on,
other people need you
more than you could ever need them

Straighten up,
strengthen that backbone
and don't let yourself wither away
inside the arms of tragedy.
This isn't what she would have wanted.

Don't give him the satisfaction
of knowing he has won
knowing he has made a mockery
of all the potential love in your life.
His tongue digs a sharp wound
inside of your back
and you're having trouble standing upright again.

You feel it every time
you try to move in the right direction
because he always used to be there
watching your back to dig in deeper.

But he does not control you anymore-
do not let him crawl inside of your mind.
Start fresh.
Renew yourself.

You are in love again
with a boy that
slowly closes that
cut down your back.
He makes it feel
like it was never there in the first place-
but you still feel the sting sometimes.

He will caress your body
and make a wrong move
so you flinch at the progress you've made.
you clench and feel as the past
has infected your entire future
but it's all inside of your head.

You have healed,
let yourself do as such.

She would not want you
wasting your time
dreading her lack of existence.
She would want you to live
and love again and again.
She would tell you to
never think of the wound again-
stand up straight
put on heels
and walk like you own the night
because you do.

And now so does she,
and all of my days
are spent wishing she would have stayed-
but life is sick that way.
Taking away your chance at redemption
by making it impossible to speak.
Stitches around your mouth
and between your fingers
because talking seems to hurt too much
and reaching out has never been
something I was good at
and now I can't.

Too worried about everyone else.
Too worried about this life
that buries itself inside of this body
and demands refuge.

I've always put others before myself-
and this is just another textbook
collecting dust
telling everyone how to fix me
no one wants to read it.
No one cares to read it
so here I am
collecting dust
withering away
from the outside in.

No one pick me up-
I'm staring a collection.

I spoke, as the words left my lips I choked.
I was drowning in my own tears
trying to keep myself afloat by telling myself to swim
but it somehow wasn't enough.

Engulfed in the flames
I had lit myself on fire just to keep this passion burning
but the flicker in the night and the sparkle in my eye
has burned out once again-
so I realize loneliness is my only friend.

I spoke, choking on the words my lips built for me
that my mind didn't have the strength to formulate
all I kept saying was no, and I couldn't breathe anymore.
My palms became like a statue-
a monument of the tragedy I had faced.
Built of stone like my current demeanor.
I spoke for the first time since you took away my voice.
Messages on Facebook encrypting sinister undertone
crawled their way into my skin and latched onto my cerebrum
and all I saw was gray, there was no black and white anymore-
the cortex turned into a vortex and my mind spun facts into theories
truth into fiction and I began to wonder if anyone would listen.

But my mother held a stone face-
though my hands were stone cold and my face sheet white
she held me like I was the only piece of artwork that ever mattered.
So I spoke, let the tears drip from my face
like I was washing away my mistakes
and everything I never had the guts to say.
The words slipped from my lips like black ice on a winter day-
the kind you stay home from school for
it was the kind of cold you never left your house for.

As I told my mother how the man who stole my voice
stole my innocence as well, she wept.
The days all started to blend together again
and once the secret I had been hiding was finally free
I wasn't sure I was worth keeping anymore.
My mother's face turned cold-
and it hasn't felt the heat since..

Soon enough we both clung to the fire in our hearts-
too passionate to let it burn out or fade away.
Though I've still been swimming in the deep end
I don't feel as if I'm drowning much anymore.
These days have become watercolors
and these nights alone have become acrylics
so I guess, I am a masterpiece
even if inside there's some tragedy.

i'm not afraid of heartbreak anymore-
if I do wind up having every inch
of my sanity taken and my heart shattered
I wouldn't blink.
Although my body would tremble
under the crippling weight
from the pressure of your absence
I would pick up my pen
and the blood pumping through my veins
would spill out before me onto a blank page
finally filled with everything I've never said to you.

You can break my heart and I won't blink.
I will harness that pain in my heart
and turn it into something beautiful and painful.
I will cry into a page left weathered with my emotions
but I will pick myself back up and realize that this is art.
You have always been my muse..
and it would be a pleasure
to have my heart broken by you.
To me, you've always been beautiful
even when you weren't on paper.

I want to feel like your warmth on my skin is enough. That every move you make is all consuming and as I wish intimacy was something I'm good at, it's not. So I sway the thoughts away in my mind like I sway my hips and I wish I could give someone some sort of bliss but the blisters on my memory keep busting and everything I never wanted to feel again pours it's way out and paints the crevices of my mind.
I want to feel special. Like every move I make is something to you. Like the waves that beg to kiss high tide like my tiger stripes beg to kiss my thighs. Maybe my mind is just poison. Maybe the pistol to my throat at a young age set in stone that I'm nothing but a grave stone amongst a growing garden of birth and new beginnings that will never be me. I am always the shell casing of who I wish to be and no matter how much I think I am pushing towards something, I am always holding myself back. I step into the spotlight only to be over shadowed by my own guilt and denial of what I should already be well aware of. I'm not sure this makes sense anymore.
And I am sure that these poems are just eulogies someone will read at my funeral or words that will paint and pour over my obituary. I haven't been the same since that February, the one when I lost my happy and gained a whole new chapter of my life I feel like I didn't even write, that feels like just an added story to make things more complicated for me and more interesting for everyone else. We all feed of off the misery and the interesting, we cling to the things that are a mystery to us because drama is in our nature and nuture never had anything to do with the way I was brought up. It was all mere circumstance because if my parents had it any other way they would've tried to raise me. But instead my father raised glasses and instead my mother raised prices and work and ***** got in the way of new gym shoes and admiration.
I'm not sure I feel anything anymore. And these doors to my future hold a lock I do not yet have a key for. But that doesn't mean I'll stop looking. That doesn't mean there's nothing behind those doors.
I'm living, to live for more.

