I'm sick of hearing,
"You deserve better."
Because clearly that doesn't matter to me.

I'm sick of hearing,
"Everything happens for a reason."
Because, no, things just happen,
And order is made from it.

I'm sick of hearing,
"I have someone for you."
What makes you think I want someone?

I'm sick of hearing,
"You'll find the right person."
Because what makes you think I'm looking?

I'm sick of hearing,
"I want to be close."
Because so do I,
But we don't change that.

I'm sick of hearing,
"(Insert lie here)."
Because the lies are always invisible
Like me.

I'm sick of hearing,
"You don't need me."
Because you're right, I don't.
But I still want you here.

And I'm still so sick of
"You deserve better."
Because some people are always worth the pain.

Was it worth it when you shed a tear and pushed me from my own
Straight into the unknown abyss of the who-am-I’s
And where-do-I-go-from-here’s?

Was it worth it to give your heart but so swiftly tear it away
At the unexpected moment when “I love you”
Was “I still do” but “what you had to do”?

Was it worth it when you made it all one-sided and alone,
That you weren’t ready and didn’t want it
When you began it all?

Was it worth it when you changed the past to make me someone different,
A crazy, clingy girl revolved around
The perfectly realistic guy?

Was it worth it when you lied to me and everyone around,
When you spied on personal accounts
And manipulated them so?

Was it worth it when you lied about her, making me a cheater
When I didn’t even know,
Caught up in my tears and tequila?

Was it worth it when you tried to tell me that it never happened,
And I never told my secrets,
A delirious, drunken girl?

Was it worth it when you manipulated my messages but claimed of no such thing,
That you don’t care at all, never will,
And haven’t all along?

Was it worth it when you called me a mistake, a ****, and failure
When I once was a “guardian angel,”
Loved, your “home,” and family?

Would it be worth it if I left forever and murdered every possibilty of returning?
Would you once again let a cold, salty line be drawn straight down your face?
Would you regret any of it?

Was it worth it when I believed in it? And that I had it for you?
You bet your *** it was.
I miss you, you lying ****.
But you deserve every ounce of happiness and success this world can offer.
And if you’re getting there, I could ask for nothing more.
And through my cold demeanor, I'd be nothing but ecstatic for you.

I don't want these ears.
They still hear the echoes.

I don't want these eyes.
They often get lost.

I don't want these lips.
They hold so much in.

I don't want this mind.
I thinks far too much.

I don't want these hands.
They've given up reach.

I don't want these legs.
They can never outrun.

I don't want this heart.
I've used it to death.

I don't want this life.
I've emptied it so.


I just want out.
Completely. Forever.

There they sat
On the weathered bench outside of the church,
Waiting,
Talking.
A hand lightly brushed against her shoulder,
And she felt chills down her spine.
He gently looked into her eyes
And smiled.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

There she sat,
Glancing to where she thought she should be,
The reason why she was there.
From the opposite direction came an overwhelming light
Onto what she gave up,
And there he was still standing.
The arms wrapped around her
And lifted her up,
And she felt chills down her spine.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

There she sat,
Alone on the stairs
After running away from the overdone breakdown.
Tears of guilt,
Sick of being blamed.
She heard him searching,
Calling her name,
But she didn’t utter a word,
Just waiting,
Wanting him to find her,
Longing for him to make it there.
He paced into the hallway and turned to her,
Disfigured faced converting to relief.
He kissed her forehead
And tenderly held her head in his hands,
Gazing deep into her eyes,
Promising no more pain,
And she felt chills down her spine,
More than ever before.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

Here she sits,
A day like any other,
Pressing forward,
Fighting for reasons of which are unsure,
Day in, day out,
Unending.
Silly girl,
Stop getting found,
First you must find yourself.

Some days
I lose myself
so deeply in my thoughts
that I find the person
I was meant to be,
instead of the person
I wanted to be,
and in those moments
I realize
I don’t have to try anymore,
that I already am,
that everything I ever wanted
is everything that would have killed me,
and a new world
suddenly fell into my lap,
even though it had been there all along,
and in that world,
I am already my best,
I am enough,
I am free,
I am appreciated,
and every piece of life
I have ever lived
has brought me to this moment,
a moment where I can just be

and continue to be.

