I grew up ignored.
Not neglected, never abused.
Ignored.
Blithely alone with people unawares of my existence besides them.
They spoke about me as though I were not there, so I learned not to be.
I spoke myself through days that stretched into years.
"Don't draw attention.
Don't speak unless spoken to.
Don't be the interesting one.
They aren't interested in you, anyway."
Siblings stole the spotlight and I let them.
'Being ignored is like being abused, kind of. '
No, not really.
Being ignored is being silent and knowing what happens even though no one else does.
Being the ignored one means that you don't have pressure to achieve; you don't exist.
You are no better
No worse
Nothing at all.
You are nothing at all.
And eventually,
You learn to appreciate that nothing-at-all feeling.
It's freeing.
You don't have to worry about things like looks because you don't get seen.
Scars are ignored because they exist on you.
Making friends, though, is hard.
"How do you share like interests when you've never been important to have any at all?"
I'd ask.
"Figure it out."
I would tell myself.
"You have before."
Take on the skins of people around you.
Be who they want you to be.
Be replaceable in that way that makes you needed.
Simpler than it sounds, really.
Being nothing is so freeing
So calming
So boring
So cold.
And empty.
Like the nothing-at-all you are.

Saccharine sweet, you make my teeth hurt.
Open your mouth wider, look up and kiss the sky.
Listen to me, for you I won't be curt.
Close your eyes and lose it, don't be scared, say goodbye.
Cut me deeper, I like the pain.
Sometimes I like doing it alone.
Look at the clouds, drown me with rain.
It's so much better now you're home.
Bend it, break it, make me cry.
Twisting, losing, falling hard.
Breaking, losing, where am I?
*I thought I knew, it's now all charred.

I wander when I'm alone.
I walk for as long as I can.
I've gone miles before
Gotten lost, even.
I get lost a lot.
I feel better when I'm lost.
Losing myself physically helps me feel less bad
About losing myself mentally.
You know?
I like storms for that reason.
I can walk out in a thunderstorm and be lost to the world for a while.
And drown in the rain.
And it's wonderful.
People never suited me, not really.
I love my friends.
My family is important to me.
I'm sure I could become dependent of one person's fancy if I chose to.
But wind
And water
And ice
And loss
And the smell of the sea beating the rocks into sand.
Those are the things I need more.
So I wander.
I wander for miles sometimes.
I get lost a lot.
It makes me feel better.
You know?

I woke to darkness, and I ran.
And the sky didn't fall.
I looked to the sun, to the lights.
And the sun screamed that I was the dark.
And the sky didn't fall.
And I looked around myself, at the darkness.
And the darkness welcomed me home.
And the sky didn't fall.
And the sky didn't fall.

I want to let your fingers walk over my skin
See if they bleed on the broken pieces of my body
I want you to open old scars and snap bones unbroken before.
It turns me on to think you'll break my body like you broke my mind
It makes me hate you
It makes me want to ******* too.
I'd never let another person over me
But I want your hands under my skin.

Little lost lambs,
Come to me.
Bring salvation.
Sing to me your hymns,
Songs of pain and loss and death and ***,
Gathered through your sacrilegious lives.
Tell me the stories of your life,
All the wrongs you feel you've caused
The lies you've told
The lies you've kept.
Bring me your light,
The souls of wandering beasts inside you,
Burn my tired eyes.
Come to me.
Bring me your scars and fears and tell me your stories.
And then wander on.
I'll not tie you down.

I am allowed to be alone.
I am allowed to enjoy solitude.
I am allowed to not want to spend time with anyone.
I am allowed to feel like this for days at a time.
I am allowed to be antisocial for a month.
I am allowed to feel the exact opposite the next day.
I am allowed to not be like you.
I am allowed to do what I need to.
I am allowed to be alone.

I was born with a broken heart.
there was a deep crack in the middle and my blood couldn't flow the way it should.
I was three when the doctors took up my red thread and sewed me together.
my heart is fixed, now.
my blood flows
with each beat
tugging at the string of fate severed before I could breathe.
I see others, following their threads, searching desperately for who has the other end.
and my hands are free of red.
there is blue, purple, green, yellow,
but not the crimson of love and loss and longing.
my broken heart is still broken,
but now it works.

I'm lost.
Intensely so.
Lost adrift or on land or in any place between.
Lost like the credibility of someone when they judge a stranger on the color of their hair.
Lost like a tan when you move to Ireland.
Lost like that scrap of paper that cute person at the club who sounded like your soulmate might gave you their number on.

