the days you wish you could skip filled with
feelings you want to numb away from or even worse actually
manage to
fill yourself with the numbness of ignoring sunlight
and not noticing touch
and not enjoying the soft things
the gentle things
the faint outlines of day smeared with shadows
and caffeine-soaked eyelids -
I can't tell the difference between open and closed
I can't remember the reasons for doing
keep moving, keep going
prioritize staying awake and bypassing
the things that conjure smiles and
the smiles
and the things that cause inquiry
and inquiry is seeking life?
bypassing life
taking steps without feeling the ground is
breathing without tasting oxygen
is being a robot

crash into sleep like a wave that overtakes you
like admitting you have no strength
or nothing left to give but a headprint into a pillow

I was trying to shoot for the stars and
dream the way I did when I learned that caterpillars
grow up to be butterflies
I wanted to be a butterfly
I wanted to be beautiful, and proud, and I wanted to fly -
I miss that feeling.
Somewhere between there and here there were
tragedies and broken hearts and
things that I later realized ought have
been different -
Somewhere between then and now there might have been a god,
but more importantly there was some force causing the world to
punch me in the face
and Somewhere along the road I decided to keep
my shameful face pressed against the concrete

This is anger - this is shame -
this is hate. This is what I
bottle up and beat myself with under the midnight sun,
with the endless exposure, the loss of composure,
the fear, the constant
fear
of judgment - stare at me but don't look at my eyes
(I'm used to it.)
Look past me.
It will only drive the hurt deeper down, tightening my chains it's
not you, it's me. It's me against myself.

Pound, pound, pound the pavement against my feet -
can I run myself into oblivion? Can I please just close
my eyes and become part of the air around me?

the frustration kills me
I **** my voice yelling at myself
WRITE WRITE WRITE
write yourself into this feeling, if
it's the only way you know how to inhabit the present moment
**** yourself with caffeine and hate
and shame
I'm so tired of shame
I'm so tired from the weight of it
I'm so done with being hated but I
can't stop hating myself

I once dreamed of being a butterfly,
and now I dream of getting by
without hurting myself too badly

the sound of
footsteps in the
fall and the
reflection of sunlight
off drops of dew
resonates
more than
my understanding of
happiness

There's a light inside me that glows in anticipation,
there's the constant wait, the careful gait
the looking over shoulders for to take
away all thoughts of others
breaking bonds of making face
knocking shoulders, stifling
sounds for sights to take in solitude

my toes itch, my legs jump, i sit still.
in the light are overwhelming expressions
and the shadows of repressions
and stagnant silences to fill.

the room tilts my screen into someone else's eyes,
i wish, i wish
the thought of running and dancing into cries
i wish
the ground could pound against my feet and into my heart
i wish
for sleep - not mine, but the world's
do you understand?
(i'd give up the sun to run in the dark)

i can't live with you, i can't live without you,
i can't live with myself
movements are too constrained when you
expend so much energy towards
thought

i wish i could show you the things i've sought
i wish i could show you my world
i wish i could show you my woes
i wish i could share with you my happiest moments

Don't shut me down or I'll hate you like I hate the parts of myself I don't share.
and i won't even know it, either way

There's something not right -
There's something not right --
(It just isn't right) are the stars
misaligned is the moon
too bright for the night -
The clock ticks time by and
try as you might, there is no one to
fight
You just missed a step, or a blink, or
passed over-the-dregs-of-the-things-
you-looked-past-and-poured-down-the­-
sink
without thought
.
.
The bells fall silent to mourn the death of thought

Remember that night.
The struggle with the mother... the cries, the ocean, the sand, the moon,
the friend standing by...
How terrible, to remember in thoughts from the perspective of another person, another place,
wishing for the equivalent of that stretch of beach that moment,
only here and in a different form....
a vast space to contain you in your most free, expressive tantrum
(a space to contain my rage)
to handle my feet as I run, my cries, my body as I numb and hurdle myself against walls or sand to induce feeling or feed my rage, or tame my rage...
I have no rage, I have sadness, without aim. And when there's nothing to aim it at words become angels.

Take daydreams. You let yourself float in them. Let yourself tune out.
Or tune in.
I'd choose the topics of my dreams carefully as if they would feel complimented. I'd give thought to the things I'd spend forever with. Physically, you can escape. Mentally, you can't, unless you take outside help.
They slip back in, things like a night spent crying on the beach about things you can't seem to change.
I spilled my soul into the sand, and it could take it. I cried my heart into the air and it faded, it passed.
The gaps are what cleansed me between then and now, and the difference becomes painfully obvious. Painful no matter what way you look at it, because there are gains and losses on either side.

Close your eyes, and you can change anything. Most people would change their circumstances. Maybe that's a mask for the desire to change yourself.

Hush... tremble.
Would you choose sound or touch?
Along with old colors flying
comes a familiar rush -
a face, a fight, a crutch.
You leaned too far into the
backs of your supporters - is there
no word but which comes from
blind reporters?
You're clutching cold into your fingers -
wait, wait, wait and count to
three - there's always more than
you can think-of-when-the-
situation-starts-to-sink-just-out-of-
reach

Y­our grasp is slipping, questions ripping
away unanswered
Let go, let go, let go the countless
moments-that-you'd-like-to-claim-
are-yours-without-the­-shame
of unopened doors

There's no one to blame.
You've flown off course-
There is no course, there is only
finding the rest of the pieces -
There always will be a mess
and some creases -
however long your reach is -

At the end of it all, the moments
you remember are the ones
spent looking away from your feet.

Breathe in, breathe out, look up, repeat.