The wildest thing about flowers is how unconventionally strong they are. Think about it...some flowers bloom under the harshest of conditions.

When they're beaten and battered by life and the odds are arguably against them, some flowers find a way to bloom through the cracks in the sidewalk.

If a flower can survive amongst the chaos of a crowded street, think of it's potential in the midst of a cultivated field. Where love and encouragement flow freely and days are spent growing a future and not just dodging the blows of footsteps threatening to squash them from all directions.

Towering above the rest in the field, one singular sunflower stands alone. Stronger than the rest, built out of neccessity and self preservation, a tough exterior because she has had to have one.

And sure, the sunflower has grown on her own for years, done well enough surviving, not quite thriving, the yellows of her petals not quite as vibrant as they could be because so much nutrients has been ****** away by the weeds clinging to her from below.

She needs not a savior but wants nothing more than someone to take the time to stop and appreciate her strength. The phrase "stop and smell the roses" has never made much sense to me until now.

We all admire flowers for their surface value, for their beauty, for what they can offer us immediately. How have we forgotten over the years that flowers provide the very oxygen that we breath? That in addition to their beautiful exterior, they're also the backbones of what makes us who we are?

So no, I do not have a green thumb and have not a clue how to cultivate a future but I do know I'd walk through a field for miles, clearing debris if it meant you got to spread your roots a little further, soak in a little more sun, and feel a little bit stronger.

Because anyone can admire a sunflower's beauty, but the real work begins when you long to spread your roots and cultivate a whole field.

While beautiful indeed, one sunflower on it's own is no match for a windy day...but a field with stakes in the ground and love in the soil is a force to be reckoned with.

I've never been a holy roller but I found God in your eyes.
I've spent nights praying for a woman like you and cursing him in the same breath for not bringing you to me sooner.

I'm not a cosmic universe "has a plan person" but I'd move heaven and earth before I'd let the stars in your eyes fade away.

I never understood what it meant to have a "person". A "ride or die" a Bonnie to my Clyde, the mother of my children and the woman I hold at night, I've never understood more than I do now the carnal need that men have to walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street.

The way that life has turned from a burden to a privalege is like night and day. The way you look at me with so much love...like you'd want me even if some days I'm Superman and others I'm just plain 'ole Clark Kent.

While I've never been one to tout God, my faith in you does not waiver.

I know not of any scripture that could have predicted a woman like you, I know not of any hymn that could come close to singing your praises....and yet I'll belt out my off-key symphonies anytime in the car because it makes you laugh...and that sound is a bigger dopamine hit than a shot straight to the veins.

No, I'm not naive. No, things may not be easy and no, I will not waiver. Because you are in fact giving me the greatest gift of my life, far beyond all of my holidays and birthdays combined.

You were sent to me in the last moments of my head being held underwater, those moments when your lungs start to burn a little and you're not sure how much longer you can put off the inevitability of your chest filling with water.

Those moments when the light at the end of the tunnel fades and all of a sudden, you're left wondering if the only way to win this game of life is to not play at all.

A highly competative woman once told me that participation trophies don't mean a thing and the only way to play is to win. So, I'm putting in the work and taking nothing less than 1st prize from here on out.

Because at the end of it all, the work is worth it to get to spend the rest of my days building a life with you.

So no, I've never been a holy roller...but I'd make a deal with God to never lose that spark in your eyes.

Letters, voice memos, videos, pictures anything I can do to leave you memories of me before I embark on the next chapter of this journey.

No, I did not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Did not undertsand all the euphemisms about finding a reason, a will, amongst the inspirational posters hanging along the doctor's white walls.

My eardrums bleed, beg me to stop blaring music, pumping the booming bass directly into my brain because at least in those few moments the bad sounds dim. The voices battle against the rythmic, upbeat pop songs I play to drown out my current reality.

It's crazy, I seem to think, as I lay in bed again at night wishing more than anything that I could sink into the dark depths of the sheets and wake up the next morning a souless shell, because at least then I would not have the capacity to feel what I feel now.

I've tried to no avail to explain the claws of my subconcious that continue to pull at my feet, whispering sweet nothings into my ears, reminding me that the sweet release of a life not yet half lived is only mere moments away. The edge of the abyss always there, always towing the line between the "jokes" and intentions followed by actions followed by inevitable consequences.

What were once calls of help are now full blown battle crys. What were once outlandish thoughts are now full blown plans for the adjectives in my obituary.

See we all know how this movie ends, the sequels canceled due to budget cuts and a total lack of creative freedom, the story not yet finished and perhaps tucked back on a shelf in a pile of other manuscripts and news clippings of stories ended too soon.

It's crazy, the way that thoughts bounce through my brain, echoing along the walls of the chasm in my mind. The people I care for the most, long gone, the ones I know I've failed are far too deep into the great beyond for me to voice my apologies now.

Those who are left are the mere souless bodies, walking the face of this Earth pretending to love until their sense of obligation fades away. They've long sold their souls to whatever beings exist in the underworld in order to buy themselves their own ticket to surviving their tumultuous existence.

As the credits roll...I beg no one to ask themselves what they could have done differently. I beg no one to get introspective and challenge what brought us all to this conclusion.

Instead, I ask you what good is a story that has no ending? Were there in fact lessons to be learned along the way, or did we merely just waste each other's time? What good are memories if they all fade to black eventually.

Congrats on your participation trophy as a valued member of my life. When the bar was set so low, most of you still found a way to trip and tumble over it anyway.

The funny thing about the credits at the end of a movie is that...no one ever sticks around to see them. So let's not kid ourselves and pretend we've started caring about the plot now that the story's almost over. What were once main characters in this tale are now barely honorable mentions and who remains now but an old VHS tape in a box in the attic, destined and praying to be forgotten?