Sometimes I find directions.
North, then west at the fork in the road.
Follow along until you find salvation at the bottom of a green bottle.

Now I'm not found.
I'm more lost than ever, really.
Lost like I have been the moment I could step past my home's threshold.
I'm just lost in another direction.

I feel messy
Full of swirling colors
Blue red green black orange blue
Sad and angry and happy and apathetic and anxious
All at once
Mixing into brown slime at the bottom of my chest
Dried blood
Three new scars
Another night spent sobbing awake and trying to breathe
Three more
Messy things, emotions.

Don't write me off as apathetic because you don't understand me.
I am mountains sobbing in earthquakes.
I am rivers screaming in floods.
I am bridges laughing into splinters.
I am systems crashing and burning out with a wink of light.
I am a wildfire in skin and clothes and I would destroy you if I showed you my true self.
Do not underestimate my emotions because you do not see them.

Love is lovely
To me.
Love is darling
You see.
Love me sweetly,
Love me kind.
Love me gently,
You will find.
Love me honey,
Let me know.
If you love me,
Don't let me go.
If you love me,
I'll never show.
If you love me.
You'll never know.
Love is darling,
Love is lost.
Love is startling,
Love does cost.
Love me sweetly,
I'll never tell.
Lovely darling,
I can't, oh well.
Love is nothing,
At least to me.
Love is empty,
Space I see,
In my chest
Cavity.
Love me sweetly,
I'll act so good.
Love me darling,
Just like I should.
Love is fleeting,
Love is kind.
Love is two hearts beating,
Love is blind.
Love is loss,
Love is gain.
Love, no double cross,
Love,  so much pain.
My lovely darling,
I'm so so sorry.
My only darling,
You feel that for me.
My precious sweetie,
My only dear.
Though I can't love you,
I'll stay near.
I wish I loved you,
Or you could see.
That though I adore you,
You only love me.
I love you,
As much as I can.
I need you,
This wasn't my plan.
My darling, me sweetheart,
Never forgive me.
Never, for my empty heart.
You can hate me.
That's okay.
Just be happy.
At least today.

Take me apart
You called me your doll
I'm broken and missing some pieces.

Break me in half
It's nothing at all
I'm happier when I'm needless

Cut up my heart
And together we fall
Will you still call me baby?

"Dollface" may be my epitaph
But I'm not pretty, don't call
I need you, don't say it's a "maybe".

I will not be pretty
I will not be quiet
I will not be small and female
I will not be what you expect me to be
I will not be all that is womanly and sweet and feminist
I am angry.
I am angry and I will not stop fighting.
My heart is fire and my soul is iron and my bones are ice and I am angry.
I will not let you decide what makes me who I am.
I am all genders. I am none.
I am not pretty.
I am not quiet.
I am not small.
I will not stop fighting
I will keep yelling
I will scream until my voice breaks and with that and the many like me I will fight again and again
My skin is stone and my hair is coal and my eyes are the waves that break you against the stones and I am angry.
I will not let you decide anyone's fate based on ridiculous ideals
I will **** and fight and kick and scream and I will not fall in love unless I care to
I am angry.
I am not a woman or a man or a human anymore
I am fire and metal and blood and the forces of nature that you cannot quell and my anger will not cease.
I will stay angry until everyone has rights.
I will be angry until women, men and anyone else are all equal.
I will not make myself **** for your enjoyment.
My genitals do not make me a toy.
I am angry.

I'm sick to my stomach because I'm sick in the head
There's no point in breathing when I'd rather be dead
Blood in my veins looks better without
A silent scream instead of a shout
I scar up so nicely, it's artwork you see
And nobody hates me as much I hate me
There are demons inside me who fight for control
I'm tired of trying, it's all so **** droll.
Weapons excite me and pain is my friend
It gets me hot when my arms bend on the wrong end.
I'm messed up and worthless, just leave me be
You deserve better company than someone like me.
My eyes do not sparkle, my hair has no shine
I'm worthless, a nothing, not worth your time.
You're better off with someone else, not me.

You called me the moon and stars
The sun to your sky,
The rainclouds too.

But all I ever wanted was to watch your sky.
I never meant to live in the space between the stars.

