I like to write my name on a piece of paper over and over again
until it's messy enough that I forget who I am

Erasing the edges, smudging it out until my identity is nothing but a fast blur;
something that could only be noticed if you were looking for it-
something you would probably be disturbed to find anyways

Like when you're driving and you see an animal on the side of the road
and you have to pull over because it's your third week of being a vegetarian
and you almost have to force yourself to cry about it, but not quite

Or when you're cleaning your room and you find that old wooden box
you put your earrings in when you were seven years old
and now you're almost triple the age you were at that time
and you find those earrings, but there's only one of each so you put on mismatched ones
and cry yourself to sleep because you're missing parts of you that you thought would
always be there

"Mama said there'll be days like this,
there'll be days like this, my mama said"

On the messy days I like to forget who I am and pretend I'm still who I used to be.

You are a beacon of light shining for me, the way home.
Which is a sort of contradiction because you are my home.
And right now I am just lost at sea.
I'm almost drowning in the ocean because I naively mistook it
for the depths of your eyes.
What a foolish, lovelorn mistake;
A mistake only lovers make.

For all I know you could give me an anchor disgused as a life preserver.
I'll take it because I trust too easily and I'll be thrusted down to the bottom
where the bodies of water keep their secrets.
I'm just another thing to keep quiet about.
Another mystery when the sun's up and another mistake when it's down.

The moon has a way of showing me for who I really am.
I want to yell out "**** you" to it for illuminating me but I'll swallow water.
Just like I have choked back my love for you all this time out of fear
of your silence.
A silence I am all too familiar with.

I use my last breath to say that I'll miss you.
But only the fish can hear me.
And frankly, they don't give a ****.

I don't take after my mother.
I am not sweet or selfless.
I am a bad person strung together entirely by
poor decisions and lack of judgement.
I don't take after my mother.
I am not a homewrecker.
I would not abandon my children nor
cheat on my husband.
I would not tell my suicidal daughter
to leave this world.
I have my mother's eyes, difference is
I have laugh lines.
I take after my father.
Addictive personality, but soft.
And also soft spoken.
Artistic. Alcoholic.
I have his nose and the same beauty mark above our lip.
I was born on a Sunday; it was raining.
My mom is like thunder and my dad is the rain.
I have no choice but to be the lightning.
Destruction's in my veins.

I don't take after my mother and I drink whiskey like my dad.
My family is a storm.

he moved his hands like the wind,
they said he was crazy

I said he was from somewhere special
where the raindrops only fall on sad days
to match your mood

and the sun's rays are magnetized to those who
have hurt, shining on their wounds and lessening
their scars

I told them to be quiet and they grew buttons
where their mouths used to be;
one fell off of a little girl and all that came out
of her lips were butterflies-
they whispered "it's true"

and those people never looked at me the same
but every now and then a butterfly flutters by
and they remember something about a boy
with hands like a summer breeze and another
world where raindrops are tears and the sun
is healing, not harmful.

If I should find a time machine I will travel back in time to when you were six years old.
I will look into your scared, not yet masked in makeup doe eyes and I will tell you that everything will be okay.
I will let you know that even though you don’t feel six years old, you are.
And next year you will be seven, and then eight.
And no, maybe when you’re 16 you will not feel 16, but you will feel 22.
And when you’re 17, you’ll age four years because of broken hearts and the evil of the world.
And I will tell you that even though in a few years time, when you are nine, and you think you know everything that this world has to offer, you won’t.
And that will be okay.
Sometimes it is okay not to know everything.  Even though you want the answers, I swear to god sometimes it is okay to not know.
And even though your world is falling apart right now, and home feels like a battlefield, and you are the grenade set to explode, you aren’t.
And even though your parents are on opposing fields and armies
And even though you are no man’s land, stuck in the middle of a firing squad
And even though you have lost the ability to cry because at six years old you feel numb
And even though you lost the one pair of arms you felt safe in
And even though you want to save your brother from the childhood you are currently living in,
you have to stop worrying.
You are six years old, and soon you’ll be seven.
And you won’t feel seven.
You’ll feel seventeen.
And I’ll feel twenty six.
Because I have lived my life for seventeen years and I know that you are scared because I am scared too.
It will get worse before it gets better, I promise you that much.
But you will spend your entire life trying to find the perfect balance between happy and sad, the good and evil and your mom and dad.
And when you are seventeen, you’ll feel twenty six.
And you might understand.
If I should find a time machine I will travel back in time to when I was six years old.

everything about you screamed infinite
the type of person I could spend forever trying to figure out

sunsets and sunrises pass by like fast trains, and my minds still reeling
a photographic memory is a blessing and a curse but right now its a gift
i can remember every word spoken, every laugh and smile
and i play it back like a movie

the kind of spirit that makes you forget the hurt
the universe cries but you remind me that it laughs too

coexistence of bodies and minds, sweet and surreal
worlds colliding at a rapid pace, they collide
they become one

everything about you screamed infinite
everything about me screamed indefinite
indecisiveness and paranoia floods my veins
love and knowing floods yours

a scale sits between the palms of our hands
and is level, for we are balanced

I lift my pen and let my hand guide my mind
my fingers already know you and they haven’t felt you
yet my page screams your name wholeheartedly

vast space was left empty in the corners of my brain
but they’re filled now, even in the dustiest of places

everything about you screamed infinite

"Stay the hell away from here!" he screamed at you
He was pointing to his chest
You asked him if he meant his lungs and he shook his head
He meant his heart

He's a poem you can never end
The lines flow nicely in the beginning and the middle
But once you get to the bottom of your page, you reread the last line
And curse yourself for typing it on a typewriter because there is
no turning back

He's a storm you watch from the window but never go out and stand in
The puddles beckon you to stomp in them but You shake your head this time,
You're not twelve anymore
You don't play in the rain

He's your worst nightmare incarnated
He's a fever dream, the worst kind
He's the best thing to ever happen to you
But it scares you so much you paint it dark blue and call it sinister

"Stay away from here" you finally say back
You've got ******* aimed at your temple like a gun
He asked you if you meant your mind
You meant your heart

there comes a time in your life when you will stop pretending
you will stop seeing the world as a glass vase holding your favorite flower
you will smash the vase, and let the flower out
and you know it will die because now it's out of it's cage
but it would have died either way because you forgot to water it in the first place
you were too busy admiring the caged thing to realize that it has other needs

us humans, we love to lock things up, you see
we lock up animals, so we can stare at them in seclusion
we lock up humans, for almost exactly the same reason
we lock up our feelings, our dreams
and we throw away the key

but maybe one day you will stop pretending
you will stop pretending that you're happy in that glass vase
and maybe you will smash it
because you see; flowers are much more beautiful in the ground.