Who would've known the devil I chose...looks like an angel when she's sleeping.

Who would've thought a snake's venom tastes so sweet when I'm drinking the nectar of the woman I loved.

You are but a story, in a chapter, in the long book of my life...and here I thought we'd be co-authors together.

No. Because as much as I miss the idea of you, our four walls, our future together. I realize those ideas are merely thoughts of who I wanted you to be...not who you are.

I longed for a place atop your mind for so long. Spent days wondering what I had to do to make you smile - never stopping to question if I was happy with you...or the merely the mirage that I created in my mind.

I spew lies to myself, tell myself I won't find better than you. I don't deserve better than you, that I fumbled the biggest hail mary in the history of this field and yet as I stand near the endzone in the 4th quarter...I wonder if it's better to just to take knee and lose this game so I can come back and play another season.

A hail mary....is a last ditch effort...with a low probablity of success...it was never meant to be sustainable...I see that now.

We did not know each other very long...and yet I crashed into life with you 1000 miles a minute flying so fast I couldn't hear that little voice in my head...you know, the one that tells people not to fall in love overnight, not to trust the woman who lives with a smile on her face, a chip on her shoulder, and stake sticking through her  heart....

No. I do not know what is on the other side of this mountain, but I'll be ****** if I sit at the base crying for someone who does not have the capcity to love me, no I'll be ****** if I don't reach for the stars in search of a better tomorrow.

The thing they don't tell you when you shoot for the stars...is how likely you are to hurl straight pass them...forever lost in the abyss of space.

So I ask you...is it better to shoot for the stars with a chance of missing...or stay on a planet that is actively dying...a little more every day?

He looks in the mirror, distraught. Is he...getting old?

Because it felt like only yesterday he was chasing the woman of his dreams and fawning over his little girl.

He hasn't felt like himself in a long time, the mental illness drowning his thoughts of truth and reality, blinding his minds eye.

Some days he doesn't surface from the rolls of waves pulling him under, some days he flies higher than any kite in the sky because this is his reality.

He is bipolar. He is desperate. He is alone and the fear of growing older slowly gnaws at his insides.

He misses the way things used to be, the world is but a confusing shell of what it once was...much like himself.

He clings to memories of a happier past, a brighter time when the future didn't look so bleak and the kiss of death didn't seem to be pulling him in closer with every breath he takes.

He longs for love like most rugged men do, and yet he finds only a small portion of the comfort he once had in her arms.

He longs for a life filled with success, where he doesn't have to worry anymore, where he can finally fill that hole that has been empty since the dawn of his existence.

Some days he longs for the waves to pull him under, to fall asleep one last time and leave nothing behind except a life lived of regret and a world in which he no longer fits in.

And yet when he wakes up each morning, a look of disappointment crosses his face as he realizes another day trudges on.

This is the story of my father and the man he grew to be, or maybe the man he always was. His story is not yet completed, his chapter not yet closed and like it or not,

I am his sequel.

"He's young now." I look into the mirror. "He'll grow on you."

"He's learning. Unwise in his few years, low in confidence."

I ponder..." Will he always be so...scrappy?"

Here stands a young man, looking in the mirror. Still baffled at the reflection he sees.

There goes a woman, his mother, still determined to have a youngest daughter.

People say "He's changing, look in the mirror...see for yourself."

What I see is a scared young man....

scared to live, scared to take up space, scared to make a sound in the noise of society's never ending chaos.

She's trying...she says. To understand. To support. To move on. She knows not her faults nor the effect her words have on you...she only knows that one day her daughter stopped wearing dresses, cut her hair, and left a life of pink and pageantry behind.

No, she doesn't know what she does, but she can see the light in your eyes began to dim when she calls you her little girl.

His father....slowly decaying, pushes the ideas of a son out of his mind. Refuses to see the beard and changing physique in front of him, clings desperately like a moth to a flame to his little girl who he swears never grew a day past the age of five.

Back when things were simple. Back when there wasn't so much **** change. Back when things mattered less about pronouns and more about peace of mind and reputation.

When I grow up, I want to be the change that I wish I saw in all of you. I want to embrace who I love with open arms, decide that I'd **** for the man I see in the mirror. Let all those who disapprove be ******.

Because if I couldn't protect the light in that little girls eyes so many years ago, I'll be **** sure that the man I become is one who will protect mine.

Intoxicating...her laugh, her voice, her scent.

Dangerous...her sense of flight and fear of being hurt like all those times before.

"Look at me", she says as her eyes drown mine in complete and utter kindness, a safety I have not yet felt in this lifetime.

"Take my hand", she says as she leads me over the edge and into the unknown abyss of a life I've not yet felt the freedom to live.

They say stars burn at billions of degrees and that meteors crash faster than the speed of sound and yet still the only thing I know for certain is that when she speaks...the synapses of my brain begin to alight like supernovas.

"You better not **** this up." I say as I lay my head down at night, wondering how something so good could've happened to my life.

It's the forth down of a quarter life crisis and desperately when I needed it most, someone threw me a Hail Mary and though I'm the most unathletic person on the planet, I'll be ****** if I don't run arms open wide straight into the endzone.

Because I don't know what comes next, I cling to the realty of her lips, the smile in her gaze, and the feeling that our tomorrows together will be infinitely better than all the yesterdays before.

Thank you for pulling me from my glass house of insecurity and fear, and finding a place in this world for my blossoming life to flourish.

Here's to that next ride out past the city limits, where we'll get lost amongst the fields, the stars, and each other.

I've cut ties with you. That's way easier said than done.

