''Many asked me why I would sit
in the corner of a room full of people.
That it is the reason the feeling
of loneliness overpowered my soul.
And as I was telling I had never
seen the corner of the room,
they had forgotten about me.''

I made it another day without you here with me.
I wonder how many more days I will have to go without you.
Sometimes I think about how my life was when you were here.
My life got worse and I stopped living after you weren’t here anymore.
I know you’re out there somewhere living life, breathing, eating and laughing.
While I mourn you, I will always miss you.
I will always love you.

"You are what you eat" they say it so often you would think they were just chewing with their mouths open. You happen to be so many other things than the diet you keep. I think "you are how much you sleep" would be an equally fair claim to your self identity. We regurgitate these talking points with such little consideration and worse we build our lives around these quotations because they are embossed over a scenic, awe-inspiring image on Instagram. These metaphors are so far removed from their original context that they could almost mean anything to anyone inside of their own head. Too often in juxtaposition to one another these contradictory ideas subside inside of you disguised as a rational point of view. Maybe you are what you eat or how much you sleep but do you ever wonder who's words become your thoughts?

i could write about
a lot of things
like my day
or how the pavement
looks when it
rains slightly.

or how the parking lot
feels when it's full
of cars and void of people
or how i feel when i'm
surrounded and
afraid.

how i'm angry and
insecure and
i don't owe anyone
anything
not my friends
not enemies
or elders
not an apology
or a single
**** explanation.

but i think i'll just
forget about the
whole thing and
write about death
or something
nice like that
after all it would
weight less on me
then the words
on my fingertips.

i had assumed
that i was done
struggling with
all that identity crap
but now i've concluded
that everything we ever
fight is a battle for
our own lives.

and it's odd
to think that i can
have such a strong
sense of myself and yet
my personality can
be so unlike that self.

there are more layers
to a parking lot than
what you might
first expect.

i suppose at one point
there were grass
and trees and pure
unadulterated dirt
and then somebody
leveled it
maybe added a coating
of gravel and
paved over it and
put some vehicles on top.

but that doesn't mean the
layers aren't still there
under the asphalt
i mean.

and that's what i'm saying
is that i've got something
under the pavement
i just can't get the cars
to move out for long enough
to tear up the layers.

i feel other people's wheel marks
burned into my skin
and the signs and lines
that proclaim no parking
have been vandalized and
ignored for too long.

how do you tell a parking lot to stop
without looking crazy?

and there lies the
exact problem
i care
too much
what people think
i look like
and i don't mind if they
think i'm insane
but i mind if they don't
like me
there's a big
difference you know.

and there goes
another piece
falling into place
and the
puzzle not
yet completed.

I can't believe my own voracity
I sit here trying to think of something worthwhile to say
Black holes gut the universe
Sometimes, it's hard to feel alright
When we're running out of time
And I'll never be that young again
I don't think I'll wake up
I...

As a child,
I used to run my hands
on the walls as I walked

Adults around
would warn me
about the filthiness
of those dust, graffiti,
*****, and poster covered walls

But touching them gave me
a weird sense of accomplishment
Like physical proof
that I was once here

moving forward

Today
I will not worry
what bacteria
this wall holds
what molds
have aged on its corners

Instead, I'll run my hands
with every step I take

smiling
because I am,
once again,
*moving forward

He reminded me of you. I remember his taste, it was just like yours: a perfect mix of hopelessness and pain. His careless demeanor matched yours to a t. His excuses and yours aligned perfectly. The sound of him sleeping mimicked you. I think the only difference between the two was, it wasn't just *** for him. I wasn't just a prize to be won. I wasn't a toy sitting there waiting to be claimed. He saw me as a person, or at least he made it seem like he did. If it was all an act, at least he was a better actor. I deserved better than either of you were willing to give me. He didn't rush me like you did. He at least took the time to spread out the lies, to make them believable. He reminded me of you, and that's just one more example of how I can never escape you.