I try to count my breaths again
as my throat begins to close-
my eyes become a shade of haze
that is now so familiar to me.
I try not to break again
keep my feet firmly planted
in a place where I can stand up straight
but these knees are weak
and I keep falling over myself.
The breaths I take become shorter
the senses around me wither in number
and the only thing I hold focus on
is the fact I can't breath anymore.
I want to make it stop
the tightening of my esophagus
and the revenge my stomach
has been plotting against me
for what seems like a while now.
The bile hits my lips
a victim to the toilet-
to the images in my mind
that begin to mimic my every fear.
My head is prison get me out of here-
but all I keep feeling is the lack of oxygen
and all that I see is this morning's breakfast.
Repetition isn't always such a good thing
you can find it in more than just my poetry-
you can find it in my memory.
Hollow me out and put someone else inside
this body holds too much destruction
that I no longer want to be the cause of.
Blueprints have become of me-
etched inside this skin
I seek refuge in.
I have mapped out ways
to make myself feel better
but they're only just an outline.
Just an idea I get before everything
becomes too wrecking ball
and not enough rebuild.
These walls are tainted now
you couldn't keep the spray paint away
and this building is nothing like the blueprints.
I am just the wreckage-
not anything like what comes after.
My structure is flawed
and the only way to fix me
is to destroy and rebuild-
and I've already done most of the destroying.
I take another breath
it feels like my lungs are in need of more
in need of something I can't give to them.
They give me life and I cannot return the favor
so I choke on the guilt of the games my mind plays.
It seems I'm not the only one suffering-
so silence has become my only savior.
Everything is fine on the outside
but the structure is flawed
and it's about to crumble soon.
If I were built right in the first place-
I wouldn't be so easy to break.

my savior is myself
and I am swallowing solitude whole.

once again I am sitting inside
all of this dissatisfaction
awaiting the perfect storm
awaiting to be reborn.

but this trauma lingers in the shadows
it always seems to follow me
while everyone is shouting,
why can't you make it leave?

so I'm stuck in explantion
surrounded by those
who will never understand
this severity.

I sink.
I sulk.
I'm dirt,
I'm mulch.

The thing that makes others grow,
but they seem to always toss aside.

I am scuff on shoes,
and chips in paint
and no one will look at me
as anything but.

still I sit
idly awaiting the instructions
on how to rid of this weight.

clinging to this hope
inside of my chest
but chagrin finds me
charges me a fee of suffering
and reminds me I am nothing.

just the supplement
to a walking monument
of something I will never beat.

this trauma it lives with me
it stands in my silhouette -

maybe I'm just the shadow to it.

Believe in me.
Take my hand
let me lead you through this life
that has lead you through the depths of hell.
We have felt our fathers wrath of opinion
and been scored by the sharp knife in the back of siblings.
These things shook us both-
took us by the throat and caused us to stop breathing,
Now we feel as if every breath we take could be wrong
every step is in the wrong direction
nothing ever goes our way.
Discouragement is a warm gun,
we sleep with it at night
and wake up from it in the morning.
One thing can shatter our confidence,
the curse of constant critic
has left us conscientious of our conscious.
So let me lead you.
Fighting a war is better if you have an army
and we both have enough strength
to walk through the fire-tongued
judgment day protocol.
I don't want to do it alone.

The way your arm curves into you, and your hands fall over me
shows me you know your worth.
You just need reminding on some days, so do I.
The briskness of your humor glides through your lips
like it has left you exhausted from lack of laughter.
Let me be your lack there of.
Let me be your all of the above.
We don't have to walk through the flames alone,
we don't have to walk through the flames at all.
My saving grace lies within your eyes
and I see it everyday, all the time.
Holding you close to my chest
you are my favorite defense.
The best weapon one can get
is a heart full of love-
and a sword found where you rest.

every word out of my mouth, to you
is like I’m breaking a bone beneath your wings
but you are not the angel that you seem.
every step I seem to muster up the courage to take
apparently isn’t in the right direction.
It feels as if everything I do is in front of a jury
but to you, my face is stained with sin
and no matter what, I am guilty.
I’m tired of being a dart board
for your pent up aggression
or a punching bag for your bottled emotions.
I will not apologize for being myself,
you have made me feel inadequate for far too long.
Every word you speak is a lash in my direction
and you wonder why I shy away from your presence.
You speak to me as if I am death ready to drown you
kicking my thoughts into the ground
one backhanded comment at a time.
There’s nothing I can do to make you change,
even if the tides of fate swarmed over you
holding the sands of time above your head
you’d still tell me, something along the lines of
"I wish you were dead."
Peace of mind doesn’t come often
for me it never seems to appear at all.
One day you will fall from the high horse
you have sat yourself upon and you will break.
then, only then, you will see,
chastising my every move, was your biggest mistake.