This is for you, if you're like me.
For you who always did your best even though it would never be enough.
You who is alive but not happy about it.
You, who despite all odds, has survived.
You who can't remember what being happy was like without the melancholy tinge of real life.
You who finds solace in being alone but who feels guilty not visiting.
You who love body modification not for the artistic benefits but because that pain is allowed.
You who dodges questions about your clothing choices because yes you know it's too warm for a sweater but there are scars you need to hide to feel safe.
You who drew words of anger and pain in your skin with blades.
You who tries to be good, to not want that sweet sting of bloodletting.
You who still, sometimes, fails.
You who wakes up sobbing and doesn't know why.
You who is always to blame.
You whose voice is constantly warped into "I'm sorry".
You who can hear their inner voice screaming "Useless useless useless useless useless" over even the loudest music.
You who can easily watch their friends walk away, because its okay, they're better off.
You who gets headaches;
Stomach pains;
Back problems;
And more but ignores them because you're only worth as much as you can do.
You who believes everyone is beautiful; Except you, you're a one in seven billion chance of not being beautiful.
You who realizes how ridiculous and egotistical you are with sentiments that everything is your fault and you're so worthless.
You who can't stop saying it.
You who hates yourself more than anyone ever could.
You who is scared of being hurt, but hopes for a knife in their back when they walk down a dark street.
You who is perfectly different from everyone else but such a sheep you could puke.
You who is like me
But not.
You who are precious, loved, needed and so worthwhile.
You who are top ******* yourself.
You who I don't know and maybe never will, but who still deserves to be happy.
You who I hope finds your happiness.

I've always loved doing drugs.
I really like it.
Being numb.
I love that.
Not feeling at all,
Instead of feeling everything too much.
All at once.
Angry, happy, sad, tired, scared
All together in nasty brown.
Numb is nothing.
Numb is black, the absence of light.
Of existence.
Everything that brings me closer to nothing is me favorite thing.
Just for darkness, for nothing
I want to drown in the nothing I get when I sleep.
Its beautiful.
My friends think I should be scared of nothing
They are
So many people are scared of the possibility of nothing.
But it's so perfect
So empty and dark and lovely.
I want it to come and take over.
Nothing is so wonderful.

I'm detached.
I know that's not the right word, probably.
But I don't care.
People wish they were like me
"I wish I could stop caring and just be."
Like they can choose
Like I chose.
Like I made the choice to care about what I do.
I care about myself, sort of.
I care that I do not use myself to make life ******* people I love.
But I do not care about
Succeeding
Love
Friendships
Work
Life...
I wish I cared.
I wish I could just
Fall in love with because I care about them so much
But I can't.
I'm selfish.
I want people.
I wish I needed them.
But I only want.
Want is selfish.
Want is having-not-requiring, and I only want.
I'm selfish.
Detached.
That's still not the right word.

I have many secret fears
I'm scared that
My organs are autonomous and are waiting for their chance to leave me
And that
The mountains are alive and are waiting for us to overstep our bounds so they can destroy us and our fragile lives
Or
I will stretch my chest forward too far and the scar from my surgery will split and all my insides will fall out
And
That my dreams really do show the future and it isn't all in my head
And even that
I'll never mature mentally and I'll have to go the way of Peter's lost boys and be killed to keep Neverland secret from the adults
As well as
One day I might wake up and be happy, and have nothing to worry about and just have nothing to do.
I'm so scared of these things
And I don't know why.

I woke up
Sobbing
At half past noon
Because even in my dreams, I'm a failure.
I'm sure that you'd have helped me, if I told you
But its better for me to be alone.
Its better for me to leave you be.
God, I wish the sun would go down already.

Being a freak isn't what makes me sad.
Being the kid who doesn't even have to think twice when swallowing three pills dry doesn't bother me.
Being the kid with long sleeves on all year
Because you're tired of people asking stupid questions
I'm okay with it.
I don't really care anymore.
I hate people saying I do it
Did it
For attention.
If I wanted attention, I would have started smoking.
If I wanted attention, I would have gotten an STD.
If I wanted attention, I wouldn't have hidden so well.
Showing my parents after the fact wasn't a bid for attention.
I wanted help, because in that tiny moment
I actually felt like I was worth it.

Us writers
Artists too
We're delicate.
Delicate to the point that it's disgusting.
We're hurt by small things
Little phrases
Meaningless things.
They mean too much.
Always too much.
We're made of glass.
Glass words.
Glass poems.
Glass breaks so easily.

Did you know
That in a few billion years
The sun will implode in on itself and **** everything in this galaxy?
Or that
More people die each year
From falling coconuts
Than from shark attacks?
Maybe you knew that
The word for the phobia of very long words is
Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia?
Did you know
That the stars are always watching you?
And that I miss you, too.
Did you know that those sodas I like
Come in glass bottles
And the broken pieces taste like heaven?
I'm sure you did
You always know.
I'm sorry.
This isn't about you
Not at all
I could care less
But you're the only person who listens
Sometimes
This blood is staining my shirt.

