I don't know the world just seems to be spinning to fast
Losing touch as time lose sense of future present or past
A child stood before a mirror filled with aspiration
A highschooler laid in bed his head filled by frustration
As he watches years of studying steadily fall apart
Trying to piece it together with nowhere to stary
An adult now looking back through the passage of time
struggling to find the answer to "Were those dreams mine?"

AM I told what to think? Without gaining knowledge on how to think.
AM I taught how to feel? without understanding why I feel.
AM I raised in what to believe?  Not given the freedom in what I want to believe.
AM I told what to be?  Without allowing to simply be.
To know thy self is to gain understanding and knowledge of self. That is to individually and authentically  find who I am and what my purpose is .
How do I gain knowledge on what I retain in my mind including:    subconsciously and consciously
and how do I learn to understand my emotions, feelings and hear the purpose of my soul
physiological identity crisis in me is so surreal that I do not how to be real

Agnostic girl full of
Belief in the mirror I
Create behind closed
Doors that open wide when I
Emerge into the terrifying world
Faking so much, so often
Grieving the fear that consumes me
Holistically I am an actress
In a world full of pretenders
Jestering my pride and arrogance
Keeping an ounce of who I really am with
Love from my closest friend
Most nights I can't go to sleep without
Nodding along to the music with tears in my eyes
Opening and closing, so close to losing every
Particle of my true self who hides behind the façade of
Real tough girl, but really I'm just a
Scared little girl, seeking approval
Through abusive relationships that get me nowhere
Underestimating my worth
Vicariously living through those I help
Wondering when I'll stop pretending and wanting
Xanax to ease my mind and cure the never
Yielding ball of AGGH in my stomach reaching the
Zenith called my mouth for awful bile filled days

This is the reality
That creates me

Still cries
Whispers of misfortune
"It'll be okay"
He promises so lovingly
"What's mine...
Will always be yours"
I don't want...
To be like this...
I just want to have equality
We're the same aren't we?
Why am I treated less?
I want to be you
Not this... brokenhearted
He kisses me gently
And warms my hands
"I give you
All that I have
Because nothing in this world
Means anything to me
Compared to your smile"

Sometimes life flayed you
And no- one bound
The wounds.

You kept them clean by gouging out the
Soft soap.

Only deep cleansing
That searches out the grit from every sliver
Of raw flesh
Can keep the gangrenous pus at bay.

That open wound
Heals from the deepest level
And gets to know each layer as it heals.

Beneath the skin all humans are alike
Are blood and sinew.

Deep sorrow can fashion
An internal telescope
That peers into the inner core
That we all share
Or else it plasters over
The pulsing wound
With platitudes.

And pain avoidance
Derails empathy.

It's not often that mere conversation like we had makes me feel so intrigued, but when you sang those few songs your voice made me feel tranquility in a dose I've truly never felt. My heart fluttered, and if I hadn't been floating in a pool I would have had to sit down, my knees were so weak. You couldn't see in the darkness but I was in awe, so much so that if we had been standing in a room full of art, I only could have looked at you.
I swear you turned the night sky into tie dye, a hippy haven for my mind. On heavens hill I found my soul, all my anxieties flowed out. I drank more slowly once your voice came forward, it was much more intoxicating than the lager I had chosen. I knew all these feelings may have been the alcohol, but I decided, **** it. I never feel intrigued, I was so surprised to have my interests peaked, that I would entertain myself and you, because for once, I didn't freeze.

I awoke the next morning, after sleeping off my chemicals, both the ones I ingested and the ones my body produced at the sight of such a pleasing specimen of the female form. I found my head hurting, but remembered the sights I saw, the glow of the stars and string lights, melted in my memory to form a tie dye blot, the colors meddled together. It was as astronomically beautiful as you had been the night before.

Those hands
Speak more than does the face.
They clasp or lace,
They grip or poke
Hold firm.

They open in enquiry
Or close to form a fist
Or furl and unfurl to try and give the gist
Of some internal land.

Those hands I love
Are square and brown
With rough and bitten nails.
The finger ends are blunt,
The skin is coarse
With work.
Those hands are always warm and strong
And mine in his makes me a child again.