I was never taught what to do
in a circumstance where
age was just a number
but I didn't know any better.
I knew not about sexuality
only polly pockets and barbies.
I was only seven.
But somehow that circumstance
was uncircumcised
and he made me realize
dolls are just pretend
but this world,
this world is real
and it will steal your words
leave you with wounds
and take your sanity
in just one dark cold night.
I didn't know it wasn't okay-
I had thought this was normal
and every kid my age was like this.
But I knew something was off
when the generosity stopped
and the guilt started.  
It was then I realized
this isn't something I will grow out of
this has become a part of who I am.
I'm not sure if this scar will ever fade
but not a day goes by where I wish
I had done something to stop it.
I was young and naive
and longing for attention.
Somehow I was subject to the wrong kind
Where there should have been love
there was lust
where there should have been affirmation
there were bruises.
So maybe I just wanted someone to notice
I wasn't okay
It wasn't okay

But I still hold this inside me
latched onto my subconscious
like a virus
sickening the only sense of mentality I have left.
No one knows the secrets I hold
and I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
Though from time to time
I am reminded of his face
barraged by his presence
I somehow keep it together
because in my mind
I am living
and he is just a ghost.
Although, I wasn't okay,
although, It wasn't okay.
I will be, okay.

my heart hurts worse now than it ever did before.
it will be five whole years in a couple of days
and I hate how bad it still hurts me you're gone.
I still wish you were inside of that room
but not so sick anymore.
I wish it would've been me.
why couldn't it have been me.
I miss you more now than I did-
and it seems the hurt only gets worse.
I just got my heartbroken again
and I have no one to turn to anymore
you were the only one who knew me
and how I tried to hide so much from the pain
it made me miss you before you were even gone.
I want to be gone now
but I know you would be mad at me for that
so I won't
I'll stay here because you couldn't
but I would rather be up there with you.

These eggshells that surround me have become shards of glass encasing who I used to be and all I can do is look around myself and hope I have the strength to walk through unharmed.
But with every step forward it seems as if I am hurting myself even more and I don't want to break away from the things that are leading me to where I want to be, but the pavement is lined with molten lava and you're the dragon at the other end.
The more steps I take in your direction the larger the flame, the more I try to surround myself with the help I need to make it through less broken and less bleeding-
you scorn anyone who lends me a hand.
I am sleeping beauty, but instead of being awoken by true love's kiss I am trapped by it.
I've spent 18 years walking on eggshells and as I turned around you came and helped me walk around them. I finally felt safe again. But as the time went by the closer I got to my happiness and the further away you felt so you walked me toward the eggshells that surrounded you and pretty soon we were trapped together.
It's been a while but these shells have turned to glass and there's no heat anymore, no way to turn them to sand so we can walk happily again. The dragon in your heart is named insecurity and burns down everything I try so hard to love, even you.
Soon enough we will both be each other's downfall, because how can I save you when you're convinced you don't need saving.
How can I receive the things I need when you believe the only thing I need is you.
I don't know what happiness is, but when I met you that's the closest I've ever gotten and I think that's what is keeping me on the brink of insanity instead of walking the path I should be.
Losing people is not something I'm good at.
But I would rather lose someone, than lose me.

I saw you today,
in the mirror behind me
you were there.
Stature strong and unrelenting-
I saw my innocence flash before my eyes.
Someone looked like you at work-
he smiled at me and said table for 3
my jaw clenching and my mind went blank.
My feet took a while to move
and I don't even remember what happened next.
Flashbacks followed by panic attacks
the man who stole my childhood
flooded my eyes over and over again.
I tried not to cry.
Not to let him ruin my day.
It wasn't him. It wasn't him.
It felt like him.
I clenched my fists
and let the memories flood my mind
I let them continue their journey
like it was a bad acid trip I had to get through-
my mind was making me feel everything again
and I hadn't felt that low in a while.
Repression was in my nature
and I painted a plain-pale happy face
for everyone who came into the door.
Table for 2-
2 months of flashbacks everyday at age 16
Table for 4 please-
4 years it took to cope with what happened to me.
Table for 7-
The age you took away my innocence.
When he finally left the memories were still there
the pain in my gut still demanded to be heard-
regurgitation of memories and my breakfast
all at the same time.
You have never left me.
The memory of you is still sharp inside my mind
every single day of my life
and I hate that you did this to me.
You took away my childhood
and you ******* my future too-
but I won't let you control me
won't let these emotions take a toll on me
because I'm tired of fighting these memories.
Good days can turn so quickly
just with the thought of you near me
in the musty basement
where the dark was your only friend-
and the sunlight from the cracked door
painted out my future for me on the floor
the dust particles made a slow silhouette
and danced through the air
My child-like mind at the time
had to focus on things like that
so I wouldn't realize the cruelty.
So now every time heartache or tragedy
follows me into the dark alleys of my mind-
I am reminded that is where I will find you
ready to steal my innocence again
like it's my lunch money
and I didn't think I could ever stop you
never thought the images of you would fade away
but I know they will one day-
when the heartache stops
and the pains reaches its peek
I will no longer be weak
and you will no longer be a dark alley corner
of my own mind.
I just have to find my sanity again-
some day I will find that little girl
and teach her how to love better
the kind without flashbacks
or anxiety ridden panic attacks
no fear of abandonment-
just love and helping hand.
One day I will find the scars
and the memories so ****** beautiful.
It is then I will realize I am beautiful too
no matter how many dark things
my mind must go through-
I am worthy of happiness.