And it isn’t the smile
(Well, maybe a bit),
And it isn’t the eyes
(Okay, that’s a lie),
And it isn’t the vocation
(I guess, I don’t know),
And it isn’t the voice
(Though I do hear its music),
And it isn’t the touch
(But it does give me chills),
And it isn’t the scent
(Sweet as it is),
But it’s every flaw,
Every issue,
Every huge imperfection –
And the wonderfully careless soul it comes with –
That gets me,
And that’s how you know it’s not a
Utopian,
Blinded idea,
But the real, unending, idiot deal.

A bridge well burnt
Leaves a life swiftly hollow,
And the words well lied
Dim the eyes dark to grey,
And a heart well ignored
Forms a wall hard to swallow,
And a face well smiled
Fools the ignorant betrayed.

But fires burn out,
And debris scars the land,
And who are we to say
This mess should stay guilt?
Silly people, don’t you know?
Just take my ****** hand,
And learn of the strength
Of a bridge that’s been rebuilt.

The sweet scent of his skin,
And the soft hum of his breath,
And the quick pounding I feel
With my ear upon his chest,
And the way those eyes
See far into mine,
Where I used to hide behind falsehoods.

Hold on to your hearts for dear life,
My friends,
When that life is a bumpy ride.

This place is my release,
A white screen in front of my eyes
waiting to be filled with a story
that emerges from the tiniest thought,
the most fleeting sight,
the most faltering emotion.
Whatever shoves me around,
whatever makes me fly,
this place keeps me grounded
to where I am the safest.
And sometimes,
when I don’t know what brings me here,
I just listen to the clicking of the keyboard
held prey beneath my fingertips,
hoping to see the answer reveal itself.
That didn’t happen this time.
My heart hangs heavy in my chest,
held there by cages of bone and blood,
swinging from an avid artery
back and forth,
back and forth,
like the ticking of a clock
tracking the time till I explode.
Have I detonated yet?
Maybe, when the clicking stops,
it means I’m whole again,
without needing to learn of what ails me.
I have nothing to say here.
I have yearnings of freedom
crying through my nerves here.
May they release with these words here,
calm with these words here,
rest with these words here,
so I can go on with the earth here.
Can it stop me from unease?
Will my eyes lift again
to the beat of a heart left floating?
I still hear it,
the clicking of the keyboard
held prey beneath my fingertips,
held pray beneath my fingertips.
Can it lead me out of this one?
This place is my release.

And there's so much I want you to know that you don't believe in.
And there's so much I see that you need to see.
And I wish I could show you the brightness and talent that exudes from your being.
But I don't want to be written off with others who have said the same.
You are truly amazing and gifted.
Please believe in that;
Maybe I'm just scared to say it,
But that will never remove its truth.

I used to start fires with gasoline, sometimes with caution and other times in haste. Either way, the quickest light of a match could smother my darkness with light. I had myself convinced it was so much easier that way, a routine way to manage my soul. It took me a little too long to realize my burns were caused by my own explosions.

I’ve learned to appreciate the slow kind of burn, the smallest smolder that gives way for your sight, the lingering echo of crackling power, and the fragrant tenacity in a glow that grows. The beauty of a flame is that it has the ability to ignite other fires without diminishing its own. My only wish is that we as humans could figure out how to do the same.

For now, all I know is that a single spark can ignite the flame, and the smallest, most seemingly insignificant flame, can light fireworks across the sky in celebrations and calls for support. I just hope no one summons the rain clouds before then.

The problem
with learning how to
repeatedly
"put yourself out there"
is also having to learn
how to
repeatedly
get disappointed.

Did I miss something here?
Did I misunderstand?
Was the sound of my presence too high pitched for your ears?
Did I squeeze too hard when embracing your face?
Was the glimmer in my eye too bright for your retina?
Did my hands form blades as they ran down your back?
Was my love a slap across your perfectly structured cheek?
Did my legs turn to sand paper as they intertwined with yours?
Did they slowly gnaw away at your caged in comfort zone?
Was there poison on my lips?
Was it a slow, steady venom?
Did it drip to my chin?
Did you taste it in my kiss?
Did it sting when I accepted everything you are?

Hand me that dagger.
Let me pierce your pulsing heart.
It’d make a lot more sense.
You could easily write me off
with all of the rest.

