I write, not to deploy pity or ***** commonplace conceptions
I write to potentially discover the sole rationale as to why I am who I am
What variety of experience and array of struggle has molded my self being
And who is to say that I have or have not become who I was intended to
There is a fine line of losing touch with society's notion of impeccability and drifting towards the horizon of individual pediment in assembling the parts of your inner soul
The pieces of you that may never see the light of day but still continue to participate in your decision making and how you articulate ideas
Every part of the whole is significant
Yet we continue to sprint towards the standards of conformity
Our lives, slowly becoming a smaller line of which we walk upon, holding tight to mediocrity
Because the only thing to do when the curtain is falling is say what the audience wants to hear
And I fear that perhaps I and clinging to the same things I curse over without being aware of it
So, I write, not to deploy pity or ***** commonplace conceptions
I write to potentially discover the sole rationale as to why I am who I am
Perhaps I am who I think I am, whomever that may be
All I do know, however, is I am not who you think I am

You are not your pain.
You are not your pain.
You are not your pain.

You are not what happened to you.
You are not what happened to you.
You are not what happened to you.

You are not what they did to you.
You are not what they did to you.
*You are not what they did to you.

As time goes on I am starting to learn how everyone has someone they love but just can't be with
It is the sad reality of stumbling blocks ruining what could have been, the imagined perception expectation of the future that we let ourselves believed we deserved to live
I often imagine meeting you at the record store in another life and it working out the way it was always supposed to and you've been holding my heart for centuries and though here, we may be foolish and alone but this is just one time dimension where maybe things are difficult but I will see you in the approaching vigor, in the dim light of a motel room near the city, a place where things are better, a place where we are better and I will kiss you like a poet trying to rewrite the language of love on your lips and you will touch me like your hands are praying to the religion beneath my skin and we will burn with love beyond what any movie or book describes
But here, I cannot love you and you cannot love me. Here and now we are poison to one another, a disease not worth catching if it can be avoided, our bodies were never strong enough for our love, we didn't want it anymore, we got too busy, too stressed out
You wasted my time but that’s okay I wasted yours right back, we were never in love but oh God we could've been, you know, as time goes on I am starting to learn how everyone has someone they love but just can't be with and regrettably, you are my someone

i've spent hours cramped over thesaurus pages and days ignoring warnings to write about the people who make me feel the things i am supposed to feel

i've spent sentences and words and enough knowledge to fill volumes like a life-time credit debt, pouring sentiments and metaphors over people who won't even bother to read how i venerate their actions, their touch, their reactions

how i analyze each detail like ive got a four year degree and student loans to last me until im ninety in How to Make Yourself Sick With Overthinking

i've spent so much time deflecting like a broken pinball machine in the back of an old restaurant, telling anyone who listens that people make me feel human, give me emotions, make me feel real

i've never spent enough time away from instant gratification, reaction, attention, to know who i am without the people that fill gaps in my lungs and ribs, who stitch me up and send me into a field of disconcerted intentions and bad messes

i can't wite much about who i am, how i react, my actions, my touch, my reactions. my soul is based off of the fragments of other souls that have touched me.

and still, i want the words and syllables and poetry.
i want the actions and touches and reactions
i want to mean something to the people that mean so much to me
i want someone to raise me to this compulsory apotheosis
it's impossible i am the only one with emotions bursting inside of them like nightlights and meteor showers

i suppose
i haven't spent enough time thinking how
there is a vain narcissism that encompasses a person who, without people, would not be a person at all.

