Get it together
And go to school
Study your books
Your mother did not raise a fool
Do not mess around
Grab as much knowledge as you can
Just open your mind
This should be your plan

You're sunny disposition
& I'm a black cloud
I'm introverted
you lean towards loud
I lack the confidence
You're extremely proud
Your soul is exposed
Where mine wears a shroud

Home again
Home at last
The picture hangs

The man cut down

Rub soreness
From the neck

(Baby
Umbilus strangled
Slips the
Noose,
Scream slimy relief)

And born
Yet again
To express

I packed my clothes
And cigarettes
I'm moving to the South.
I always romanticized the North East,
And North West but the middle seemed draining and sure, I'm scared. I'm bound by my youth here and I have this exaggerated passion to travel I decorate for the sake of feeling adventurous but I'm actually comfortable with my feet in concrete boots, climbing back to you. You asked if I'm happy and said that it's sad that I'm leaving, we have so many memories. I felt the same way a year ago with you so I said I didn't know if I was. I don't know if waking up every day past noon to down a pill just to leave the room is happy but I know I'll live three miles from the Atlantic ocean, from pink sand in three weeks and you know I always romanticized the way nature could heal a shattered soul, so I'll go.

I hate that you asked me if I'm happy right before I go, I hate that I'm over you but that still make my insides coagulate and tear apart my stomach lining, I hate that I'm lying about why I'm leaving.

I said I'm starting over but I just have some things I haven't let go of, and I can't. So I'm running from them instead. I'll live on the beach. You won't pop up in the coffee shops I pretend to like dark roast in. I won't see your face in public when you aren't really there. It's unfair that I don't know how to go anywhere but towards another person but I'm hoping those morning beach walks might teach me how to go towards something scary instead of something safe. Maybe happiness isn't safety, maybe when you said you missed me that pain in my stomach was irony because a year ago I collapsed in class on a white tile floor when you said you'd never love me the same and now I'm leaving behind white walls and a white door I never painted because I never picked a color that made me happy.

This is one of the hardest things.

Telling you what's wrong.

About all my insecurities.

And you promise to fix it,
Everytime.

But everytime,
Nothing changes.

You walk on ahead,
With him.
With her.

And I am barely out of the car.

It ***** to tell you I'm hurt.

But biting the bullet and admitting the truth
Is better than letting it fester,
Like the infection it's become