I've shed your lies the way a snake shed's it's skin, slowly and then all at once.

I've cut ties with you. Zero contact. I've lost you in the depths of my mind ever confined to red tinged memories.

Every song we used to sing growing up has turned to high pitched whines that hurt my ears.

Every recipe you taught me to make now tastes of poison.

I long for you and despise you all at the same time.

Right here, in this very online forum, I shouted into the depths 6 years ago that I'd lose you. I'd break through the shackles of trauma that you've saddled me with.

I'd be the "wave that sinks your imaginary boat".

I think we're both hurting, but only one of us is moving forward.
You, my love, are stuck in a past full of suppressed memories and fake identities.

So long my dear, I thank you for the good times and condemn you to loneliness for the bad.

I only hope I have the strength to follow through. To keep seeing the truth beyond your half hearted apologies and your venomous lies to do better.

You are not a parent, at least not to me anymore.

You are a cog in a machine of hatefulness and betrayal, you are the weeds that grow in the garden of good, you are terrible human being.

That little girl you brought into the world all those years ago deserved so much better than you.

And while I can't change the past, can't save her from the nights she'd wished she weren't breathing any longer, I can certainly make sure she's never hurt again. Her innocence while long gone is something to be built anew, her ambition, something you'll never touch. That fire in her eyes, a flame you'll never quell.

Goodbye mother. I wish you everything you deserve, and nothing more.

A seemingly fine day ruined with one headline.
Then another. And another. And by the time my phone stops buzzing the news couldn't be any clearer.

We lost a battle today. A battle for basic humanity, a battle to our own autonomy.

"Women" lost. "Women" should be afraid. "Women". "Women". "Women".

Every headline I read talks about how scary the world is for women.

Yes, the world is scary for women...or anyone with a ******.

I don't want to make this about me. Because it's not. It's about every transgender man that fights for healthcare on a daily basis. It's about every non-binary person assigned female at birth who can get pregnant.

and yes....it's about women.

It's about people (men and women) who think their ideals should determine what I do with my body.

It's about every pastor, minister, judge, and human being who feels they have a say in how my life is lived.

Poetry has always been and will always be political.

Poetry is art and art is expression of feeling.

Today....I'm ******.
I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of dread.

The same feeling of dread I felt during the 2016 election.
The same feeling of dread I felt the night of the Pulse Orlando shootings.
The same feeling of dread I feel every time I think of wearing my trans pride shirt out in public.

I'm not afraid to say how absolutely terrified I am....I'm just afraid for whatever is coming next.

Sincerely,

- Your friendly ****** having transman.

What does it mean to be a man?

A hush quiets the room.

Seriously, what does it mean? I asked.

Because I've searched online forums and the trolls don't have much right to say,

I'd ask my father as if he would know himself,

I look at celebrities, friends, strangers, and yet I still wonder....

What does it mean to be a man?

Heaven help me because role models are hard to find. If God created sinners he must have made men with a special idea in mind.

Why do I desire something that is so hard to understand?

So tell me, what does it really mean to be a man?

Welcome back to the world you'd thought you left behind.
The world where the righteous have finally met their demise.

We're glad to have you, you're almost there.
Simply past this test and gain admittance to the paradise we've told you so much about.

What's the one thing you desire most in life?
What's the one thing that keeps you up at night ( besides your own despair).

Seriously, what's your "thing"?

Truthfully, I don't know that I've found mine yet.
But I know I will and I know you will too.

The beautiful thing about the Land of Do as You Please is it's always changing, evolving, into something better.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I guess I'll tell you.
You've always been here. In fact, maybe you were born here.
Maybe you wondered in one day and subconsciously decided to never leave.

The only thing I know for sure is we're all citizens of the Land of Do as You Please.

I look upon you with fear and disgust,
why do I want to be one of you so badly.

Truthfully, I'm better than you.
You're not half the man I am.

Cat calls and sneers as I walk by,
disgusting thoughts and that wonderful feeling of entitlement and ownership.

You think you own the world, because that's what we've allowed you to believe.

That flesh between your legs somehow makes you a God.

I despise you, I envy you.

I envy the way you get to walk alone at night.
I envy the your false confidence, your privilege.
I envy your camaraderie  while we've been taught to tear each other apart.

I envy you, I despise you, and truthfully, I never want to be like you.

And that's okay.

I may never be the kind of man you are, but I'll be a man none the less.

I'll be an ally, a safe haven, a calming reprieve in the storm.
I'll hunt down men like you, I'll send you all to the land of do as you please.

We'll deal with you there, in the land where your privilege is a thing of the past.

In a land, where you'll be the one leaning to keep your knees and mouth shut.

Change is in the air,
drive is in my mind.

Turmoil may be approaching,
risk is high, reward could be even greater.

Do I take the chance?
A chance to cheat death?
A chance to have a life again?
A chance to do what you didn't.

You tried, and I commend the effort.
But in the end, to dust you returned.

I've vowed to honor you,
and to in turn, never be like you.

So I run, as fast as a I can with open arms to the operation.
The cool cut of the knife under my skin to save me from the same fate you met.

I tell myself....
It's one thing to be fat....it's another thing to die.
It's one thing to be sad....it's another thing to be selfish.

Do I hold that against you? That you were the ticket to your own demise?

Do I hold you in contempt for being too dead to make it to my high school graduation?

Why am I so scared? What do I have to fear? That's right...death.
Death is a funny little creature. Sometimes it makes an appearance and is the star of the show. Other times it's shy, scared, and appears slowly over time until the consumption of it's subject has been completed.

You were the second, yet we all should've seen it coming.
But never mind, let's get back to the subject, while I can still be saved.