Imagine if the sky were always orange and red
If it was a flaming sunset all the time
If the cloud's silver linings resembled halos
I think this the reoccurrence of beautiful things turning ordinary
I think this is the end of what once was a beginning
You see we often take things for granted
Things that do not last forever
I say to myself that nothing lasts forever often
I look at you and there is the picture frame understanding
You are a sunset I sometimes forget to step outside and see
Paint you on my walls to be a reminder of beauty
I often wonder if the sky were always orange and red
If it was a flaming sunset at all time
In the clouds silver linings resembled halos
I suppose if that were to be the case at hand
Then we may marvel and take pictures of the sky when it was blue

my dad always told me
if you ever want to be the best at something
you have to start at a young age.
i didn't mean to be the best
at coming up with a good prayer
at christmas dinner,
but since my name is grace,
that's basically a silent volunteer
to be the one to say it right?
i didn't mean to be the best
at lying on the spot about
buying bandaids in excess
or using the reference of
"it was just for poetic effect".
i guess i took it the wrong way.
my dad always told me
during thunderstorms
and tornado warnings
that i should never be scared
unless he is scared.
but that's near impossible
because nowadays, i get scared
hearing my name in public and
i don't think he'd start shaking
at the mention of prescription drugs
or at the sight of a white car
in the rear view mirror.
i've learned to stop taking his advice.
people say to leave the past in the past
but what do they say to the past
about staying away from the present?
my father was born deaf,
but with all of the times recently
that i've been calling out for help
i'm beginning to think that
it's my mom who is really the deaf one.
or maybe it's just the fact
that people tend to simply hear
what's said, and not listen.
for a couple of years
there was this pattern
where i would have dreams
of just regular realistic things
and they would actually happen
play by play
in "real life".
& lately,
i've been having this reoccurring dream
of driving off of a bridge.
& now i've found myself
taking the long way home
more often than not
for a chance to cross one.
not because i want it to happen
but more to test my consistency i guess.
my dad always told me
when he would wake me up
really early in the morning
that if you look close enough,
everything is a different shade of blue.
& since then, i've decided
that all i ask for
is to be remembered
as the time of day
when everything is blue.

There are ways to forget
There are ways to get better
There will be a tornado in your throat as you try to unlearn the definition of love and you will have to choke down all the things he said to you with alcohol you shouldn't be having so much of
You are dizzy from intoxication and you think of his kaleidoscope eyes and fall to your knees
In humble abandonment of your old self, you are vacant of any comfort you may have once knew
You are looking for new ways to escape this horror of reality
You stop showering because the water feels too much like his hands running through your hair
Open the windows, he would have wanted them closed
Smash the television, break the radio, drown out all the sound because he can't sleep without noise
And you can't sleep without him but it is better to lay there with silence hanging in the air rather than accidentally hearing a song that the both of you once loved, waking you in a cold sweat like an addict itching for a drug
And sometimes when I get drunk I say that I hate you
That I wish my mind had never laced itself into yours
That I hope your next morning will be one that is cold and idle
And I'm sorry that I do these things
Because alcohol is an intoxicating ingredient being poured into my blood stream and these words that smell of liquor are one's that I do not always mean
I find myself filling with immoral substances to resist going to sleep
I cannot bear going to sleep now because each night at approximately 3 am
I wake up in a frenzy from a dream I was having about the old you
Panicked, terrorized, I feel I am under attack by the soldiers of my own mind
Maybe it is because I know I will never capture you, with each relentless passing second, you will never be the you I once knew and loved
Because when things were good, they were great
However, you must always pay close attention to how they treat you when things are bad
Whether it's "I love you but you're such a fool" or a door slammed on your fingers
There is always an option though
To continue loving you, chasing pavements, limping towards a dying light
Or to leave with some decency and a change of clean clothes
You see, I've learned that there is always a hospital bed, the question is whether or not I want to rot in it
And with you, I feel on top of the world, a mind game
Because I know I am actually on the bottom
There is something you do to me, as if you place glasses over my eyes
Making me believe that maybe this is not as bad as it seems
That being without you is somehow bearable as long as your face is implanted into my skull
There is no real way to describe the staggering appetite for his touch
I am starving for such warmth that never goes cold
A drinking water that never runs dry
He could refresh my cracking heart valves if only he were to come back
But he won't
He would watch me *******, crumble, disintegrate away
Deteriorate, degenerate, decay to ash
Corrode, decompose, shrivel up, pollute this hole I am locked inside of
He does not care for my safety, he does not care for my life
If he did, he would have come home already