dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

Would I ever love to
Stomp you down
Until you believe
That nothing you do
Means anything

I've tried therapy once;
Weekly: Mondays, 3 PM.
But like interruptions end thoughts,
Broken glass ended sessions.

So call for help cause I've done it again,
Killed the advice as soon as he chimed in.
Conversations left to brewing inside I just ask
“If I can’t help myself, what other ******* ***** can?”

Blood stained fists are what sealed these lips,
Closing my eyes on the broken bathroom mirror.

They say home is where the heart is,
Well I gave my heart to you.
Thus there is nothing more true in saying:
"Home is wherever I’m with You".

And it may take hours, days, or years,
But “I’ll never care how long it takes,
-as long as you come home to me”.

I miss your eyes, I miss how they look into mine.
But now they look into someone else's.
And they sparkle as you smile at her.

Every emotion played out on your face,
from happiness when you kiss her,
to contempt when you look back at me.

I see them sometimes, your bright eyes.
Next to those shining green ones.
It's hard to look at them,
cause I know you're over me.

Oh no, I'll never forget the color of your eyes,


but you've forgotten mine.

Here it goes again.
Another poem to describe how useless I am.
How tattered my soul is.
How my brain resembles my hands,
callused, numb, and broken dry skin.
I'm a terrible person.
Self indulgent and full of sin.

And here it goes again.
In the mirror I see nothing.
A big steaming pile of nothing.
Full of wasted dreams, 'what ifs' and 'one days.'
The **** that I write never comes out right.
The **** that I dream is just that:
a big steaming pile of nothing.

Here it goes again.
As if I am something.
But I can't get past how useless I am.
A speck in this cosmic dust cloud.
And here I go again, thinking I am a tornado.
How I will crush your dream home
and leave behind a big steaming pile of debris.

Here I go again,
thinking I am nothing.
When really, I am something.
I am a speck in this cosmic cloud,
without me that tornado wouldn't be.