I think too much on the outskirts of life,
never in tune with the waves and how they
sway back and forth like they're making a point
to give you something you are never capable of returning-
it makes me think the ocean has a sense of empathy
and a sense of humor that we will never understand.
I will never understand the way life blanks me out
the way boxes are made around our souls
and the way minds have the ability to think
way too many times a second which leaves me
empty-
not being able to picture the words I want to formulate
not being able to grip my sanity around the edges
of the skyline long enough to see the sunset-
these things are all optional
mandatory was never in my nature
and my stature has always been tall
which is why I stand in cities and see my own reflection in them.
The destruction and peace and corruption
living inside these streets of myself
but everything you need is capable to be found somehow.
Nothing is ever black and white-
which is why I see others in every rainbow
because everyone is flamboyant at best.
When the light hits their eye just right
and I see a sparkle of life in another-
I'm always reading others.
Spending time learning their pages
so I can write a synopsis out of their smile someday.
I am a writer, and on my best days a poet.
But most of the time these words are just a dishonest
depiction of what I'm feeling inside-
the things I don't really have the guts to say.
Every time I put my fingers to these keys
it's just a shade lighter of the stream of conscious
that likes to paint dark pictures in my mind.
Everything is subjective at best.
The fingers I use to touch these keys
and write these words are just machine
and I am the one holding the controls
until I lose control again
and I'm back searching for the consistency
I've never really had.
Because life doesn't tell you it's plans-
It comes to your house at 1am
and doesn't leave
not until you're hallucinating from exhaustion.
It sends you a 4am "you up" text
and expects *** after the first date.
It never asks how you're feeling
so you just have to wonder if it really gives a ****.
But life doesn't ******* give a ****-
it takes your words as a disservice
and makes promises it knows it can't keep.
I am a promise never kept-
always fleeting, always changing
mind never consistent enough for normalcy
privilege was never in my human nature
and eggshells have always been the shoes
I wear upon my feet
so I try my best on most days not to crack them-
not to worsen the shards that peg my soles.
I am wandering
constantly fleeting from the feelings
I never want to admit are there.
They are there-
somewhere in a place I haven't been in a while
where cob webs collect and the dust settles-
I have made a mess out of what remains
there is no consolation for me
just a collection of art most people don't understand
with inflection and tone that protray my words
in a way to which I hope people with grasp onto
I'm living for others-
to write the words they do not have the guts to say
to pin down the insecurities they bottle up
to let the elephant in the room
put on the best ******* show it can-
I would like to be the savior of someone's sanity
as seeing as I cannot be my own.
I will flourish and grow someday
but in the meantime I will use my light
to feed others until they feel strong again.
Alone is the dark corner feeling
the pit of your stomach anxiety ridden emotion
so burn the desire to feel it down to the ground
smother it with your blanket ray of light
and watch what grows from the ashes.
I did.

I've decided to give up on the things that make me happy because in the end I end up ******* it up anyway. I ****** up. I made the wrong choice and I am stuck here wishing that by some stretch I would obtain some life threatening disease so my ****** up tendencies would stop hurting people. But **** THAT because no matter what I think of myself, I am a good ******* person. You showed me that and I hate you for it, because apart of me is wishing I didn't think of you all the ******* time and about how much we have in common or how much I want to punch you in the throat because you know me way better than I could ever possibly know myself. I am ******* broken and the only time I feel whole is when I am with you but that feeling is far few in-between nowadays. I asked for help, I was trying to reach out to you in hopes things didn't change but I know they have. And it breaks my ******* heart with each passing day. These thoughts that encompass my mind are made up of what I have become and no one is safe from these hands that will break everything within their reach. So I give up on these things so many people want to cling to, I give up. Nothing is worth it anymore. I am destruction. Wait for it.

It's funny how we keep things bottled up,
in the dead of the night, dark of the room
the razor was to my wrist again-
it demanded I paint these secrets across my skin
and feel the blood rush to the open wound I caused myself.
Then I looked up and saw myself in the mirror
sunken eyes and hollowed demeanor
this wasn't me.
The light in my eyes was dark again
and the blue where I used to be was now just gray.
So I dropped what was holding me hostage-
and I turned to the pills instead.
I took one, down the hatch it went.
My breath stayed shallowed and harsh
as if my lungs were crying with me.  
I looked down at the bottle
poured it's contents to the floor and counted-
is ten enough to **** me?
I took another.
is nine more enough to **** me?
I didn't want to know.
So I held the pills beneath my fingertips
as if they were the grim reaper
and I put them back in their place.
Nine pills all back in their happy little bottle-
I realized they held more power in my life than I did.
So I broke, threw the bottle and broke the wall.
Then silence.
The only thing I heard were the thoughts in my head
and the silence of my cell phone
that I wished was ringing out to help me.
But I was alone again.
I hadn't felt this low in so long-
but this time no one was around to care.
I thought about how I could end it
and I probably wouldn't be found
until three days later.
As the sun sets and rises, sets and rises, sets and rises again
I would be one with the sky
and I wonder why the **** I want so badly to die-
because the past two weeks of my life
I finally felt ******* alive
like I could breath again-
like anxiety took a vacation with depression
and left me with the optimist to babysit.
But I guess their vacation was short-lived
and they came back-
made a mess of what I had built for myself
what I had been working so ******* hard for.
Chaos.  

So in short, I wanted to **** myself last night
thought of all the ways I could do it-
but then I saw the faces of the people I love
and then they were masked by all the pain I've caused
then that was masked by all the people that hurt me
so my knuckles repeatedly kissed the punching bag
until they bled onto the white cloth like decoration-
I was an artist.
The medicine kicked in-
sleep kissed my eyes and made my mind foggy
and I began to think about all the good things again.
I remembered the way silence was my favorite melody
and I drifted into the nirvana I was hoping for.

It's funny how we keep things bottled up-
because the silence of my cell phone
made me realize how strong I really was.
The secret I keep of last night reminds me
how many secrets are able to be kept.
The war raging inside me isn't one you win or lose-
It's the kind you have to fight in order to survive
even if no one even knows it's inside you.

I've traced maps and shorelines across my own skin
to find exactly what it is I mean to you
and I have found it's just a mere puddle.  
The knife in my back pocket
is still a sharp reminder
to always watch where others stand.
Beside or behind you, they're both dangerous places.
I have spent years building mountains
around myself so no one would get close enough
to climb and I turn those mountains into excuses
and somehow let you in.

