Dear friends, Sorry I can’t hang out
I’m too busy being emotional
Too busy numbing my feelings
Too busy stuck in this hole of self doubt

Sorry I can’t be enough for you
That I don’t want a ******* corporate job
That I don’t care about money or status
That I don’t wanna follow the path I was on

Sorry to myself
if I wind up like her
I just wanna find my purpose
Before it’s too late to know for sure

But I’m sorry if I become absent as your only light
i need to do what’s best for me
But Sometimes I don’t know what’s right

And I’m sorry that when you pass
I wasn’t there to take the same care
Cause you were like my parents but now I’m not even there

And I’m sorry that I broke your heart
That I still think about you every day
But I think it’s probably out of spite
Although I hope you are ok

I wonder how you’re doing I really hope life is swell
I’m sorry I haven’t been there to wish you well
Or tell you goodnight at the end of every day
But that’s really not my problem and that’s all I have to say



I don’t know why people say sorry so much
Too apologetic cause we are really not
And maybe we have sympathy which doesn’t mean a lot
When apathy overrules the empathetic thoughts

Nah I don’t really like you
I just like the attention
The feeling of being wanted
Like someone’s always there to listen

And I realize now the cause of many regrets
I didn’t say you could cross that line
I just said you could sleep in my bed
But boundaries get blurry when you don’t know how to say no
Cause it’s the fear of not feeling wanted
Which I can’t let go

And I think it makes me feel better
To look back at the past
With a mindset it was my fault
My own actions that led to this or that

Ithinking about it makes my blood boil up  
Not being in control of your own body
Being taken advantage of  
Dancing with the thought that you’re weaker than you think
Someone who can’t say no
Is not someone I want to be

So the past becomes grey
And maybe if I just tell myself
That I wanted it
It won’t feel like such hell

Cause when you tip toe of the edge
You’re bound to fall off
There is no yes or no  
On the cliff that we call touch

On and off a lot weighs on my heart
Heavy on my chest
don’t know where to start

I’ve gotten lots of paper cuts while writing my book
There’s chapters where it hurts to go back and look
Pages that are just too hard to read
Hard to understand...
like trigonometry

In school I never took that class
but it’s probably really difficult if you’re bad at math

Life is like math or kind of like an onion
They both have the potential to make you cry in a sudden
Like in the middle of the day when you shouldn’t be emotionally unstable but you are
cause that one chapter and it’s little sad ending left a huge fu king scar

And I don’t write this for anyone but myself
cause there’s feelings I wanna yell and emotions I wanna shout
To bury the shame and the doubt and regret
And pull the bullet out that’s gone straight through my head

Bullets are like onions and math I’d assume they all can make you cry
But pulling it out is harder, when your own fingers are digging inside
Or by the fingers of another person
Ripping apart your wounds
Is a scar ever really healed if it can still bruise

I’m not angry, just a little salty
Cause there’s things I don’t want to remember that tend to haunt my memeory

I’d rather have a nice lunch with my demons make them friends
Then share my **** with people who won’t understand
But how will I ever know if I don’t ever try
I think you ****** me up too much to even try

And I’m standing on the stage,
naked in a nightmare shaking and afraid
Cause we trip over our humanity just to be fake
wearing religion and hypocrisy to the big masquerade

And here I’m standing in front of the crowd called life
Imagining everyone in their underwear I heard that makes it seem alright
And I think it really does help if we tear down our walls
if we share our truth our raw emotion our biggest downfalls
Unite the solidarity I’m not the only one who’s ****** up
You won’t find me wallowing in my sadness often but it’s there
And I don’t make this **** up

It's not till you're deprived that you can really love something
Anyone who has gone to a foreign speaking country can understand this
the words being spoken are stripped of all meaning to you
Then you go home and there's no more translating or confusion
You understand  
When you touch me I understand
I sense every subtle advance and fight to deny subjectiveness
But your language is too convincing, too poetic and I melt under your finger tips
they trace the trails of my silent desires in pursuit of the never ceasing void
The black hole that never stops consuming because there can never be enough
Fill me with pages and pages more than a million libraries
If not you, then perhaps the next
This is my language and you speak it so well
Then one day I'm stranded
Tens of thousands of years it seems on a desert island where the islanders don't speak the same language as I do
But one day I'm rescued and able to speak to the rescuer
It clicks back so easily and there is a deep appreciation for dialogue after being deprived
Now talk me to sleep as your hands roll across my back like the tide
Tell me what I Need to get me by before I'm stranded once more

sometimes
in order to breathe
i smother my lungs
with funny things
then exhale you
with a sigh of relief
just to wake up
the very next night
suffocating again
amidst the fight

5/16
time is perspective
Going through years of tangible memories
I realize I took for granted how creative my younger mind was
before the world had made any impact on my spirit
and I rested in an untouched place
a sanctuary of ideas that could easily manifest themselves into reality because anything was possible
a rich land of colors and frequencies I can no longer see or hear
time has enabled me to see just how bursting my mind was
and just how boxed it is now
I thought then as I do now
that my capabilities of creating are limited by the invisible boundaries I have yet to learn how to break
the only difference is, my creations I see from the past are crazy
my mind has traversed and ventured through many different landscapes since then
but all of our landscapes are recorded
I can still find that sanctuary from years ago
where the river of colors flows
I can't completely journey back to the land itself
but I can remember it and find a space for a river here
a river is never consistent nor steady throughout
creativity comes and goes whether it be days or years
but once it is in you it never leaves
the colors stay stained in your skin
no matter how many downpours wash you bare
or how many droughts scorch your skin dry