ever since you've started pushing me away i've forgotten how to breathe
because when the only thing you
ever hear is the screaming of
your thoughts and the
silence in your heart
you start to forget
that you exist
enough to
fight for
your
place
in
this
*******
giant world.

imagine what it feels
like finding out that every heavy
breath you take is
wasted on feeding
someone else's breathless
ego.

i'm stuck on the island of misfits
tracing signals in dry sand,
sending smoke through foggy air
and bottled messages across waveless water.

i dance around fallen trees,
and hop through burning fire
explore lightless caves,
and play with wreckless wilderness.

i'm as free as a trapped girl can be,
on this island of hopeful dreams
and warped realities.

i know for a fact,
that everyone fears lonliness
so then why do people think
that it's okay
to smother others with a blanket of isolation?
no one should have to fight so hard
just to feel like they even,
so subtly
exist.

what's the point of fighting for a life that will never fill my hollow bones,
repair my fragile skin,
or pump my lifeless heart?
why do i try so hard to fill this emptiness inside of me with a world that once drained me of everything?
why have i wasted the years away staring at the ground
chasing an impossible reality,
when i should have been looking up at the goodness that was right there all along?
and most importantly,
why do i still let myself be tormented by these voices that tell me that the only way i'll be happy is if i have nothing.
after all, nothing seems to be everything nowadays.

my family has always had these little traditions
such as eating together around the tv
or saying i love you before bed.
but what happens when these traditions start to change,
when the house becomes too big to keep us close together,
or when bed times don't exist because nobody seems to ever sleep.
it doesn't matter how much money was spent on counseling,
or how many ativans, zolofts and sleeping pills were popped,
nothing seemed to pull back the strings on the three puppets that were becoming more and more detached by the second.
the concept of money brought us together and pushed us apart,
the lack and the abundance,
the want and the need,
the ultimate destruction of our home.
our quiet home,
once full of laughter, love and emotion,
now an echoey cavern of aching memories that give me just the slightest bit of light to help me find my way.
what is the point of having these traditions,
if all they do is make everything sore to the touch at the memory of what once was,
and what will never be again.