The heart on my sleeve is worn out like the latest trend
and i'm not too into fashion.
But fasten your paper heart onto mine like a seatbelt
and my tears will disintegrate what is left of it-
Together we will crash and burn.
I have spent my days paranoid and cautious
of what surrounds me and I can't help but wonder
Do all of these pictures I paint with words
even mean anything to you?
Or are they arbitrary and insignificant
like my defense mechanism while looking in the mirror-
my reflection seems to win every time.

You painted your apologies across my lips
and told me I look better without makeup.
I will not fight for your consideration.
I will not mourn over what should be mandatory.

I try to ask you how your day is going
but the bravery slips from my lips
and I am worried those are not the right words-
all I can muster up the courage to say is whats up?
I tip-toe around your emotions like this is minesweeper
waiting for any move I make to make you explode-
but it seems the only thing I'm sweeping is my mind
in an attempt to rack yours.
Am I yours anymore?
Because these days all seem to blend together
and I try to avoid the explosions
but they seem to come anyways
always hiding behind passive aggressions
and misread text messages
because you don't like texting
so I tend to keep quiet.
Try to stay silent as long as I possibly can
but with every good thing that happens I want to turn to you
and every bad thing, I want to run to you.
Is that a crime?
Am I a nuisance for sprinting to you with my issues
and am I naive for thinking
that you would welcome them with open arms.
I feel like this is high school again-
because I think that was the last time
I was actually scared to talk to someone..
See my heart beats out of my chest for you
but it seems everyday I am struggling
more and more to keep it beating less
because I am an anxiety ridden mess already
and not telling you about it makes it worse-
trying to make you understand makes it worse-
you not believing I can't control it makes it so much worse
and these things I wish I didn't go through
I ******* do
so why should I have to keep them from you?
BOOM.
Another bomb dropped at my feet
and all I can make out is the ringing in my ears
I'm so ******* tired of not being me..
I just warily wait in the corner for another explosion these days
and you keep telling me to talk to you
but the words come out muffled and I am flustered.
I'm not sure how to explain to you
if I can't over-explain it or make it a big deal
because these things, to me, are a big deal
I'M A ******* BIG DEAL!
I am the bomb ready to explode,
I am the snake in the grass nipping at your ankles-
I am the ******* 4am phone call crying for help.
And I am worth every single ******* star
in the entire universe because I shine just as bright
and provide you with a way out of your own darkness-
so ******* treat me as such.

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

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

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

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

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

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

these scars on my knees are a reminder
  i cannot run away from the past.

but still I am buried here
   staring at soil unsettled
   basking in the outline of my body.

I have spent my days trapped-
  holding on to this idea
  that I can dig up dead memory.

Holding on to what keeps me guessing.
  everyday I am reminded
  of this ghost that carries me
  like it is a harness that helps me sit up straight.

But it seems I am slouching again
  seems my posture cannot handle
  the fact I'm trying to stand up for myself .

Where did my backbone go?
  how do I repair this absence?

When will I know that I can trust myself
  when will the alcohol stop being a cushion
  for everything bad thing I have ever done
  and every bad thing that has ever been done to me.

I am relapsing into oblivion
all because someone else wrecked who I am.

All because of this spine that is missing
and this spirit that cannot be dug back up.

It's shame I can't tell love from deceit.
It's a shame I only sometimes recognize intimacy.

When will I uncover the parts of myself
  that make me fit for recovery.

Why is survival the only thing my body knows?
   why can't I convince it things are fine now..
   why can't I convince myself?

Take it away-
Every emotion and strong-will I possess
throw it out the ******* window, as you jump-
wishing your insides would rot in inverse
as you yell back at me to do something-
but you're already falling to your death
and I can't stop the car because its leading me
to my future and I can't stop time
because I'm not ******* god
and I can't take away the hurt though I wish I ******* could.
I. Can't. Do. Anything. Anymore.
It's funny because these words kiss the page
like an abusive uncle that kissed your mother
against her will but you can't tell anyone
because you're trying to keep what's left of your family together-
It's ink, it's permanent and other people have experienced it to
but not like you, oh **** never like you.
So I take what was mine from the ******* start
and hope I can turn something so tragic
into this thing we like to call art, and poetry
but it seems to me I need a ******* lobotomy
because I don't know what to think or feel or do anymore..
All I know is that I had something once,
held it close to my heart like a pistol
and let everyone witness me playing russian roulette with myself
as the clock strikes game over and the gun is fully loaded
they watch as I pull and pull the trigger until I have nothing left
until blood shed is all over the kitchen floor
and you start to wonder how you're ever going to eat there again
But everyone around you is watching in awe
and saying "let me try".
But little do they know the bloodshed is staining those tiles now
and you're having trouble getting back up....
You left a bloodstain on your new t-shirt
and it kind of represents your blatant disregard
and my foolish naivety thinking things would turn out different.
"Maybe this time, I can help"
but as my face hit the floor and my memory left me
I woke up in a cold sweat, shaky and hazy
and I realized this time was different-
I was shaken up for three days after that
not knowing which house was mine to own
not knowing which words I always chose-
my mind blank on a page for the first time
in weeks, and months and days
you subconsciously shook me
paralyzed with fear, I was crushed by the weight.
So I come to the page that has been my pistol
and put that to my chest once again
but everyone thinks this is just a trend
just something we all do for pretend or therapy-
not me, this is somewhere between mourning and the purgatory.
So take it away, I never had it anyway.