You whisper poetry in my ear
While I cut the heads off flowers.
Your breath is satin and I'm using shears
Stems and bones break the same way.
You're warmth and light and wonder
A sun in the void of myself.
You are a thousand universes all compressed
Into flesh and bone.
You're terrifying
But I want to explore you forever.
You rend me limb from limb
Never laying a finger on my skin.
You're the death of me in an immortal soul
Perfection in the cracks of a vase.
You deserve my hatred for my pain
But I love you ever more with each ache.
You've left me helpless and
I only want more.
You're stars in the vastness of sky
Looking at the flowers I am, sprouting from mud.
You burn me with a glance
My petals withered and fell.

I hate myself.
This isn't a question of 'I like this
'I dislike this
'I wish I was more--'
I hate myself, simply.
My parents love me more each day.
My siblings would die for me.
My friends are beautiful people.
I don't want pity, religion or attention.
I don't.
I just hate myself, it doesn't really matter.
I'm not thinking that my me right now
Is worse than the me I'll be later.
My feelings are a constant ebb and flow.
Some days I only hate myself
The same way someone can hate a show.
It's a background thing, nothing that needs to be dealt with.
Some days, I hate myself so completely that I can't even move.
And I won't say it's okay, even though it is.
I've been taught that it's not okay to say it.
Recovery is a process, they say.
And the first step is to ignore your feelings so your parents and therapists can think they did it right.

It's so easy for me to fake-cry
To force tears in rivers down my face
Contort my brown and cheek to sorrow
But
Real tears are impossible, nearly
I can sob and shake and moan
With not a single drop to escape my eyes
And then it's over
Three drops, magic elixir
No more tears
Not for weeks or months
Or years.
Why is fake-crying so much easier?

You don't give me butterflies
In my stomach
Fluttering and attempting to flit up my throat and into the air.
You've taken the darkest parts of me
And planted a garden of sunflowers
That grow more with each smile you give me.
The butterflies come on their own, now.

I have glass wings
But I want to fly
I sit on a shelf
Too delicate to exist
And watch the world move
I know
I know so well
That taking a leap
Would break my wings
But if I can't fly
I want to walk.

I hate myself
I want to die
I can't draw
It's 10 PM
This is all I know about myself.

We promised we'd stay forever young
Not gray our hair or hold our tongue
We promised that our time would tell
A story good, and written well.
Now faces come and faces go
I've never yours forgotten, though.
I wonder, now, if you kept yours
The promise that I gave for hours.
I want to meet you soon,and just see you
And see if you have kept to it true.
Our paths, they haven't crossed in long
I fear that we both did wrong..
In hoping things wouldn't change.
You will always in my heart be strange.
Strange and perfect and lovely
And young as the days and nights
Strange and perfect and lovely.
And for an old man like me feel fright.
When we meet I'm sure to say
"You haven't changed a day."
You, of course, will then reply
"You have, I wonder why?"

I put a bottle by my bedside
Before I went to sleep
To replace the liquid lost
From the times I weep
I closed my eyes to rest
And it was suddenly very near.
So I thought I'd climb inside
And wait to disappear.
I settled at the bottom
And waited for some sap
To come and fill the bottle
With water from the tap.
All the time that this was happ'ning
I was sleeping very well.
Having thought my fate was sealed.
And dreaming I was in hell.

"I hate myself.
I'm so ******* worthless."
You know when you think something so much that it becomes a mantra?
You memorize each letter and you write it out a thousand times in your mind and you whisper it to yourself while you fall asleep?
You think it so many times that every time you close your eyes the words are there, painted on the backs of your eyelids and you can't ignore them at all?
Every breath in feels like preparation to say it over again and reply to the not-question posed by the universe at large over what your mantra is and you just know the answer no matter what?
Every thought loops back around to the words swimming in your head to the point you're wondering how you could have started in this world speaking anything else?
You bite your tongue and the blood tastes like those words and you just want to paint them on your skin to show the world your perfect mantra, the words that have forever been with you, that you never doubted once?
My mantra is a bad one.
I've been told, I'm not allowed to feel that way.
I have to love myself.
I have worth.
Even thinking those phrases makes my head hurt.
My mantra doesn't quell the spreading hollowness in my chest or quiet the white-noise of regret and hatred in my head.
But it doesn't make my demons angry, like the ones people force on me.
My mantra reminds me how to deal with the hollow void in my soul that tries and tries to swallow up my body and crush away everything else and leave a black hole in my place.
It tells me that with just a slim line, just a smooth slice to the wrist, I can stave off the void.
With just a small burn I can beat away the demons telling me lies.
I can convince myself to eat.
I can force my lungs to work.
I can make myself live, if I remember my mantra.
There are people who need me, broken though I am.
And I can't just let the void consume me, even if I should.
Even if its better to have this churlish waste of space
This disgusting, grating, barbarous, surly, persnickety, talentless, slow, moronic, lying, cheating scoundrel of a self wither away into nothing.
Even then.
I need to keep going.
I'm needed.