Can I be saved? Can I truly live again? A reincarnation, a former shell of myself come to life under the guise of a second chance.

A new beginning at nineteen. Less of a quarter life crisis and more of a life just begun.

Shedding trauma with pounds, revealing the flesh and emotions left behind.

Because no amount on the scale can compare to the weight of the world on your shoulders.

How much will the operation shed?

The breeze blows.
The sun shines.

and for the first time in weeks, I feel completely alive.
Like I'm more than just a cog in a machine, more than my future.

A living being.
Right now, the sun shines, the breeze blows, the waves crash, my blood pumps, my skin tingles, my brain moves a thousand miles per minute.

Most importantly,
right now I'm living.

....a feeling I can't quite describe.

Despair.

....a feeling I know all too well.

How is it?

That when I walk out the door and open my eyes, I feel 100 pairs are staring back at me.

What is all this for?

The surgery, the transition, the willingness to be someone else.

I wish I knew.

All I know is that one day, I'll look in the mirror and finally see someone that feels like me.

I'll look inside my soul and for the first time, not be an imposter, but be at home.

Stop! I could've swore I put that jar on the top shelf, not the second.
Stop! I can't concentrate, that picture is slightly skewed to the left.

My brain's flying at hyper speed back away, trust me you don't wanna ride this one with me.

My mind's a playground for sleep demons and time thieves. An endless land of madness and do as you please.

A never ending time bomb, where a cup left on the counter is deadlier than a gun.

Welcome to the world by bright-eyed boy,
we're so happy to finally meet you.

Step out of the shadows,
pick up your crown,
and walk like the king you were always meant to be.

You're young now. One day you'll be a man.
One day you'll dance amongst the stars and your name will go down in history as the prince who saved every princess in all the fairytales.

Today, you're a boy who's not afraid to fly.
A boy who's decided not to hide.

A boy full of courage, with love on his mind.

I step forward, change my face for the day.

Who do you want me to be, what the **** should I say?

Everything I've said so far hasn't been what you'd like.

Fighting feels like volleyball, always waiting for the spike.

I'm down on my knees pleading baby don't go.

But these feelings I'm feeling, God I've never felt so low.

Until I'm the "right" version of me, I'll play the frontman.
I'll play the frontman always standing by,
I'll play the front man, forever caught in a lie.

Flushed with anticipation and a bit of agony,
she leapt from the treetops and out into the sea.

The waves crashed down upon her, expecting to suffocate her
as they had done so easily with her predecessors.

Alas, she parted the waves in an almost biblical fashion. She built her boat out of thin air and rode away to the sunset.

Destiny was today, fear was tomorrow, and failure was embraced like never before.

She was a force to be reckoned with and a mind to be revered.

She opened her journal and for the first time in a long time,
she wrote happy words.

She told stories of freedom from the chains and weights bearing down on her for so long.

She spun tales of a new life she'd never thought she'd be worthy enough to have.

Long ago, she'd stopped dreaming. Stopped her side glances in the mirror because looking at a person she didn't recognize just proved too much to bear.

Long ago she'd given up hope of every being worthy of anyone else, she'd given up hope of a relationship that didn't end in resentment,

but that was before she met her.

Her eyes were greener than the depths of the sea that churned against the shores of their favorite place.

Her laugh, thunderous, beautiful, a force of nature strong enough to move mountains.

Her lips, soft, inviting, loving with zero expectation except to be loved in return.

She was a welcome reprieve for the chaos in my brain, an oasis of love in a drought of madness.

She taught me that love didn't always come with a price tag or a hand around my neck.

She made feel safer than I'd ever felt in my entire existence.

Long ago, I thought love was phantom of my imagination.

I thought love was for the weak and disillusioned.

Long ago, I was lonely.

Until I met her.

The cracks in her palms told a lifetime of stories.
The bags under her eyes spoke of a world of worry.

You could say she was weak, but she grew in multitudes when it came to her inner voice.

That little thing in the back of your mind, that tells you what's right and wrong? She had a difficult relationship with that.

She...I mean...I was confrontational. I was naive, younger than I am now, sadder than I am now. Angry at the world in a way no child ever should be.

I grew, changed, back tracked, and fast forwarded, through some of the best and worst times of my life. All for what?

Money? Stability? Power?

I wasted a lifetime wanting things I never bothered to wonder why I wanted them in the first place.

What does money really buy you once you've spent it all on worthless trinkets?

What's stability with no one to share it with?

What's power but a faint illusion of control?

She...I mean I...have spent entire eternity in denial....

and for what...happiness?

I couldn't tell you what happiness was if it caressed me with one hand and beat me with the other.

A message to my former self....stop, smell the ******* roses before you let them wither.

Love yourself before you drive your mind to insanity.

Don't give up the rest of your life to a cause that's not worth fighting for...for a dream..you don't believe in.

Let me give you some hard advice kid.

Capitalism is a regime, control is an illusion, and money is the Devil's play thing.

A message to my former self.

Stop.

While you still can.

Pick your head up darling, your crown's falling.
She'd say as she sucker punched me in the gut again.

God, your eyes shine brighter than the brightest stars in the whole ******* galaxy.
She say'd as she slapped me across the face for the eighth time that night.

Baby there's no one like you...

But baby I love you...

But baby everything is gonna okay..

I'm not your ******* baby.

I'm a girl that should be able to stand on her own.

I'm a kid with ****** up issues thinking the only form of love was a hand around my throat.

I'm not your baby anymore but baby....please love me.

Just one more time.

She was young, when they came in the middle of the night. The captors like villains in a fairytale, overwhelmingly one dimensional.