He was like an addiction.
The kind I needed
to hide from everyone
The kind I needed
to make myself feel okay again.
He numbed the pain
and everything
just ended up foggy-
a haze of gray etched
between these fingers
that would sweat without him.
I craved the touch too much.
So I tried to quit him
when he made me feel like
dying was a better option.
But the withdrawal became
too much for my chest to handle
too much for me to swallow
and I ended up sick-
wishing I was pulling him to my lips and savoring every minute.
He was the drug I ran into
and became my addiction ever since.
These hands shake without him.
I am calm in his embrace.
Do not take me with you
for I do not need fixing anymore.
This drug will keep me warm
His love will keep me warm.
They say addiction changes you into someone you don't want to be.
Maybe they're right-
Or maybe this is me
and always will be.

I broke again today.
The earth shattering at my feet
became a mountain beneath my toes
of all the things I should try to hold back.
Hold it back.
Deny yourself the freedom of expression
because it will linger upon your wrists.
Stop yourself here.
I try to stop myself in my tracks
but I end up getting stuck in the mud
and there's no one here to help me out
so I end up sinking again.
As the waste reaches my mouth
I am silenced.
The will I had to bring myself out of this mold
has vanished and I am a sinking ship once again.
No one ever tells you how to cope.
How to trace your fingers across scares you've made for yourself-
how to turn this madness into something so beautiful.
No one knows what it's like.

I was 17 when I discovered I had manic depression-
the words left my therapists lips like they were an execution notice.
"This isn't a diagnosis" she muttered
"This is who you are, who you've always been
it's not a death sentence".
But why did I feel as if I was being sent to death row-
to be hung by the noose I had made myself
out of tragedy and molestation and abuse.
There were no flowers at this burial.
Just a long awaited sigh of relief.
I always knew I wasn't like everyone else.
She drew me a picture of what it was like-
there were five stages of the imbalance living in my bones.
Major depression, dysthymia, normalcy, hypomania and mania-
she drew me a picture like she was trying to map me out
like she was drawing a Ned's declassified Bipolar Survival guide-
She explained it well.
How the days of normalcy tend to come and go again and again
but the mania and the major depression
pack their bags and stay awhile.
The major depression is like
a visit from a mentally abusive family member
that makes a point to tell you what the **** is wrong with you
when you already know, you tell yourself the same things everyday.
But the mania is like you're fun aunt that buys you beer
and tells you it's okay to **** whoever you want.
Get that piercing, dye your hair, who gives a ****?
The world is yours and the endorphin high you're on-
yeah that's your best ******* friend.
That's the aunt you wish you could be-
and sometimes they take you out on dinner dates-
they'll tell you how horrible you are and remind you
of all the things you have to be worried about.
They fill your head with nonsense and anxiety-
they convince you life would be better without you.
But then you remember what the mania feels like
when it's just the both of you bonding over ice cream
and spending too much money on thing you don't need-
you don't ever want her to leave..
"The mania is why most people don't get help" she said.

Mental illnesses are like actual illnesses-
they're a chemical imbalance in your brain
and you don't tell someone with diabetes
"Oh hey, just think that you're insulin is fine and it will be"
It doesn't ******* work like that.
See the Norepinephrine ran away when I was young
and the lack their of decided to hangout with serotonin.
They became best friends-
so I became the third wheel
and suddenly they both just stopped coming around.
I found a journal from when I was seven-
It said, "I don't want to be here anymore."
Most seven year old were taking care of furby's
or watching saturday morning cartoons-
But me? I wanted to end my life
like it was another ******* rerun
of the same episode you ******* hated
and all you want to do is turn it the *******
but there's really nothing else on TV
so you watch anyway.
Idly sitting there as you're hating every second-
But I'm still alive.
And these hands have dealt with more than just cuts
and pills bottles that became empty with mania that became worse-
I'm staring blankly at this page she drew for me.
Mapping out my mania like it's roller coaster tycoon
I think I'll call it Avalanche because ever since
I was labeled as having "Manic Depression",
I've been climbing my battles ever since-
even though some days, they try to fight back.  
There was a word to the way I was feeling
and a map to express it.
I felt like when I was young and I led Dora to the correct place-
all because of the map guiding her to her destination.
My therapist gave me the map-
she drew my way into understanding.
I haven't found my way home quite yet-
but at least I now know where I'm going.

every waking moment is spent wondering
and anxiously awaiting another faulty moment-
another reason to write a poem
another reason to spill my guts.
I've always had such a way with words
except for when they were slipping
from my loose lips or trying to convince.
So for some inane reason I tend to fixate
on the reasons why my mind and heart
play tug of war with my nerves
leaving my body emotionless and numb.
More than often I am conflicted on approach-
So I succumb to the negativity that is my circumstance.
I was never one to play the victim
or dwell on the things of lesser importance
but it seems tragedy comes everyday
and sanity is far few in between.
I have tried to grip tightly on the idea of normalcy-
it just sounds like a good way to realize
that you're actually more broken than you know.
In some ways I am hoping that I will learn
why the tides of grief wash over me like the waves
or why the sands of time tend to turn me to dust.
But I am just one feather of a desert eagle
shooting holes through logic and mental stability
finding ways to undermine the melancholy
spending days searching for my sanity.