I wish it was easy
Love and stuff
Saying 'I love you' without fear
Its so strange to think about.
I love you is like a loaded phrase
Don't you dare say it too soon
Too loud
Too young
Too close.
Like a gun.
Aimed for your head.
Aimed for your heart, too.
A pistol with three chambers loaded
I
Love
You
Each a separate shot.
First in the throat, and you lose your voice while you wait
On baited breath for the rest of what they'll say.
Then the stomach, when the meaning of that word is suddenly
Printed in bold-face type on the backs of your eyelids.
And finally, your heart.
When you hear the last word, and you get a sweet, bitter ache in your heart
Because they love
You.
You, with all your flaws and cracks and fears bared to them
You, with every anxiety and heartbreak you put them through daily
You, who couldn't
Shouldn't, would never
Deserve to be loved.
But they say it, and the truth just hits you.
So hard, it hurts.
It feels good.
Why you?
Why them?
...Why not?

I say
No
Quite often to you.
No, you can't say things like that and expect it to not hurt.
No, you have to think before you act.
No, you don't do those things.
No, because I love you.
I love your voice.
The way you look right when you wake up and just as you fall asleep.
The things you say and the way you're important enough that it can cut me to ribbons.
Your skin.
I don't know.
Its not a ****** thing. I just need you, I love you and want to hold you
I can't explain.
So I say no.
No
I can't tell you that
Its not important
Why those scars look so new
Or that one word makes me start to sob
Or how my face is so bad at listening to my mind.
I love you.
So I'll say it again.
No.

Once upon a time
The sky turned darker than black
And I was lost
But then
There were two lights
Brighter than hope
And you stepped forward
With eyes like shiny pinwheels
And pulled me into the daylight
So
I love you.

I hate sleep.
I hate dreaming.
I hate wanting things I shouldn't and I hate the word hate.

I hate sleeping and missing so much that goes on.
I hate dreaming and waking up in the same situation.
I hate wanting to sew my mouth shut and never speak again.

I hate hot summers and I hate damp springs.
I hate being nervous and I hate being unsure.
I hate the color yellow and I hate not crying when I need to.

I hate making decisions.
I hate white walls you can't paint.
I hate being alone and I hate having people know.

I hate that people don't know how great they are.
I hate that I miss my mom, even when she hates me.
I hate walking in the dark and I hate using an umbrella.

I hate hearing people sleep and I hate cold fries.
I hate falling asleep holding a pillow, wishing it was a person.
I hate the sound of chewing and the smell of melted ice-cream.

I hate the color my skin gets when I tan.
I hate not being able to help anyone, ever, at all.
I hate having to act like I know what I'm talking about.

I hate when there are people on my early morning walks.
I hate that my best friend is so much better than me and I don't want her to realize.
I hate how quiet the room gets when I walk in, because, what do you say to that weird kid?

I hate not writing stories and I hate not sharing them.
I hate that I hate so **** much and I hate that I write poetry.
I hate when my head itches and I hate when it doesn't rain for a long time.

I hate losing people.
I hate being left behind.
I hate that I deserve it, all the time.

I hate my inconsistent style and I hate rhyming.
I hate getting my nails painted and I hate wearing makeup.
I hate not being enough for anyone other than me and feeling like I owe them.

I hate being lost in a boring town.
I hate not having internet.
I hate me.

Red is like rain.
Okay, wait, hear me out.
Red is the color of heat
Anger
Love
Blood.
Love is like change.
Like, spring or something, right?
This new, exciting landscape of ideas and principles
And freedoms.
Rain is like change.
Rain rinses away the ***** parts of the cities
Like love for our hearts
So red is the color of love
Anger
Blood
Change
And, surprisingly,
Rain.

