Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.

Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.

The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.

An equanimous love fell right into the palm of my hands in the form of clay and I needed not mold it,
It molded itself in the form of us digging into the center of each other's hearts and filling the darkest corners with a love that could survive natural disasters and psychotic breaks
Our shape was skewed, like our souls, but only in the best way we could possibly know
A love to last me a lifetime, it was only right to entangle our bodies together and wrap one another up in an emotional connection that could never be severed
Intuition spoke words for me when I was absolutely speechless, searching into those big blue eyes for a reason to doubt myself and coming up short
"I'm ready"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes"
The sweetness in your honest eyes and the warmness of your breath on my cheek made my heart flutter with excitement
A night I will never forget, you become a part of a memory that cemented itself inside the tiny webs of events within my brain, you outshining them all
Perfection in the form of our bodies embracing one another, becoming one true love the way we felt it in our hearts
With my impeccable track record of bad decision making, I have yet to encounter but a single touch of regret for the night we spent together
As our exposed feelings coincided with our exposed bodies I thought about it all
You being my source of water when the world runs dry
You being my source of sunlight when the world grows dark
You being my source of food when the hunger is unbearable
You being my rock when I have nothing to hold on to
You being my first true love, my first true everything
You being the first one to have me in my entirety
You are, love

I wanted to come home to a riddle that has already been solved, and crush the snow that has already fallen
I wanted to draw a picture that has already been outlined, and eat the meal that has already been cooked
I wanted to love the boy that has already loved me, and wipe away tears that have already fled
I felt selfish in voicing these frivolous wishes to even myself, a desire of continuities
A yearning for ease at everything in life
The emptiness of a freight train houses nothing but fallen whispers of an angry wind and the immaculate darkness that hides the emotions
The loudness of the one-track mind, suffocating wishes with plastic bags in hand
Swerving on and off the tracks like in your worst childhood nightmare, where it never ended
A purgatory of life- living while dead, or dead while living?
I tied my shoes at age 5, ignorantly crafting a fantasy world inside of my head where everything that required a struggling effort fades, and fades quickly until it skips the obstacles and leads right to the reward
A self-entitled structure of my cerebral cortex where I find them all sitting around waiting for it to take care of itself
And I cannot fast forward anymore because I am 17 and failing at life
The crackling essence of my entire nervous system breaking down at the mere thought of futures
Where I cannot wrap my wishes in pretty bows and let them come true
They do not listen to lazy 17 year olds with bambi eyes and mascara-run cheekbones
They salivate to little girls catching shooting stars in their hands and begging for the ease of life to rest at their fingertips
Now, all-knowing, wise, they let the yarn of dreams come undone until the visibility of easiness vanishes right before you
I want to come home to a story that has not yet been written, and watch the snowflakes that have not yet fallen
I want to draw a picture that has no direction, and eat a meal that has not yet been cooked
I want to love the boy that has not yet loved me, and wipe away tears that have not yet fled
I feel open to this new idea of uncertainty, a desire for discontinuities
A yearning for adventure in every part of life
The bustling aspect of the city burns my feet into the ground, holding me with nothing but the uneasiness of the cracks in the sidewalk and the illuminating lights that never fade away
I sprained my ankle at age 12, conclusively believing I would not make it through, but discovering the true talent of healing
A humble version of a once perfectionist attitude, I become accepted into the world of **Reality