Her captors were Fate and Destiny. Fate was deadpan, zero sense of humor. Seriously, the girl was a bit of a bore. Destiny on the other hand, was the most handsome woman she'd ever laid eyes on.

With a grand flourish, Destiny pulled back the curtains of her old life and let her glance from afar at a new world of possibilities. Destiny told her it could all become reality, if she was willing to pay the price.

Fate on the other hand was more practical. She sat her down and gave her a pragmatic view of what was to come of the future.

The dullness, the suffocating sense of safety, the lack of fulfillment, the inevitable slow death. Fate was honest...and she could respect that.

But Destiny, oh so tempting, continued on. She painted a picture of ambition, true love, fascinating people, happy memories, and a peaceful end to a truly magnificent life.

Destiny reminded her of someone she knew. A girl she forgot long ago when she decided that looking in the mirror proved too difficult to bare.

Destiny smelled of the future while Fate reeked of home.

So, Destiny asked, are you willing to pay the price? To give up everything you know, everyone you think you love, all to take a chance with me?

Did she realize what she was asking? The levity of the question at hand? What would people say? That she'd run off in the middle of the night in search of the stars? That she'd died searching for a life that didn't exist.

Destiny paused...time's running out my dear.....make a choice.

Fate implored her to reconsider, a life lived in the shadows was still a life lived. A life in mourning of a future you'll never have was still a life of stability.

The girl turned, shook her head at her captors, and ran past them leaping straight into the depths of the darkness.

With a thunderous cry, she realized that she had flown straight past the stars, away from her captors, away from Fate and Destiny. Determined to make her own choices.

Because there's no way in hell she'd allow her story to be prewritten by one dimensional, delusional, villains.

She not only shattered the glass ceiling, she killed her captors with the glass.

The little shards left from the explosion expertly found their way into the hearts of every founding member of the patriarchy.

To every founding member that ever dared to doubt her.

The glass shuddered against her bare feet, cowering at her power. Her invincibility finally replacing her invisibility.

There she was in all her glory, present at all the board meeting, head CEO in a field where women where secretaries and mothers. There she was, finally on her own. If we didn't count the few dead bodies in the room.

"Brutal"...she thought. That life had forced a seemingly sweet woman to shed her "natural" loving instructs in lieu of such violence.

Little did they understand, she'd never known love in the first place.

There's an age old story. A tale as old as time.
A feeling I can't quite muster, a voice that's not quite mine.

I've grown a lot this year, felt a lot this year, slept a lot this year, ****** a lot this year. Needless to say....it's been one hell of a 365 days.

This poem is a  stray from tradition, it lacks rhythm, flow, but ******* it it's written of my own volition.

I've earned that right, finally making my voice heard, learning how to fight. I've lost a battle or two, don't get me wrong.

But I still raise my head, every round for the gong. I get back up, throwing punches until I see stars.

Fighting with mad love and ambition, even if it kills my heart.

What's more important? A sane mind or a sense of place? What's scarier? Losing yourself or fighting demons you can't face?

There's a lack of attention that consumes my thoughts. There's feelings of self hatred, despite finally being on top.

That's the funny thing about thinking you've made it. The only person you have to best is yourself. The only person you have to let down, is every single person you've every helped.

That's the fear for me. Never finding happiness. Enough never really being enough.

Time being an illusion that slips away and before I know it, my legacy is just a disillusion.

I've had this dream on repeat. I'm lying in a casket, looking ghastly in defeat. Death and I have become one, finally giving that ever so cherished encore to a dance we've swung too many times before.

It's lonely here in the dark. Colder than I thought. Sweeter than I imagined.

Peaceful....yeah, peaceful.

Help! Someone hand me a knife. Help me cut away the binds holding me hostage by parody and strife.

I'm bound, leather cuts against my skin, the pages filled with word counts wreck my mind from within.

You see what started as a hobby ballooned into a full time obligation, with deadlines, dollar signs,  and a **** ton of manipulation.

I'm restless but full of rest, like Gatsby within and without, I'm bored of doing the same thing all day but never gaining any clout.

There's a system in my mind that tries to comprehend this restless feeling I feel will never end.

So I'm resounded to spewing my words online, the only place that welcomes the madness of my mind.

If you happen upon this jumbled mess, please send me a message and beg me to get some rest.

Until then, I'll be your green light on the dock, your key fitting every lock, your master of words and prose, your knight in shining armor fending off your foes.

I'll be here.

Living vicariously through you, hoping one day again, I'll find myself too.

Thank you! Truly...it's such an honor to be here today and accept this award for most angry person.

Truly! It's an honor. I mean...I have sooo many people to thank.

Let's start with my mom. God...thank you for the childhood trauma. I mean forcing me to raise myself since I was like 7....stellar! Great stuff!

My dad! Thank you sooo much for your Bipolar genes and your tendency to throw money at your problems. Outstanding!

My fellow award winners. I look upon you with such esteem. To think...I accepted nominations for so many other categories! Least trustworthy, most codependent, and ah my favorite...lack of empathy!

Ah, such a great crowd this year! I wanna thank each and everyone one of you for coming out and supporting my demise. An end of era is upon us...please, join in the madness.

This is the death of ambition.

Gather round' come on! Let's mourn our past together. Let's mourn what we could've been. Just for a little while.

I was 14, I was naive...and the worst part, was that I was in love.

I was ambitious...and that's a dangerous feeling for a 14 year old girl who would move mountains for someone she just met on the internet.

There's this thing that all the movies about young love just don't seem to get....I mean, why I haven't I seen any movies about two teenage girls falling in love, moving across the country, going to college and having a quarter life crisis together?

I mean...that might be a niche audience.