When I was younger,
I always wondered why my mother was so easily scared
even at the slightest unexpected instance-
She jumped.
Jumped like her bones were no longer her home
and she was running away from the skin she was hiding in.
As I grew older she told me the tales of how
men had made her skin their throne
and took turns making her body their own-
bruised eyes became her routine
as the Xanax she didn't even realize she was being fed
filled her bloodstream, it became her heart-strings.
The heartache of many men filled my mothers eyes
and I realize now why stability isn't in her nature much.
So now as I enter a room I make sure these feet
hold steady on the ground to make a bold entrance
so she hears me coming every time.
I make sure these hands never grip hers too soon
so she knows I'll be there when she needs me too.
I still realize how she jumps when I forget
that her bones are still trying to rebuild themselves.
I still realize how her heart stops-
and how she went through hell to find the home in her own bones.
I still realize how even her own child
can make those bones feel like breaking again
as the paranoia of a troubled past sets in..
Even nowadays her bones will still sometimes shake at the sight of me-
I realize now, how it feels
to be a ghost.
And that's okay,
Because she believes in me-
Even on the days no one else does.

I looked at myself in the mirror today
long and hard, I stared at my reflection in the glass-
and I realized if just enough sun hit where my eyes met
then I wouldn't see myself at all-
but I realized that wouldn't be any different
because the person staring back at me,
wasn't me at all.
I started to question when I forget myself,
lost who I was even though I was trying my hardest to look-
I guess I was never really good at hide and seek.  
Then one day I stopped in my tracks
and watched you pick apart
who I was in your eyes-
I had realized where I lost myself.
You told me I was bringing you down
held onto your leg like an anchor
I was your reason for drowning.
But I'd like to think I just kept you grounded.
See the smiles on my face keep getting replaced
by the opinions you paint across my eyes
and I realize this makeup isn't actually water proof
so you take this tragedy
and turn it into your own
destructive masterpiece upon my cheeks.
It was then I realized-
you were the one tying the anchor to your own ankle
and I was the one trying to help keep you afloat
but in all my efforts to keep you from drowning
it only brought us both closer to the bottom.
You look down on me because I am sinking,
I took the weight from your own ankle
and sunk to the bottom like I always had-
you reached out your hand to find me and got lost in the tide.
The whites of your eyes turn red,
and you blame me for your exhaustion
but you were the one who set sail
on this sea of expectations
and watched as I dangled upon a string I was born with
only to watch me fall from the grips of it
only to be torn between who I am and the nature of the sea.
I am no longer happy,
nor are you.
But time and time again, regret painted on your face
you tend to blame me for the weight-
when it was your idea to come out to sea in the first place.

The ache of loneliness is like chloroform on my lips
and I have been beginning to doze off again-
my eyes have grown heavy from these tears that fall
like mustard gas in a world war
I am breathing in this depression once again
and as much as I try to get the oxygen I need
the enemy is weighing down on me.
I reach out my hand for someone else's
but no one is around-
I look and look and look again,
but in the end I am alone
choking on the circumstance I have made for myself,
choking on these words I want to say to you
choking-
the thoughts are pressing against my chest now
trying to remind me that my heart is still beating
trying to taunt me because my heart is still beating
trying to remind me my lungs are still capable of breathing-
but I choke, and I take my vices and cling to them
because they are my only friends,
my safe haven when busy lives
interfere with depressed minds-
I don't want to ******* feel like this.
Every single thing I feel, or do, or say is a mistake
and I wish I could make these hands worth holding
and these words worth reading
and these tears worth suffering for-
but I can't.

The loneliness overwhelms me
and the dark has grown more under my eyes
making a point to let people know "I'm just tired"-
my hair is always a mess these days
because these brushes can't handle the tangled mess
I have made for myself-
and I guess I don't need to be saved anymore
because how can you save someone
that's already too far gone?
I'm too far gone.

I wish I could formulate-
into poems and stories,
fiction and film
the way your eyes
show the innocence of love
and the vulnerability of trust.
I lost myself when I found you-
in the most extreme way
I found double entendre's
inside your tone of voice
and sibilance in your silence.
But it was never your intent
it was and has always been
my greatest downfall
putting more into others
than I will ever get back in return.
Slowly, I am crawling back to
the skin I used to find comfort in
and the smile I used to hide behind.
You brought me out from underneath
the mask I had spent years painting
beneath my eyelids
and above my cheekbones.
The scars from my old skin have faded,
but the wounds from my mind are still present.
It may take some time
but I will form a new exterior
and it will no longer be just a mask
I will run far from the person
that didn't quite love herself
and I will run into your arms
no more self harm.

Some days, I'm a hopeless romantic-
wishing someone would look at me with stars in their eyes
write me the universe in verses
and braid stardust flowers through my hair.
Other days, I'm a realist-
knowing such things only happen in my mind and in movies
and nice words are all I'll ever be accustomed to.
I guess the butterflies in my stomach have died
because I don't really feel them anymore-
I guess the light they kept running into
burned out..

I don't feel real anymore-
like all these emotions are just figments of my imagination.
Everyone around me is feeling down,
so I consume myself in them.
My emotions are always running away with my thoughts
and I can never really run fast enough to catch them
they're too infatuated with each other
and I was never really fond of relationships.
"Keep your head up"-
I've been told that more often times than not..
But what happens when my head
is bringing me down
and what happens when my neck
doesn't have the strength to hold it up
not anymore-
it's too preoccupied with the noose scratching at my throat
leaving a ring around it like an apology letter etched in my skin
a sad sorry for carrying too many burdens behind these eyelids.
I don't know how to place what I feel.
How to paint it into words
how to explain it in a way others can understand
I don't want anyone to understand.
I just want to be better-
to feel better
to feel the bliss of ignorance
as you're wrapped up in someone
or taking that 40 to your lips
wallowing in what you know to be true
but you don't let yourself see.
I want to make you see.
Make myself see.
It's hard to take away everyone's misery
when it is your middle name
it is where you were brought up
and how you were made-
it's a heavy heart who carries others burdens
and a heavy heart it will stay
because these days it helps take away the pain
to help others deal with theirs
but what happens when you can't seem to
separate the energy from who you are
and suddenly they coincide
so all you're left with is negativity.
Dreaming so I never wake up-
wake me up from these thoughts so heavy
push them from my wake.
Take it all with you
leave it all to me.
A heavy heart can hold a ton
and I'm not sure my maximum capacity
but i think it's reached it's peak.
Who is there to help the one
who is always helping another-
one is loneliest number we own
but two makes me feel so much more alone.
When will someone help me take the weight-
I can only hold myself up for so long
before this chair folds
and I'm dust again.
Settle with me.

