today, i was told that my brother and i were just 'different animals'. like he was a bird of prey, and i was a songbird; but the distinction is so minute, because both creatures have wings.

today, i mumbled 'thank you' as i was force-fed advice that claimed, 'when people are rude, just be nice back. it'll make them feel bad.' i reminisced on the time my parents swore to my brother that he must do all that he can to defend his honor.

today, i was shooed out of a car garage with some ******* excuse that explained that the exhaust fumes would 'hurt my lungs', while my brother found solace in the oil and grit and dirt. i wondered if they remembered the times he faltered in his machismo and i stood tall.

today, i was reminded that my brother and i are 'different animals'. but i am talons, and furiously winged as much as he is mellow voiced and prancing. next time i am faced with that analogy, i will ask the speaker how many wild songbirds they see.

1:34 a.m.:
without words, you went to sleep and i got drunk. because when the world doesn't want to see your face, the easiest way to deal with the pain is to make it feel like you don't have one.

7:56 a.m.:
i've decided to write a manifesto using only sounds from your mouth. the crackles and pops of the radio silence radiating from your lips will be the ink to my pen.

3:35 p.m.:
i press my palms together, hoping to drain the last bit of ambivalence from my fingertips. i wonder how many times i must fall and scrape my knees on the prayer bench before i realize that prayer is not my forte and both you and god **** at listening.

searching for some odd sort of solace
and yet again,
i find myself writing words i don't really mean
to people i don't really know
about topics i've not really researched
all in the name: poem
this is not my war

it's like i'm standing naked on the front lines
all weariness and flesh
melancholic in my voice,
"take arms, and fight."
this was never my battle, but it rages in my mind
and my troops aren't gathering
my hands, too weak to hold up my blade
my pen
this is not my war

so, once again,
it's dark and i'm finding ways to poetically knife myself
without the blood and romance staining my bed sheets
and marking cryptic patterns on my wall
in hopes that my fellow aesthetes
will find them pleasing when i post them
this is not my war

and honestly,
i've never found anything beautiful about sunsets
because the dying of another day
didn't make me feel like stardust
but more like a handprint on a wall
being threatened with fresh paint
this is not my war

i'm not ready
this is not my war

1) pending decision
the clock is always ticking
don't want to grow up

2) never been afraid
but the sun is setting and
i don't want to leave

3) my life is much more
than syllables can contain
and yet, i still try

We’ve made it. We ***** and moan about growing up, how we grew up, and now that we’ve grown up, what we’re going to do. Maybe the secret to surviving it all is not looking forward or looking back, but looking to the present as the only thing that can conceivably be altered in your favor.
2. Don’t condemn because of what you’ve heard from others. That quote saying “small minds talk about other people,” is cheesy, but also very true. And people, no matter how seemingly kind-hearted, have a nasty way of diverging down roads of rumor and scandal.
3. Relenquish the idea that you’ll ever be in full control. The winds of change, or time, or love, or development are always blowing; wild and strong. Don’t turn your sails the other way, stand in the hurricane and yell, “I am willing!”
4. Believing in the power of something, whether it be an object, a song, or a ritual, doesn’t make you a sucker and it doesn’t mean you are a lesser person. We all need something bigger than ourselves to fall into when the branches of our arboreal haven that we’ve built comes shattering down. Often time, those branches land in the ground as spikes and we are impaled. So turn to your dance, your god, your love.
5. Document your world. It will never be quite the same as it is in this moment. This is a singular event; a speck on the timeline, never to be recreated in all that came before, or all that will come to be.
6. Learn to be alone, and after that, learn to be alone and content. Unbeknownst to you, the face looking back in the mirror is capable of resuscitating you when you find you cannot breathe. "Fight or flight is an animal response,” you tell me, “but what happens when you cannot stand to fight or run because you are at war with yourself?” Darling, I have battled with my skeleton for years, but when the front lines cave in, the only place I have ever felt at home is nuzzled somewhere between my heart and lung. Nail down a “home, sweet home” sign and settle down within.
7. We’ve made it, somehow. Remember in third grade when your class planted beans, and you checked on your sprout every day. One day, you came into class and against the weight of the soil, your green sprout had pushed its head out and was greeting the sun. You’ve broken the surface. You’re new and green, and there’s still a long way to go. But, you made it. So, enjoy this moment, and look forward to the next one.