So the scary thing about the death of ambition, is that it dies slowly. Overtime...months and years turn into decades wasted. Unhappiness, contentment.

That's word's always scared me...content.

It defines a time when you stop trying. I don't know what I'm more afraid of...being content...or never...ever feeling that way.

So, this is the death of ambition. Slowly, crawling it's way to your core. Suffocating. Deadly.

A hungry gaze, dissipated haze. From across the room his hunger stays.

Tears glisten yet no one listens. Madness and depression her brain descends.

Yet she has no choice...she's one of the boys. Get a doctorate, make something of yourself, stop playing with your broken toys...either way you'll be damed to hell..

She lied, they say. Made it all up, they say. He cries his reputation is ruined, I mean he never laid a hand on you anyway...Haven't you ever done something stupid when you're drunk?

Appointed to the highest hall, I guess some people are untouchable after all...

Ah...what it is to be white and male in America..

Land of the free so long as you've paid the fee,
SIT DOWN....Don't you know girls are to be seen not heard?

So, the first time she speaks her mind, the scales of justice pull her taught from behind, all too similar to the predicament she'd find herself in...all those nights ago....

This is the story of a woman who lost it all, trying to save us from the infamous Kavanaugh.

I wonder how many Bretts do you know? How many more have we yet to meet?

There once was a ledge way out at the edge, of the world,
Where one day a man found himself in the hands of the girls, who lived in The Land of Do as You Please.

The man was aghast for he remembered the past when the girls would sit with their hands behind their backs, and promise to wait on his beck and call.

So when he returned to the land he was distinctly appalled, for none of the girls paid him any attention at all. He took them and shook them, and called them all out. Screaming and Screaming " Ma'am what's this all about?"

Finally, out of all of the noise, emerged a beautiful woman full of grace and poise. She said to the man, " Sir! Get down on your knees! For after all, this is The Land of Do as You Please!" So without further ado the man took off his shoes, shaking with anger for he didn't like to lose. He looked at the woman with anger and spite, and lifted his fist with all of his might. Before the man with the oversized hands, could land a blow, the beautiful woman's eyes started to glow.

She turned bright red, looked to him and said, " Well my good sir, I think you might be just dead!"

With a final breath rattling from his chest, the big man lay his head down to rest. The woman sighed and looked around, for there were piles and piles of other men laying on the ground. All meeting the same fate as the last, each of their ideals also stuck in the past. The woman turned smiling glee, knowing she was finally safe, in The Land of Do as You Please.

You’re dead. That’s blunt, but it’s true. In September, my world fell apart and shattered in two, now my world’s all ****** up and I’m not sure what to do.

You left me alone in a new world full of old lies. Left me to drown in my sorrow, with feelings I despise. You were my go to. My anchor, my rock. And now that your gone, these feelings won’t stop.

I’ve been wanting to write for a while. But I can’t seem to find, the words that make sense to form these thoughts in my mind. There’s not a word in any language that can describe this loss I feel. A loss that I wish was totally unreal. I’ve been praying to anyone that this all was a mistake. But recently I’ve learned that religion is fake.

Filled with reality, and deflated false hope. I’ve come to one conclusion, I’ve decided to float. Atop my feelings of loss and despair. I’ve decided not to end this, so I’ll just stop it there.

God. Who’s he?

A figment of your imagination, a phantom of my reality?


Who read in a book written a millions years from now, that for only a “small fee” rebirth can be found?

Wanna get to heaven? Sounds great! Make sure to slide a 20 on top of the collection plate.

telling lies like a poor man can get to heaven, oh honey, only the rich can afford wine and anointed caskets. Take your rags to the back, throw some pennies on the plate, we’ll give you the “salvation” you clearly lack for love and understanding.

Our pastor needs another Ferrari, meanwhile
You don’t have a car. Just show up every Sunday, and we promise you’ll rest with the stars.

For $19.99 confess all your sins. Tell it all to a stranger, say some prayers, then do it over again.

This is religion, the largest capital regime. So remember next Sunday, is not always what it seems.

A glance to the right, and she walks through the door. Two seconds too long lingering on her face. Assessing the “threat”, finally looking away.

Country music blares, we’re seated at the bar. She couldn’t get a drink until I walked in. “Service with a smile” they say......**** that.

Driving down the road I’m stopped at a light. A cop pulls up next to us. She begins to shake.....

A joke taken too far, she’s forced to laugh. Convince herself it’s funny so it doesn’t hurt.
compare her skin to paint being chipped away time and time again until there’s nothing left.

Comparison. Yes. Compare her to the “friend” you have. You mean that one black guy you spoke to once. I mean you guys were polite so it counts right? Nice guy, never had a problem with him.......wait why would you?

I never understood until I met you. Now I’m ashamed. Ashamed of my pigment of who those people are, convincing myself day after day I’m not like the others. Asking for repentance for the sins I’ve been taught to commit in the past. A 10 year old racist child a model of her mother the epitome of casual racism. Adopting pop culture I’ll never appreciate or understand. Liking “hip-hop” but making remarks about the singers.

I met you and my blindness is gone. However my privilege remains. A broken tattered skin that I’m forced to remain in. Claiming a heritage that I’d **** to make disappear.

I wish  I could protect you. wrap my arms around you tell the whole world they’re wrong and never let go. I’d buy you a space suit, to protect you from the contaminated air, and the hate behind those meaningful stares. Cover you in a blanket of love and healthy normalcy.

If only love could break down walls and form revolutions. Because if it could, baby this would be a world full of real people and real solutions.

Look I know it sounds harsh, but see it from my perspective. Actually don’t. Because my perpective is your perspective but let’s make something very clear. Just because we share the same pigment doesn’t mean we share the same ideas.

