Nothing is as simple as it ever seems, and nothing ever will be.
You can say "I love you." or "you make me happy" without uttering a single word, and I think that's
the only reason anyone can make it past the age of twenty-five.
I remember being in third grade wishing I was made of steel and concrete and every other single thing that my father's knuckles couldn't break through.
I remember being young and putting conch shells to my ear because then you would hear the ocean, and I remember doing the same to my grandfather's grave, and how his marble tomb sounded like a hollow room with smoke rising upwards through the floorboards, and I see how even at our composition, we are flooded with what we cannot turn away from.
I see the power of finding more in things that you don't really understand, and that even something as soft as a voice can be my sweet tooth.  
I was once told that people are exactly what they allow themselves to be, and are defined by the things that they were given, yet decide to change.
So just know that I feel the time passing like wind sliding down my back, and I am carving softer ways to love you,
I am trying less to know you and more to know why.

Because the way tires leave blisters on the skin of the road when they leave too quickly, is the same way goodbyes scrape arms.
It is easy to devalue our breath, when we live in a world filled with flame, and coal, and ice which are not supposed to be beautiful, but despite their purpose, they find their ways to be.
It takes courage to pray to someone knowing that gravity can ****** your words from the air and bring them right back down to the soles of your feet.
So when we question things like Heaven and wonder if that big blue sky is another bruise on someone else's Mother's arm, we find much more than answers.
We find that people are nothing extra, they are only themselves, some simply more than others.
We are more afraid of a silent and a hushed love than we could ever be of one that oozes too many words, so I will continue quieting the world until it is time to listen.
So yes,
hell exists.
But I refuse to believe it is a place, and as far as I am concerned it is a moment.
It may be one moment or millions of them, but hell is real once you understand that the people who are supposed to love you like bandages that cover burn marks, seem to be pretty good at starting fires when no one is looking.
These are just things I was thinking about on the car ride home after I ran into your Mother in the grocery store.
She said you still walk like there is sand in your shoes, and I realized that being in places isn't the same living in them.
We have bad habits of getting up and taking a few steps toward someone just to say we were there, and I hope you are guilty of
loving me from within the distance.

I want to start off by asking you to forgive me. I've never been good with apologies, only making lights in hospital flicker and leaving dead roses at your doorsteps as a reminder of all my withering mistakes. People spend a lot of time in hospitals when they feel guilty, people spend a lot of time with things that are dying - it makes them feel like they are paying for their sins. In the grand scheme of things, I get to watch you die for free when you inhale your burning, filtered death, and it is a beautiful thing. Admit me to the hospital, for I find that I used to have a heart but the love inside of it has turned malignant, it has eaten away my chest cavity and left nothing but a gaping wound that bleeds darkness, and your staple kisses can't even hold the wound together for long. Admit me to the hospital on the basis that love is blind and I had gouged my eyes out for you, willingly, for in my sight I saw the promised land and it looked a lot like you and I never knew paradise could be so cruel. Admit me to the hospital, and ask them to put me into an induced coma, and in my unconsciousness, tell me that you love me like you did when I was sleeping, because guilt makes people feel crazy things; guilt makes me angry that I am not a beautiful sunset, that you won't grab your camera and windbreaker and rush out to catch me before I disappear. I always loved you through the wrong vision, like staring out of stained glass windows in an empty chapel - you're supposed to be the one in the confession booths, yet here I am, etching my feelings for you like hieroglyphics into church walls and wherever else people will either abandon when they're happy or visit when they need a reason to not feel so guilty. Churches and hospitals are not so different , you and me are not so different - we have always been made for the guilty, and we are full of prayers from people who might not know that one man died for all to show his love indefinitely and I have been trying to hang from a tree ever since just so you would know for one moment. Again, forgive me, I have never been good with apologies.

Pearl white
the color of four walls in an empty hospital room
or the color of your teeth when you are smiling
at anyone who isn't me; I think you know what I want to see
before I let myself go under.
Pearl white - the color of slate I could scrub
until my knuckles bled but never quite clean - you know,
white is the color of an innocence
I'll never know, like a blank open document
before it is corrupted by words, a blank sheet of paper
before I smash my skull open like a glass jar
and let the ink drop and stick like preserves;
I've never been that smart of a guy and every big word
I ever said to you was probably forced.
Pearl white - your bones if you'd ever let me see them,
but oh no, never touch - you know,
pearl white isn't made for hands like these, these hands are sticky
with baggage and defilement and I fell in love
with the way your body melted into a white couch
but I never said anything, nothing, no way, no how
all the fears in my throat are blood red and I have always been afraid
of staining beautiful things. Pearl white -
I can stare at a full moon like an empty notebook for hours
and nothing may come out, but when I look at the whites of your pearl eyes,
I start to remember the phrase about the world being my oyster
and once I upon a time I realized I have such tiny hands
and I was scared to hold something so intimidating and large,
but now you stand here and suddenly I can hold the universe in my palms.
I would dress you in all white - white is the color of a ghost hiding beneath a bed sheet,
white is the color of wedding dresses and maybe if you stand in a graveyard
you might hear church bells, but, then again, you could just
press your ear to my chest instead.
Pearl white - the color of four walls in an empty hospital room
or the color of your teeth when you are smiling
at anyone who isn't me; I think you know what I want to see
before I let myself go under.

I want to scream at all the people
who pushed me down
I want to yell in their faces
for making me hate myself
I shouldn't want to
**** myself
my only pleasure shouldn't be
in the form of a metal blade
that's wrong it's ****** up
I want to scream at everyone
who said I was ugly
im not happy with myself no
but some girls want my curves
some guys stare at me
I want to yell in the faces of
those who call me fat ugly short
I don't need your crap
I want to want myself
I want to be loved
I want that so bad
                                                        sometimes
                                      I think maybe someone
                                          will ask me out
                                                      on valentines day
                                       sometimes I think
                                                it might happen
but it won't
and that's life
im me and I
do still think
of suicide
but I also
want to be
happy