Burn me.

I see your lips moving
And your eyes’ hold on mine,
But I don’t hear a thing.
It’s just another line.

Useless.

Outside,
A storm is brewing.
Clouds collide as wind unfolds.
Lighting
Strikes a fire in heart,
Burning desires of truth untold.

Inside,
She peers out through fog.
She presses her hand to hardened chill.
Longing,
Frustration forms the mask
Where warm satisfaction used to fill.

Venture
Into dark, raging night,
And hear the drops as they crash to the ground.
Listen,
Spread her arms open wide
But no cold, no drop, no sight, no sound.

Solid,
She stands like a rock.
She stands in the wind and the rain through the storm.
Confused,
She feels no drops on her skin,
No light in her eyes, just sound of the scorn.

Sitting,
She braves the rest of night,
Her only action of blank, empty stares.
Gone,
The feeling, her heart – home –
So nothing she is, and for nothing she cares.

They say
honesty is the best policy.

I say
honesty is an art
that is nearly extinct to our culture.

Ignorance isn't bliss,

*******.

Can anyone tell me why I let myself live in this?
Am I stuck in a room with no windows or doors?
I used to bang on the walls with bruises on fists
over tattooed wrists and faded scars
that led to a hole in my chest
that I filled with love for myself.
“Love for myself”:
You probably think that sounds conceited,
right?
But in all truth, it is the bitter opposite.
I didn’t need any of you to save me.
I figured it out on my own,
like I always do.
The fight in my gut emerged beyond skin,
but I was never good enough here.
I will never be good enough here.
I spend my weeks on a seesaw
between the highest praise and the lowest blows.
Every word that takes off from my lips
must turn and tumble in flight before reaching your ears.
You hear me. You don’t listen.
You twist me. You don’t illuminate.

No, I am not like a daughter to you,
and if you were my mother,
I would have disowned you long ago.
In fact, you really don’t know **** about me,
because I don’t want you to.
Too many people try to tell me how to live,
as though I haven’t come to learn what is best for myself.
I think,
as someone who used to fantasize about her own death
but has overcome that obstacle
and must continue to work to keep that fight alive in herself
every
****
minute
of her existence,
I have the right to write you off as an imbecile to my life.
You don’t own me.
You don’t know me.
You don’t even see me.

I ripped away the heart sewn tightly to my sleeve a while ago
and placed it in a treasure chest
kept in a safe haven to which few hold the key.
I hold the key.
But I don’t go there often.
You see, I never really get the chance.
I just want the chance,
just a little bit of time
to hear the quiet hum of a life reformed,
to stop and feel the breath in my chest,
to feel each lung fill to the brim,
and picture it nourishing every inch of my body
as I press the “release” button.
Can I press the “release” button?
Can I close my eyes and be…
just be, not do.
Can I whisper my desires to the wind that moves around me?
Can we tell secrets of our confusion,
our struggles,
our victories?
Can I reside to the treasure chest,
simply to fill back up?
“E” is for empty.

I was designed differently than you.
I wasn’t made for this.

Take my hand,
and I’ll take theirs.
Let me drink the strength I need
to soak their tears away.
Into my veins may every drop go,
straight to the pulsing muscle
that keeps my skin from greying,
pumping out to every crevice of my body,
piercing every cell.
Bruise my flesh,
and puncture my pride,
as long as I can breathe
vitality into them,
just to keep their eyes alive
and open to a vastly better world.
Take away what I have known,
for they don’t need to endure
the shallow, harsh, sliest of demons
bewitching the brightness ahead.
Stab me.
Fool me.
Use me.
**** me.

Just never let them see it.

If you're going to hold a knife to my chest,
at least look me in the eyes when you press down.

I don't know why I do it,
exactly.

Maybe I'm just trying to avoid it all.
The people.
The laughter.
The heartache.
The living.

I've heard before
that this isn't the way to live.
But I know no other way.
My vessels have been spilled of their blood.
My heart beats simply to get me through the day.
I got sick of emotion,
because emotion gave me nothing.

Maybe the truth is that I pretend not to care.
And that is why I become the shrew that tears through all of you.
Maybe, though I want to be loved,
in some messed up way,
I know that if I can cause you all to hate me,
then no one will miss me when I'm gone.
Then, maybe, I wouldn't feel guilty.

