there's almost always
an ambiguity
between what my words mean
and what my mind intends them to mean.

like, with loving intention, i tell her
i can't praise you enough

she smells a ploy in praise and enough.

she interprets them as
she hasn't done enough to deserve my praise.

then, when i tell her
with age you're maturing in beauty

she takes them to mean
i'm digging at her age
and her beauty is in doubt.

last, but not the least
when i compliment her thus
you've made my life full

she retorts

no more fooling.

Too many times
I've been pushed aside
     On the back burner
My whole **** life
         But I wanna be the fire
   That lights your soul
I want a raging, blazing
         Inferno
      Sparking flames
Making changes
        In the chemistry
   A little oxygen
       So I can breathe
A lot of hydrogen
     So you can believe
We're floating on air
        Particles you can't see
      Like love
It's a mystery
            A theory
   Of who's meant to be
And who's left suffering
         That's destiny
     I'm creating
Breaking
     Changing the flames
   Into ashes
And graves
      With no names
Just broken hearts
          On tombstones
     And no chance
*To restart

People may tell you to not cry...
I won't because I know the difference.
They think they know when in fact they lie...
I say bury yourself in the deepest of detriments.

They may say that a new day will come...
They only spout what they can't comprehend.
They forget that you are ailing from a broken heart and that you're not dumb.
There's only you in your space, alone you stand...

Textbook responses are all they can offer...
They know not that it'll only make things worse...
There can be no replies so nice and proper.
To rid you of your life, your plight, your curse.

They may even share personal events that they think familiar.
Thinking what worked for them may work for you.
But no two situations are the same, albeit looking quite similar.
At the end of the day, you only owe it to yourself to pull yourself through.

I say feed your pain, grieve hard if you must
Wallow... Dwell... Drown yourself everyday.
Let your blood sear your insides, beneath your crumbling crust.
Let the world around you descend into destruction and decay.

What made me the expert...
To say these horrid, putrid things.
Because I am you and we both lay in the dirt.
Driven mad by the persistent echoes of our own misgivings.

I'm no expert... I am just a broken man.
Telling you to let yourself be caught in your own sad and angry song.
Be weak... Be as weak as you possibly can...
So you could rise from the ashes and emerge hale and strong.

Six
I showed up in an orange polo
blue jeans, a blonde bowl cut
and the latest light up barbie shoes
my mother dropped me at my classroom door
she left with tears in swelling her eyes
because I was the only child who wasn't clinging to her like the last strand of hope I had
she was so proud
I was on top of the world
until you tore me down
threw your wooden cities in my face
and told me I belonged with the boys

Eight
I showed up in a pink dress
white flats, and shirley temple curls
my mother sent me to school that day
she left with a twinkle in her eye
because I was the only kid in our minivan who wasn't faking fevers
she was proud
I made myself known
until I sat criss cross in that cotton candy dress
and you told me that girls dont sit like I do
and that I belong with the boys

Twelve
I showed up in pink jeans
a graphic giraffe T, straight shoulder length locks
and black chuck taylors
My mother dropped me off that day
her eyes watched me until I was safely inside
because she knew I was nervous
I took junior high by storm
she was proud
you took note of my sports bra
laughed at my cardboard chest
and told me I belonged with the boys

Thirteen
I showed up in basketball shorts
a simple T, shoulder length hair
and tennis shoes
I walked to school that day
My mother was still sleeping
I hid from everyone
you asked me if I liked girls
and thats when I knew I belonged with the boys
I needed these ******* boys

Thirteen
I showed up in black sweats
a hoodie that avoided my curves like roadkill
a half assed ponytail
and running shoes
I was invisible
I replaced the gauze on my thighs that concealed the proof he was here
I wore and extra shirt to hide the proof he was here
I learned to use makeup in all the wrong places in hopes to prove he was never here
His fists played symphonies across my ribcage
He made songs of my pleads for forgiveness and apologies
addressed to both him and god
and I am still trying to forget the notes
I am still trying to forget he explored my depths
I am still trying to pretend that he was never here
He said I could only belong to the boys if they could touch me

Fourteen
I thought the cough syrup would save me

Fifteen
He took the only shred of dignity I had left
I listened as my only hope for a family was ripped limb from limb
The child who's crescendo heartbeat originated from me
was slaughtered at the price of a Versace ring and a fake I.D.
Fifteen
I thought I could hear him screaming


Twenty
I am defined by twenty different men
These scars are proof of me nitpicking the pieces of them from my skin
Proof that I am worth nothing more than a one night stand

Twenty taught me:
1. No one will ever understand how empty you become when you're constantly filled by different men
2. A new canvas will not make you feel any cleaner
3. Hands feel like hands in the dark no matter who is behind them
4. After about the 3rd one night stand you will realize that 2 is the loneliest number
5. My mother is no longer proud to see me