Your pain is undeniable
It is etched
Into your soft
Pale skin

You call out
To anyone in earshot
For their help
For their love

God has twisted your soul
Weathered it by letting it soak
In fresh tears and blood
That come from your own eyes
That come from your family

You want to climb to the gates of Heaven
Too soon, too angry, too childish
You want someone to blame
Have their head in your hands

You cry out
Screaming 'Why, God? Why, Father?'
The why is not as important
As to how you get through

You have yet to learn how to forgive,
O girl with soul-searching eyes.
You have yet to move past all this
And I applaud you for trying.

no, we did not recognise you,

had put you out of mind.



hair all pretty ,

echoing  affecting  voice.



there are some who have written

that you may be a bully.



sbm.

I'm at a point of peace.
This life i am creating-
Feels like a masterpiece.

With every second,
I can recognize a blessing.

Although it is far from perfect,
I have become a proud architect.

share your favorite things with the temporary people in your life
staple your favorite songs to the foreheads of people you've known for two weeks
dance around in artificial lightning and touch them for as long as you can
take pictures with disposable cameras, pin them to cork-boards and write down their dates
scrawl their names in sharpie ink on your wall, ignore when your mother gets mad at you for it
watch your favorite movies with them
kiss them during your favorite part
write down the taste
write down what you hear
fill notebooks with their sentences
take their hand and lead them to your favorite places
count the blades of grass under you
record the rocks
the tree leaves
the sand
the hardwood floor
read them your favorite books
tell them your theories
match them to main characters and laugh when they try to imitate their dialect
read them your poetry
whisper your favorite words in their ear
pass them notes with your favorite lyrics
give them tastes of your favorite ice cream flavor
promise yourself not to forget their disgusted face
at your favorite weird food
smear the color yellow into their palms
because it has always been your favorite
trace the lines that crack the paint
give them your favorite sweatshirt
let them make it their home
smell them on you the next time you wear it
let them enter your world and include them in your list of favorites
and
then

when they break your heart,
you will be forced to conform to the sadness you feel
you will have to turn off the radio when that song comes on and you see their smile in the melody
you will have to pay for a new camera
burn pictures and blame the smoke for your teary eyes
stock up on white-out and erase those dates
when they pass the next year you will stay inside all day and your hands will shake
you will have to paint a new color on your wall just to quit staring at their name while you try to fall asleep
you will paint three, four, five coats atop their handwriting and
at night you will still be able to see it
you will have to go to the movies and categorize new favorite scenes
when that movie plays on sunday morning you will taste them and it will taste like cold coffee and
eventually you will be strong enough to change the channel
you will tear pages out,
buy new notebooks
drive by your favorite places and don't stop
you will have to read new pages
find new characters
its okay if you catch yourself running over the spine of the book you woke them up to read at four AM
buy a dictionary and find new favorite words
make up new favorite words and drop them into casual conversation
eat new icecream,
try more weird foods at restaurants you can't pronounce
look at colors more closely and determine a new favorite
buy new clothes
ones that smell like mass production and the local mall
you will leave the world you gave to them
and you will create a new world
with new favorites
with new songs, words, memories, places, books, movies, foods
with new pieces of you
and you will let someone new enter that world
they will tear chips of paint off of your wall
and ask you what your favorite color is
its okay to hesitate
say blue.

after the doctors, the family therapy
there remains a feeling of white walls and sterilized gloves
sterilized gloves, handling me very carefully
they make you wear non-slip socks but you can't have your shoes
you might strangle yourself with the laces
and my pills are all locked up somewhere now where i can't get them
my mother's voice sounds like the hush of tiptoeing feet on too-clean tile floors
they handle me with sterilized gloves and panic when i'm in my room for too long
as if it's abnormal
as if i haven't been known to hide
the echos in the hallways sound different on the other side of the hospital
nervous, uneasy peace and hushed whispers
i am made of glass
but being treated like it feels like standing in drenched clothes
my fingers are pruning up
i have a feeling
this will take a long time to dry

My self-contained destiny is expressed in every moment eternally.
I bask in all pervading, pre-conceptual valley of truth.

My days never end,
Seldom do I ever see the night.

Except when I let the darkness of my own soul
Consume my thoughts on the walk through the
Treacherous doubt of uncertainty.

My will is my own.

Power is hoarded.
Waiting to be expressed and impressed into the
Atomic structure of a construct, that must of
Been so elusive to deny me even a momentary pleasure
To express joy in the moment.

I aim to capture all positivity
Into the scope of intent.
Purified by the passion
That fuels my direction
To seek out experiences that are meaningful to me.