I wish I could say that telling you how I feel
Was as easy as saying,
"It's like falling off the Grand Canyon"
But it's so much deeper than that
It's like exploding into the stars
With a body on fire, alive from you
It's the rain at 2 am that wakes you from your
Sleep. But all you can do is smile
It's the neurons in your brain that sputter endlessly,
With the most captivating thoughts.
You are an infinity of stars and planets
That swirl with fragile hands.
You are a book etched with love and emotion
You are the music that rocks me to oblivion
Ceaselessly yearning for something more.
You are the 6am sunrise that bathes my skin
And blinds my eyes.
It's the mesmerizing passion for the little things,
The loose tea cups and finger-drums
Dedication for the craft you have perfected,
But not quite.
It's everything good and bad
It's you.

I can't remember the last time I looked into the mirror,
And didn't see the vague shell that I am today.
Because today, my body bleeds passion for the uninspired
My skin, shrink wrapped over hollow tree branches
That extend to the beachy shallows of my body
That not even I can see anymore
I am a withering tree who's leaves cannot grow
And roots are dry
I am the stiff wind in January that will burn your cheeks,
I am the only thing that keeps two people apart.
Yet, I will shout from corridors and mountain peaks alike,
I am fine

who would want what was once torn by another
stained by its previous owner with late night tears that seemed too hot and heavy to be real,
with pages slipping out,
one by one, ripped apart at the seam
who would want what was marked by another

you’re right,

no one would

why is it these days that all the good die young?
when there's prisoners and felons waiting to be hung.
see it's only the innocent that get hit by blind eyes
when the bad ones they rot, in an eternity of lies
rapists and killers get visitors daily,
while my sisters lucky if anyone thought about her lately.
my good friends are being mowed down like spring grass
and the convicts are playing checkers and sharing loud laughs
the man who killed my sister is sitting in a cell,
while my sister is lying, 6 feet in the ground
how sad is that my friends are fading
while empty jail cells sit anticipating?

mom can you see the woman I've become,
hair as white as elsa's,
voice more passionate than a hug
but mother I'm sorry for my mistakes, my misdemeanors
my unholy ****, scraped off by the windshield much like the bugs.
scraping off my dead skin cells, my tired flesh, my small love
im sorry for cursing the ground that you walked.
im sorry for exasperating your love and good thoughts,
im sorry for being too strung out to give a **** what you thought
but now I hope you see, that i am all you thought I could be
that I am more than my scars, my lost loves, and my horrors
I am seventeen years old but my heart is much harder
because I have seen pain spread greater than a fire
I have seen heartache being men to their knees,
and painful memories spread like disease
my mother I'm inhibited
by self crippling doubt,
I am breathing yes,
but not quite living now.
I pull phony smiles from my lips to my eyes,
I combat the night with sparkling tears in my eyes.
you see my mother I am seventeen years old,
with a trauma like brain, dying, and cold
I might be seventeen but my weakness is ancient,
my lips are the vessels, words carried out through the nations
my dearest mother I love you so, and I am very sorry for the days my weaknesses show.

you're an artist, truly you are.
you took my body and made it your canvas,
smoothed my wrinkles and unfolded my ends,
you painted and painted, stroke upon stroke
poured love and tender care into each flick of your wrist.
till one day, you stopped.
artists block, you called it.
no inspiration, my fault.
your smooth strokes turned to angry screams
crumpling and ripping each page of me,
stabbing my canvas, torn with headaches
so yes, you are an artist.
and now I know why I can no longer draw.