I dreamed last night
About having my mouth sewn shut
And living like that.
It was a surprisingly
Warm
Dream.

I miss you sometimes.
When I look in your eyes and see nothing there.
And know that I'm just clinging to my memories.
And know that dreams should fall apart
When proved untrue.
I love you occasionally.
Like how the sky and wind and sun want to play with your hair.
And the moon can only wish to be as perfect as you.
And your smile is like the ocean.
And your eyes are like the sunset over top of it.
I think about you daily.
About our shared pasts.
Our possible futures.
Our little lies.
The truths
We can't dare reveal to anyone else.
I lie to you, I guess.
Saying I'm okay all the time.
Admitting defeat where there is none.
All the 'Never-mind's.
And "We're cool"s.
That really mean nothing.
I wonder nowadays.
Do you miss me?
How did you really feel?
Why do we bother?
Will you love me back?
I miss you, sometimes.

I can't look back
And see the shattered glass of the past
Any longer
It seems so fair now to say
I was wrong.

In the dark,soft
Feather-light
Moments before my mind either shuts off like an old game,
With a click
Or becomes more vivid in my impossible dreams, splashing colors where white walls once stood, bare
A soothing float on a petal, swirling in the stream of my thoughts
I find that music helps me to avoid the latter,
Keeping the warm, comforting possible improbables from welling up in my eyes and mind
People and places twisting into threads tied at the middle and ends to each other.
Silence, in these instances, fill me with terror.
Dread, fear,
For impending calamity
For the dreams pooling behind my tonsils
Demanding to be seen and understood
For me to drop this eggshell life
To let all the small joys I work for shatter like cheap wine glasses
And to pursue the unlikely future,
Leave the definite present
And forget the shimmering past.

What does the devil want with idle hands?
What makes them
The devil's playthings?
Like tinker toys
For a madman?
Such a strange phrase, really...
What could the devil want of my hands?
Boney, square things that they are
These blocks of bones and nerves I use to type and write
These hand who refuse to learn to fiddle or pick
Who cannot catch nor throw
Who, at every turn, bumble into doorways and people alike
Who cramp, because writing was learned improperly
What use, really, are human hands who listen as well
As Lucifer
The ex-angel
Ex-blessed
The lover of music and delights
When they cannot produce either?
When nothing can be done with them
Why bother?
Why even attempt to control useless things?
It seems silly.
But that's just me.

Longing, probably.
A feeling of need.
For things.
Places.
Longing, such a melodramatic word
Disgusting.
Dreams described as something so weak.
Almost rude
Saying these feelings, these needs
Are little more than a flight of fancy.
A lusting from a pubescent teen boy
Over some pin-up model.
Longing, needing, wanting...
I mean, ******, I NEED THESE THINGS is all
All that my ever-noisy mind screams
"I've seen your drawings.
"Your mind must be like an acid trip."
Not a good one.
Constant, consistent, ever-present, complete need for
Stupid, useless things
For people who give not a care in the world about me
Places that don't want me...
An acid trip, a bad one, dark voices yelling at me,
My guilt full of egotistical self-blame.
"Everything has to be someone's fault.
"Always.
"It must be mine."
My fault, my fault, mine mine mine
Always always my fault.
Stupid stupid
I can't even get things wrong right.
Or whatever.
******.
Longing for understanding,
To understand my inner desires.
For things.
The rude word of longing
Tainting even the shameful wants and needs in my heart.
Stupid...

People are all born empty
Hollow shells
Of what they wish to be.
They skulk
Walking with thier heads down
Daydreaming of being whole
They fill themselves
With things
Religion
Drugs and alcohol
Friends
Other people
Trying with all they are to feel whole
Real.
"If I get that new tv I'll be fine"
or
"I know MY God is right and that makes me complete"
sometimes
"If this makes me happy, I can handle the side effects"
and
"When they love me, If I have them, I can be happy"

Wake me when spring has sprung
when the cold is gone,
and skies no longer gray.
Rouse me with the cries of birds
a warm wind blown my way
and a green light in the shade.
Dress me in the blooming buds,
Let butterflies be my lips,
And raindrops as my eyes.
Replace my heart with a shining star
And fill my head with a soft white cloud.
Drip the shine of morning in my veins
And I'll have the fresh green grass for my hair.
Take my bones for branches.
Make my tears have a honey-suckle taste.
My breath would be the pollen sifting through the air.
Take me from my sleeping ground
And lay me in the fresh cold stream.
Wake me when sping is sprung,
But until then, I'm going to sleep.