Maybe I know I can't make it go away.
So I put myself in the situations I know will
put a dagger through my core,
so next time?
...Maybe, I won't go there.
But it never works.

Right now, I'm supposed to be out living,
out being a "college student."
But I'm not.
Because "I'm tired."
Maybe the truth is I don't want to feel.
I don't want happy, because it just goes away.
And everything else?
I just don't want to go there.

Sometimes, I say a lot of things I don't mean.
But hear me,
and know I mean this:
I care.
I love.
I hope.
But it kills me.
And I don't understand this at all.

I used to wait for the days when I’d get a free moment from you.
I used to hate the majority of things you did.
I used to feel like a ******* because of things you’d say.
And I used to hate your cavalier attitude.
But in the last month or so,
You’ve become one of – if not the only – person I trust.
And I’m just waiting for the day when it all goes back to how it used to be.
I’m happy for you. I truly am – from the bottom of my heart.
And I’m trying my best to give you space.
But I’ve become a terrible *****,
Because I’m unbelievably jealous.
When I see how happy you are,
I’m ashamed to admit more often than not do the words
“What the hell did you do to deserve that?”
Run through my mind.
Because from what I recall,
One of the lowest years of my life has been because of you.
And despite everything that’s happened recently,
You will always be the person who stole my innocence without my desire to.
And you will always be the one who cheated on me.
And you will always be the one who made me feel more used
Than anyone should ever know.
I was your toy practically every day of my life
While you still used others.
And then,
When someone finally came along and saved me from you,
You tried to take it away from me.
Not to mention the fact that you have tried to cheat on multiple girlfriends with me.
And I get it… you’ve come a long way since then.
That’s why I forgave you.
But why the hell do you get to have what you have?
When all I’ve done is choose to love unconditionally,
Forgive over
And over
And over again,
Accept the people I love for all of their messed up flaws,
And be willing to do anything to make their dreams come true.
What did I ever do to any of you to deserve all that you’ve put me through?
You and all of the others have done nothing but lie, cheat, and womanize.
Yet, I’m the one who spends every night
Struggling with a decision that would make the pain go away.
I guess no one ever said life would be fair.
But they did say it would be worth living.
This, however, is certainly not worth it.

On dark nights I lie in bed in hopes of a sleep
that will appease the uncertainties of my brain,
but somehow it rarely approaches.

Just close my eyes to what my world has become
and place me somewhere I recognize again.
Bury my feet in the sand, and let me dig
each crevice of my toes into the grainy earth,
sifting and scraping away the dead pieces.
I pray that when I open my eyes, I’ll once again
be surrounded by those I call my friends,
but I imagine that when lashes meet lid,
there’s no one in the distance.
A beach’s waves sing me a lullaby
each time they greet the shore,
and I’m comforted by the realization
that this is where I always felt f   r   e   e.

Slowly I lower myself to the ground
and find a comfortable home against the shoreline.
My fingers find their way through the grains,
and as if they have a mind of their own,
their voice bellowing in the subtle path they form.
Before I know it, I am reading the words
“I love you”
in the sand.

An eager wave washes the letters away
and a piece of myself with it.
Relentlessly, they trace the earth again,
and the sanding of my skin cells stings sweetly,
and before the sensation grows painful,
“I am loved”
appears below.

Yet once again, as the sun begins setting,
the ocean grazes the shore in a soft embrace,
this time leaving traces of my work
but stabbing me nonetheless.
One more time I actively and purposefully
etch a last sentence into the granules,
because I believe with (almost) every part of my soul
that it must be a legitimate reality,
that I don’t wonder if I lie to myself
or if it’s just a rare moment when my old pal
Depression
comes creeping back to spread fabrications,
and I shove my finger so deep into the earth
I swear it will be covered in blood when I’m done,
but I have to believe in every syllable of the phrase
I wear over, around, and within my heart,
because if don’t,
I lose myself completely.

“I am happy.”

I.
Am.
Happy.

The salt may wash these words away,
but I’ll be ****** if they take me with it.

Just open my eyes to what my world has become.
Awake, I still find myself dreaming.