Ironic. I know. The idea that I’m not a fascist **** is weird, but I’d like to hope it’s true. So let’s go through the step by step build your basic redneck racist ******* pack.

1. “Make America great again” this one needs no ******* explanation.

2. “All lives matter” again, self explanatory.

3. “White privilege doesn’t exsist” oh, I’m sorry you take for granted the fact that you don’t get shot at traffic stops or become physically ill when your the only one in the room

But see it’s not only the extemeists that are dangerous, it’s the common, staring for a second locking your doors at the sight, not walking down the same alley at night, asking invasive questions, making “jokes” racism that’s dangerous.

Just because you don’t think it’s wrong.
Doesn’t mean it isn’t.

Your a racist *******. And you don’t realize it.
But then again so am I. Even when you think you understand, remember that you don’t.

So do the world a favor and stop and think. You can’t change your pigment but you can change your **** attitude.

Hatred anywhere is hatred everywhere. So advert your eyes from her face, she literally just wants to eat dinner too, and shut the **** up about who’s lives matter because the real truth is if you hate the way you do, then yours is the one that doesn’t.

A mask is something we wear to hide our real selves. Some of us wear our masks all the time while others don’t even realize they have masks at all.

Her mask is the epitomy of wealth and prosperity... so why are you on food stamps?

Her mask drives a bmw.....is that why you can’t make your car payments?

Her mask buys fivoluous **** that she’ll never use...is that why you overdraw your bank accounts?

Her mask is a lie she’s lived her entire life....is that why you wasted all your money?

Her face tells the real story...your irresponsible, self-serving, with an insatiable appetite for anything that you can’t have.

A mask helps you pretend to be someone your not.

But the thing about masks is...

They all have to come off eventually.

There's a feeling in my mind I can not seem to reach, a feeling filled with joy, however ringing with defeat. Sometimes it comes in waves, sometimes just a few, but the one thing I know it's comes when I'm surround by you. Growing up in a box that appears to be locked, but appearances fool you, so you'll end up being mocked. In fact, the box was wide open all along, the whole time, it's the same thing with this feeling I can't seem to find. Is it gratitude, hopelessness, happiness, or fear? What even is this feeling, is it really even here? I've sat and wondered what life would be like in a different world, another place. Because physically I've escaped you but mentally I'm still battling all the demons you've made me face. One thing I know now is that this feeling is alive, alive inside my heart, in my head, in my mind. I've endured this long enough so it's time that I confess, what you've done to my mind, it's an unruly mess.

Okay kid here's the deal, you'll come into this world and everyone will tell you how to feel.

Fast forward, fifth grade, you're in the bathroom stall. The first time you knew the word gay, it was written as a slur on a ***** cement wall.

When your brother came out it shouldn't been a surprise, but even
you became accustomed to the fear behind his eyes.

Using art as an outlet, you set your electricity free, bleeding words onto paper, grasping for being who you wanted to be.

Drunk on idealism and Tumblr walls, discovering yourself, refusing to fall.

Into the same routine and monotony like the rest, you took your pain to the stage, ripped your heart open and confessed.

Screaming I AM WHO I AM, with your arms open wide, who knew one day you'd finally refuse to hide?

"Hey, is that your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Who are you texting, I bet it's your boyfriend."

"No."

"So, do you have a boyfriend?"

"No"

"Hey, take this guy's number. He's really hot, you should totally text him."

"NO"
"No"
"No"
"No" I don't have boyfriend. Beacause I have a girlfriend. I love a girl, and yet I change all the she's to he's so no one will ever see the real me. I change my lock screen and delete my texts, so no one can see the love I profess for the girl that I love it's time I confess.....but I can't.

I can't tell anyone the way I feel, i should tell everyone because my lies they steal,

All of our happiness and the love we provide, all because I keep my love for you inside.

Fact: To some people I only need to find the right man.

Fact: No man, could ever love me the way that you can.

I'm locked in this world, feeling like a liar, while people surround me I watch their actions transpire.

You know it's funny, in my own family, it's okay for a girl to be a *****, because it's only the gays we really deplore.

I've loved one woman all my life, but compared to my sister who's reached double digets, I'm the one who'll always be blamed by the bigots.

Maybe one day, it'll will be different.
And our lives will feel anew.

For now, to all the girls who love girls,
It's okay to be you.

I thought I was broken, maybe I still am.
I thought I couldn't love at all, that all my life was ******.

I thought I'd be fine on my own, living the life I'd been dealt. Until suddenly your in my life and I've felt things I've never felt.

You grabbed my hand, you held my heart, you glued me back together and promised I'd never fall apart.

And now your mine our hands intertwined, and now I'm yours, our love out pours.

Into every word we speak and everything we do, because every hole in my life is now filled with you.

I sit in my room hearing the sounds. The sound is resounding, silence unfound.

I sit on my bed tears in my eyes, wondering what happened, who's fighting over lies.

I sneak out the door and peer down the hall, crouching so low, my back against the wall.

They're standing in the room screaming to no end, having no care for their child who has no way to defend.

I mean what's a five year old supposed to do? when her parents are at war? Fear swallowing me whole,  shaking me to the core.

Sometimes I'd make it to the phone and call and try to help. But aside from each other, their greatest enemy was their self.

It's not my fault really, I just got the bad luck of the draw. I mean who knew I'd have been born to people who should've never been parents at all?

I'm older now but still don't understand why, even two mutually ****** up people would happily stand by,

And watch as their baby girl grew up in a house full of hate, where she couldn't be saved, in a house full of horrors where no one should have stayed.