Courage is a too way mirror-
you act a certain way when people aren't looking
when often times you don't realize they actually are
courage looks you in the face
it sees you how you wish you were-
courage knows all your secrets.

Courage is a four way intersection-
too much stop and go
too little patience
always having to predict another's move-
but courage doesn't always take turns.

I've always been really good at comparisons-
but really bad with expressing how I feel.
See missing you is like a simile
without the smile
because all I have left is just I
and not even my happiness anymore.
So I wonder when the waves will stop-
wonder why you will kiss me
at high tide
but leave when it becomes low again
I am low again-
But I hope that you realize I am so ******* happy
but at the same time I am nothing.
Like the sea, there are parts of me still uncharted-
I wish you could discover more of me
But you're a little too afraid of change
and I spend too much time shopping..

Courage is a hangnail-
taunting you to do what you know you should
realizing after it ******* hurts like hell-
sometimes you regret it most of the time you don't.
Courage will be there again one day-
just remember it's gonna hurt
but sometimes you have to bleed
to make room for new skin.

I have long awaited the return of who I was and as this pill slips between my lips and down my esophagus, I am reminded that everything is temporary. The rage within me boils to the surface until every waking moment is spent thinking about my demise and I was never good with being on time. Either too early or too late. I always procrastinate the things most important and the trouble with timing is, it doesn't exist. So why spend life hanging on the edge of the lips you'll never get to kiss. Why exist in someone else's world only to be thrown from the grips of it. The years spent sulking in solitude taught me more things about life and myself than any amount of schooling, or reading rainbow ever could. The things I've seen before my eyes reminded me that being temporary in this every-changing life is probably the best thing for us all, because these things we endure can wear us out more than the time we spend in our cars or on our phones and I'm having trouble adjusting to daylight, because everything I ever see anymore is artificial and obsolete, but so are we. Every person you love, everything you touch will all eventually turn cold and frigid and into something you will never see again, we all die in the end. So take the hands that hold on to your hopes and whisk them into the same categories as your wants and your needs and be everything you've ever wanted yourself to be because everything is temporary. The trouble with timing is we don't have enough of it. The trouble with timing is these hands on the clock move every 86400 seconds, 12 days a week, for 165 days a year- so that's 525949 minutes. So we spend 86400 seconds thinking about the other 1440 minutes of tomorrow. So don't ******* waste it. The trouble with timing is the depression that follows, the moments we waste thinking about the things we can't control or the future we wish we could have. The minutes spent trying to talk ourselves out of anxiety attacks when we know **** well that never works. We don't have much in our lives that makes everything okay, all we really have is these imaginary things we wish we could grasp within our fingertips, like time and money and hopes and dreams but all of it means nothing until you take that step forward and remind yourself that nothing is ever set in stone and there's always a tomorrow so don't spend today dwelling on it. Take your time, but don't waste it. You are a delicate place, treat yourself as such.

He said that;
She kissed like her mouth was on fire and the only thing that could ever extinguish it was someone else’s tongue in the form of, I love you on her lips. And even if each movement never really felt like love she made it feel so real anyway.
Her hips moved like the oceans were begging for someone to ride the waves and she was the sand beneath the feet of many men but never made it seem that way, even if those men got to feel her warm embrace it was never considered enough to make her stay.
She was always a mystery to me and the way her lips curved under when she smiled made me envious of the way she spoke, jealous of every word that left her lips because they got to touch them again and again and again.
I hoped that a man would look at me the way men look at her, innocent and admiring of her ever-present and translucent beauty, it glowed bigger and brighter than anyone else I had ever seen. But it wasn’t her smile that made her so enticing-
He mustered up the courage to say it was her that made the outside so much better, it was the words she spoke and her intent behind them. The love she spread about with just her tongue made a mess out of my distaste for life and introversion.  So I started to question everything I had ever known.
The wind sat crooked on the back of tree branch and I wish someone would have spoken to me in sonnets the same way he looked at her in paragraphs and I wondered if my pessimism is shading my views of anyone else’s admiration but everything feels like a fairytale nowadays.
I wondered if the things he had said to me were dancing on the edge of his mind for some time now and I wondered if he looked at me that same way sometimes, but the look in his eyes told me otherwise.
The way his expression guided the moon to the eyes of everyone who was listening and entranced the ocean’s waves was something more beautiful than any amount of romantic gestures.
They kissed at high tide and made us believe in emotions that never were, dimensions of the world unseen to the human eye and it made me believe again.
She was the fire burning beneath someone’s feet and I felt as if I wanted to be a volcano, burning down everything in my path and never letting anyone close enough because they will feel the burn in between their toes once again so they’ll need to dance on the sand and wade across the ocean just to feel sane again.
I want to be the kind of girl that changes things-
I want to be the air that dances beneath my curls and reminds I’m alive again.
I want to be the ocean, so I can be water under the bridge.

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