She smiles if you wave.
She hugs you if you lead.
She converses if you please.
She listens if you need.
Her grades don’t stray from perfect.
Her lips don’t mean to deceive.
Her hips leave them lusting.
Her morals make them grieve.
I hate her for the way she looks.
I hate all that she sees.
The perfect shape, the perfect mind,
The perfect she won’t be.
The perfect way she scrutinizes
Her every living inch,
The perfect way she battles with
Each poke and **** and pinch.
The perfect way she blocks it out,
The perfect way she bleeds,
The perfect way she chills the swollen heart,
Not which she heeds.
The perfect way she fakes it,
The carelessness and breeze,
The perfect way she keeps alone
In all her growing ease.
I hate the way she stares at me.
I hate those eyes of tin.
I hate the way they lose their sight
When ***** starts to spin.
I hate the way she knows I feel
But let her judgments be.
I hate that **** reflection
When its searing straight through me.

Wake up.
It’s only a dream.
That’s only the fear raging through your veins,
But fighting it can bring a ghost to life.

Wake up.
It’s a nightmare.
Deep down you must know
That you made the simple so difficult,
As did I.

Wake up.
Open your eyes from this frozen, lifeless slumber.
Remove your glasses of tenacity,
And I’ll let my guard down.
Trust me with your heart,
And I’ll save you from yourself.

Wake up.
Let me in,
And I’ll shine the light back down
To keep you from drowning in your own ocean of poison.
Give me your hand,
And I will grasp it with my life to pull you ashore.
Because we’re both fools if we let this crash
Push us apart and change us for the worse.

Wake up.
I’m standing right in front of you.
I will not stagger.
I will not sway.

Only darkness can show
silver collisions in the sky
that we like to think are specs.
Frosty foam greets the shore
with a smile and a hug.
I see nothing but the white,
but I know the waves
are soft enough to sustain me.
This thing called night can be eerie,
but I’m silently complacent.
Please don’t utter a word
so I can live in this.
Not even the sharp sand
beneath my feet
can distract the high
in which my mind
has taken refuge.
I close my eyes,
even though I don’t need to,
just to feel the wind dance
between my fingers,
under my arms,
and up my spine
until it pirouettes around my head
so many times
that the aroma of the ocean
takes me even higher.
There’s nothing I want more
than to have this more often than
once-in-a-blue-moon.
Earlier today
I carved my name in these grains,
through the damp, tired, diligent earth
that never ceases to trail behind.
I etched it ever-so-quickly,
ever-so-deeply,
with merit.
They washed me away.
They splashed my scars,
they showered my skin,
they dove into my vessels
until they could drag every piece of me
into the deep blue.
Yes,
they washed me away,
but they lifted my chains in doing so,
and here I stand in the darkness,
arms open wide,
face to the sky,
life in my chest.

This is what they call freedom.

There’s a strange satisfaction
in the tranquil pounding of feet on pavement
against the quiet whispers of the sunrise
over a morning’s dreary eyes,
when the world is about to rise,
and your unaccompanied flesh is its alarm,
like the soft ripple of a rock
skipping against the water.

I came here to stop feeling,
but instead I feel everything.
The hum of the wind beneath my eardrum
is a lullaby for my loneliness,
and the cotton candy sky is begging
for my mercy.

A few months ago,
this was the key to my fulfillment,
but somewhere along the way,
you went and changed the lock.
I tried to call a repairman,
but my throat froze
and my chest burst
the moment he stopped by.

I’m not sure what brought me here
or why,
but eventually
I’ll breathe again.
For today
I’ll simply close my eyes
and pray that the light that floods my corneas
when my lashes meet lid
brings brightness to this twilight mood,
and someday the repairman will allow me
to lift this weight from my chest.

If I said that I didn’t think about you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t miss you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t wish for a break in the silence,
I’d be lying.
So, I won’t say anything at all,
just as promised.

Last night
I fell asleep to the pitter patter of graceful rain
Splashing against the roof over my open window.
As I lay there,
I silently bathed myself in numerous thoughts
Of how perfectly peaceful this feeling was.
My window,
Open to such a vast world.
And here I was, listening to its beauty.
Here I am, living its wonder.
But the absence of one thing lingered over my heart,
Something I miss,
Something that would have completed this moment,
Something that should have wrapped around me,
An empty space that should have been filled.