The keys. The keys are on the kitchen table.
The car. The car is parked just outside.
My bag. I've packed it with clothes, not much else.
Money. Not a lot of it, but probably just enough.
My phone. In my pocket, turned off.

Is it really just these things i need, to run away from this place?

Leave my life behind fly out wide, deep in space.
Running away, leaving all the challenges I face.

Would it really be that easy just to leave this place?

In a metaphorical prison, surrounded by concrete walls. It's lucky that my mind's ever seen sun light at all. I mean physically the door's right there but mentally I continue to stall.

Why? Why do I stay, looking out the window through the bars? Dreaming of a life I'll never have from afar.

I never understood why the caged bird sings, i mean what does it have to sing about? Locked in a cage, alone with my thoughts, I begin to shout...

I AM NOT A CAGED BIRD! Please let me out?!

I could open the door, but I'm fighting in my mind,
part of me says that it's nice here, the other part knows this is just irrational fear.

So grab the I keys, open the door, I feel as though I'm ready to explore.

I wonder....will I ever miss the cage I lived in before?

It's kind of confusing, this skin I'm in.
Wanna break myself out, get free of this sin.

I'm living a lie, can't I just be my self.
I can't even wear clothes, without wishing I was someone else.

Listen, I want short hair, I want to be thin, I wanna be the pretty girl, I just need to be begin again.

Go back in time and erase the past, erase the version of myself i hate, at last.

I'll be free, away from the scorn. Finally I'll be me and feel as if I were just born.

Will I ever be happy, with the way I'm perceived?
Will I ever be happy with this look I've achieved?

You say that I'm perfect just the way I am, but make sure to sit up tall, keep your hair down, and wear a dress.

So you say I'm perfect, but only to your desire,
You say I'm perfect, but you sound just like a liar.

Am I lying to myself with this fantasy of mine,
maybe one day  I'll wake up, and finally be me this time.

I sit in the back seat, and listen to the slurs.
The hatred like venom poisons  all your words.

The names you call them, the jokes you tell.
The things you tell me, how they'll all go to hell.

I wonder how long you've spit lies.
How can you hate them, the tears fill my eyes.

You think you can teach me, that I'll hate them too.
But you'll never understand the impact of the words that you spew.

It's not your fault really, you've learned this since you were born.
Your parents, their parents, all passing down scorn.

Against innocent people, just like you and I.
Tell me, have you ever thought, that you've been living a lie?

Why do you hate them, tell me what do you fear?
Are you scared of who you've become, afraid of your mind.

I mean do you really think it's that hard to be kind??

Fill it up. My dreams, aspirations. I hope.
One day they'll be true, I give it to you.
This cup filled with my future.

Pour it out. My anxiety, my fear.
I bear it all here. For you my dear.
My cup is empty.

My heart is true this cup is for you.
My hopes and my fears they all disappear
When i am with you.

Flick. Lights off. You hate me, I've ruined your life. You wish id never been born, you wish i'd just have died.

Flick. Lights on. You love me, You want a second chance. You want to be my mother , we can do this again.

Flick. Lights off. You're in the dark once more. I hide behind the walls of my room, scream and lock door.

Flick. Lights on. I've stop trusting the lights, they deceive me. Even when the lights are on...ARE THEY EVER REALLY ON?!

I can't trust the lights. So I go mad in the dark. Living in a house in a room full of lies.

There's no escape from the darkness, especially when i close my eyes...

I want to cut my hair.
Chop it all off and make it into something beautiful.
I need to cut my hair.  They say things like
"Wear your hair down more." "You'd be so pretty if you let your long hair down."
I DO NOT LIKE LONG HAIR.
I have never liked long hair.
I seek liberation, from this metaphorical suffocation.

Please, just let me cut my hair.

I want to be the cool girl, who gets all the other girls. The skinny one. The pretty one. The handsome one. The stylish one. The gay one. The tattooed one. The one with short hair.

I want to have short hair.

I don't want to wear a dress, or at least I don't think I do.
I don't want to wear a suit, or then again maybe i do.
I'm not sure who i am anymore.
Stuck within this eternal identity crisis, living in fear of what everyone thinks.

Can't i just walk down the street smiling? The wind in my hair, the sun on my face? Feeling as if time is irrelevant?

Except nothing is irrelevant. Can't i take my girlfriend to Prom without feeling lost?

Can't we both be the prom queens?

I Must get up today, maybe stay in bed today.
Wish I could go away, instead I'm staying here today.

There's so much to do today, as if our lives begin anew each day. How many times do I start over? ****. That's a lot of days.

I think I'm overwhelmed. Or maybe I've overwhelmed myself. Because this day is overwhelmingly difficult and I can not seem to understand myself.

I think I need to change my ways. Sail off on a ship, sail way out that way. Never looking back, sailing far far away. But I'd miss you too much, so I guess Im here to stay.

It's worse here, in the dark room of  my mind.
I wish I could stand in the sun, but there's a door I can't seem to find.

I've been in the room so long, you'd think I liked here.
The darkness and the shadows, you really think I'd like it here?

I CANT GET OUT! I'm trapped Inside. Please get me out im starting to die......

The next day has come and I'm suddenly outside, I'm not sure how I got here, i know Ill be back inside.

Sooner than later riddled with fear, tell me how do I stand in the sun but still feel cold when I'm here?

In the morning is when I like it most.

When you've just woken up, and you forget where you are.

Yes, the morning  is when I like it most.

When it is dark and quiet, when no one is a wake.
The cloudy skies and the cold represent my mood for the day.

The morning is when I like it most.

After the sun rises, the people rise too.
The day begins anew, but my peaceful morning dies too.

Yes , The morning is when I like it most.