-Im about-
I’m about spoken word on youtube
Split screen with my blog, writing in my journal
I’m about
Cold doctor pepper
Home made chicken noodle soup
And Netflix binges
Living on the edge with a facade of being 50 yards away from it
Stolen nights
Nicotine
And midnight adventures
I’m about making bad decisions
Just so I can write a good poem
Kissing destruction
While wrapping myself in a blanket of false security
I’m a ****** nose
And a series of broken knuckles
I’m about
Once can’t hurt
And twenty other first tries
I’ve got a mouth full of white lies
And trace amounts of guilt in my pocket
I’m claiming my stake on new lands
And exploring uncharted territories

I'm 15.
I'm 15 and I'm an alcoholic.
I'm 15 and I've been smoking cigarettes for
a year.
I'm 15 and I've been with more boys then I can count on one hand.
I'm 15 and my preexisting anxiety and depression are becoming too much for me.
I'm 15 and I don't know if I can do this anymore.
I'm 15 and I don't want to be 15.
I'm 15 and I want to be 6.
I want to be 6 when I swore I'd never touch a cigarette in my life.
I want to be 6 when I didn't even know what anxiety was.
I want to be 6 but I'm not.
I'm 15.
I'm 15 and I want to be 28.
I want to be 28 with a man who appreciates my flaws and loves me no matter what.
I want to be 28 drinking a glass of wine or two at dinner, but no more.
I want to be 28 but I'm not.
I'm 15.
I'm 15 and I'm scared.
I'm 15 and I'm scared because I'll never be 6 again, and I'm scared that I might not make it 28.
I'm 15 and I don't want to be 15.
I'm 15 and I want to be.

The other day my friend that I met in the hospital came over
He entered my house through the window and 2 A.M.
And he left at five
I float to my bathroom, and my father steps out of his door frame
Turning on the light
Only to gasp and ask me why the lower half of my face was covered in blood
And as I touched my ****** nose I told him I didn't know
Because whats the point of a sinner
Telling a sinner their sins
Because my father would never understand
Why inhaling life through a straw
Is better than breathing through your mouth
Because no one would understand why at the age of sixteen
I know more about drugs than my mother and my father combined
And no one would understand that I'm trying to throw away all of my straws
And as I go to wash my ****** shirt
And get the blood off my hands
I get ready for a day of jitters and paranoia

Coughing fits
One A.M.
Glass pipes
And bud
loosely fit words
Flowing on the the page
Like smoke out of my mouth
Nose bleeds
Two A.M.
Cut straws
White lines
Along with the blue lines
On my paper, with scribbled words
Only half legible
Panic attacks
Three A.M.
Sharp thoughts
Red lines
Words scribed in cold blood
Not entirely true
Hospital trips
Four A.M.
I.V. lines
Stomach pumps
Screamed I’m sorry's from my mothers lips
Why would you do this cutting through the air from my fathers mouth
****** noses from stress
Heart monitor
Five A.M.
Dripping line
White room
Mama were going to keep her for  awhile
Police holding my mother back
My father hanging his head in shame

Do not brake
Do not accelerate
Just coast
I am traveling over icy bridges
With deep puddles diagnosed as a mood disorder
But my new doctor thinks its something more along the lines of mania
Just like my aunt
*** holes and cracks in asphalt leading to depressed down falls
Speed bumps filled with anxiety
And a deadly black ice keeps me slipping
Till I’ve lost the little control I had
I’ve started hydroplaning into guardrails made of razor blades
Every time I think I’m in the clear
Onto a warm sunny road
The freezing rain comes back
Blinding me
And I have to travel on another bridge, longer than the last
There are people honking at me to move faster
But I’ve been in car accidents before, I know the damage they do
I do not wish to be flipped over guardrails
A side show for people to slow down and gawk at
I will just coast and deal with the honking while I go over anxiety bumps
And try to avoid depressed cracks
I will not break
I will not accelerate

So, speak of infinite love and
roll your umber eyes. It goes so
well with the way you roll your r's,
as you teach me your Castilian
intonations. Just don't fall
in that category of immersed lost
Latin loves, of mine, sunk in
wet memory.

Ah, the murk of them, an amalgam.

Each giving to a melting ***,
and me, a liquid molten fraction
of strange tensile strength
and half gold-like luster. An alloy
of allies, do I see them as? Why,
yes, of course.

Now you come. Please stand out
from the mix. Show me your
purity.

Be solid gold.

I know you like my pronunciation.
I need to know now, yours.
Mi Amor