This morning
I woke up
And looked out of my open window,
Again at the beauty,
Again at the vastness,
Again at the wonder,
And I knew that none of it matters to me
Without the missing piece.

A daydream.
To sink the blade into angry, red flesh,
To burst every capillary and spill every vein,
To sever every artery and tear away the nerve
Straight to bone
Until the feeling is gone.

But this time
I'm ****** enough to use my sword for defense
And not for self-destruction.

The mirror displays only the imperfections,
The aspects, the qualities I long to change.
The struggle never left me.
I used to think I conquered,
But deep down… I knew.
And it now haunts me the same way it did years ago.
A tear falls to the floor.
The sounds of disapproving mutters echo down the hallway.
This distorted image won’t change
Regardless of what truth tells me.
Nothing you do will alter the fact,
Because I think nothing of it,
Treat it as normalcy.
This is my reality,
My life,
My struggle,
My insecurity.
A battle with the mirror,
The countless flaws it reveals,
A never-ending war,
And neither of us wins,
But neither of us forfeits.
Why do I let this happen?
I must be perfect.
I will not settle for anything less.
But my worst enemy is not the mirror.
It is myself.

It’s sad, I think,
to realize this -
again -
as an adult,
that you can never be sure
who to trust.
Because you can never be sure who will betray you
or play you
or just not care.
People
who are supposed to be a good friends.
For all they know,
you could be alone in your room
with a knife to your wrist again.
You’re not.
But they don’t care regardless.
Your need for advice doesn’t concern them,
nor your loss of sanity.

I guess you’re never too old
to find out
who your real friends are.

After multiple traumatic relationships,
years of cynically happy single-ness,
and a series of mismatched puzzle pieces...
No gesture,
promise,
or amount of time
will ever render me accustomed to saying,
"I love you,"
and hearing,
"I love you, too."

Another middle-of-the-night charade,
a delicate pas de deux with my bed sheets.
I forced my eyes open,
for the images on their lids
became too much
for the heart lodged in my throat
to handle,
choking,
strangling.
Let me breathe.
I'll surrender to the night,
to the slow passing of time.
Just let my lungs take in clean air
And press out every image I just witnessed.
My eyes are softly drifting again,
so shake me awake,
and give me a fight,
for fear of falling back asleep.

Why?
Because I don’t want to.
That’s not good enough.
Stop.
Oh, come on.* (with an innocent smirk.)
I don’t want…

Grab,
Push,
Pull,
Force.

Practically no decision.

Fake,
False,
Phony,
Forged.

An evil touch,
Sickened chills,
Scar after shredded scar.

*What’s your problem?
Why are you crying?
Stop being such a *****.

Breathe me in.
Let me fill your washed-up crevices.
Sweat out your lies,
and bleed out your hatred.
Fill the empty spaces between my fingers
with your dry, callused safety.
Tell me why I’m worth this,
or just show me why you care.

...Things I must ask of myself
on a daily basis,
Things I never quite learn correctly

Look through me
To whatever insignificance lies behind me.
See through my scarred up flesh
Like my organs disappear.
Come to me
With your drunken, lonely, usually hidden stupor.
Cry to me on the phone
Until sober reappears.

Wave to me
Like an acquaintance.
Hug me
Like a friend.
Confide in me,
But no one else.
Then into this chair
I blend.
Kiss me
Like you mean it.
Touch me
Like you care.
But don’t forget
To see through me
When I’m still
Standing there.

What is it you want from me?
What is it you plead?
‘Cause all I’ve ask is honest answers,
Yet still you do not heed.

Am I here or not?
Do I live and breathe?
Do you only use me at your will?

Who are we – What?
Make up your mind, boy,
Shortened patience, no time to ****.

A wooden gazebo
with flakes of paint stain beginning to chip
into thick, suffocating air
lay lonely and leering
at its reflection in my car’s royal blue smile.
A stop sign.

It must have been nearly zero degrees out that day,
but my pupils only focused
on the porch swing that hung from the gazebo’s ceiling.
A hook’s mighty grip and a chain’s sturdy strength
carried a gorgeously carved, masterpiece lounge
fit for a relaxing day.
The way it lay peacefully sleeping
but ready to fly
reminded me of the one we had a long time ago,
when my brothers and I would swing as though
we were on a playground,
pumping our legs until our path made a semi-circle.
It’s a wonder we never broke the thing clear off the porch –
or our bones –
in the process.
I can still hear the clunking of the chains
as the swing glided back and forth with severe speed,
but, God, was it exhilarating!
In retrospect,
everything is so simple when you’re five years old,
even the nights you spent spilling tears on your pillow
because someone called you words you didn’t understand.
Fear is easy.
Fighting back is a journey.

Through the years
life starts to peck at you with its long, sharp beak,
and its bright red feathers look like fire in the midst,
and it will break you.
And then it will break you
again,
and again,
and again,
and it keeps pressing “repeat”  as it pleases for the rest of your earthly existence,
and pretty soon you have to make the choice.
Will you surrender?
Will you fight?
Will you fasten a heavy shield over your heart?
Will you grow?
Will you win?
Will you live selfishly alone?
Will you trust?
Will you see?
Will your thoughts drown in lies?
Will you explore your own self beyond fathoms deep?
Will you become stoic to all of it?

I’d give anything to have one day back on that swing and its simplicity,
where becoming the next Michelle Kwan seemed like a logical career goal,
and the only mistaken assumption of me
was that the pink Power Ranger was my favorite.
Assuming the worst of someone
without considering or knowing
their present self
is like personally handing them the right
to become your villain,
regardless of their actual original intentions.
I refuse to be that villain.
I don’t exist to hurt you,
nor am I going to continue my attempts to please everyone
when that’s impossible.
Doing what is right for yourself isn’t always selfish.
Sometimes, it’s all you can do to keep going.

Keep me going.
I’ve forgotten how to figure myself out.

I guess I should start driving again.

You see my thoughts as I do.
And before I get a chance to shout them to the world,
there you are, beating my declaration,
claiming your own.

Your eyes see right through me,
to the brick lain so heavily in cement.
Your breath is a tornado.
Your gaze is its storm.

Just as I’m beginning to think I have some grip on this world,
that I can make a difference,
that my life is a significant, precious jewel
so rare that even the richest of men wouldn’t waste me…
I see you again.
And I see a man so in tune with his talents,
yet so lost in them.
And everything else.

Stop reading my mind.
Stop understanding me.
Stop knowing me.

Because you don’t know me.
I convince myself of this over and over
until the words in my brain are moving so fast
that even I get dizzy
and must rest my weary eyes
‘til the morning sun evaporates every leftover
drop of dew that may have tainted my soil.

Until the clouds come again, my friend,
I have conquered my soul.

I've been treading the surface
to keep myself guarded,
and with weary limbs,
I'm ready to dive down.
Will you dive in with me
or try to hold my head under?
I'll grow from the adventure,
whichever you choose.

Here I stand, in shock and pain,
Shaking, shivering in the sudden rain.
Here I stand, my stomach in knots,
My heart in my throat, distressed, distraught.
Here I stand, tears stinging my eyes,
Asking when will there be none left to cry.
But here I stand, holding on,
Searching for some kind of will to stay strong.
My one and only, my very best part,
The keeper of the key that opens my heart,
My love, my life, my very best friend,
How can you tell me its time for the end?
Like a wild beast in the dead of night,
Like a crash landing of an eagle in flight,
Like a deadly disease losing its cure,
My dreams turn to nightmares, and I to a blur.
Choose me, amuse me, abuse me, use me.
Still somehow, I'm shouting that you can't lose me.

I can’t promise you it will get better soon.
I can’t promise you happiness.
I can’t promise it will all go away.
I can’t promise it will end.
I can’t promise you no pain.
And I can’t promise I’ll always understand.
But I can promise you that
No matter what kind of solid ***** of an exterior you carry,
I see multitudes of greatness beyond that.
I can promise you that you are worth so much more
Than the way you treat yourself.
And I can promise you that you are never,
Ever,
Alone.

You create your own happiness.
I can’t do it for you.

Festering wounds and swollen, blue bruises.
Hardened, glass tears that bleed and abhor.
Positive scribbles that unlock the day.
Translucent capes that forgot how to glide.
But a head held high, the blink of an eye.
These are the jewels in search for the treasure.