how many times do i have to restart a poem now,
just to be satisfied with the first few lines
even though it doesn't really matter much at all.

i know i'm content with life as it is
but i wonder how many times i would restart my life
before i'm satisfied with the outcome.

all those what ifs don't matter, i know,
and i know my emotions have been complicated,
i apologize mostly to myself.

the higher the emotional high the more i fear the comedown,
can't stop from thinking of the end
trying to remind myself to keep present.

haven't been here much lately,
minds been elsewhere, some other city,
and i'm not sure what triggered it.

trying to disconnect, the intense fear of abandonment,
reminding myself nothing lasts forever,
but i get attached so quick to anyone that seems to care.

have i just been closed off
from others for so long that when
someone seems genuine i start to panic?

i know i have nothing to fear,
but i can't help but get ahead of myself.
i think i just need some fresh air.

i know i'll be fine in the morning but
my existence just makes me feel so
uncomfortable.

not sure where my passion for life had gone
not sure if i even had it in the first place
it's a lot easier to not bother trying
because then no one will give you a second glance

maybe it's just all in my head
and it's just one of those good few months
a stretch of time where i'll create endlessly
even if it is, i'll take what i can get

nothing needs to last forever,
if it's good, i'll take it
and let it go when it needs to leave
eventually it'll come around again

when was the last time i took a moment for myself
at first it was good with you, and i realized i could be myself
mostly accepted, even with the sadness
the first few nights you held me tightly and comforted me to sleep.

months later you got tired of my constant sadness, of the nights i
couldn't stop crying for no good reason.
the ache in my heart didn't cease when you came into my life
and i think that hurt you.

you threw out my antidepressants claiming i didn't need them anymore
because i had you in my life.

two years later my heart still ache, and part of it was from you.
the pain you caused me, when you belittled me, and called me a crybaby.
before you had been so charming, so caring
and now it was as if you'd been replaced, complacent and apathetic.

when you told me you were no longer in love with me
i fell apart, i apologize, i shouldn't have begged you to stay.
weeks later when you said you didn't want me anymore, i sat quiet
on the couch and accepted it completely.
people grow apart, it's only natural. it's how we live.

i've become content with how things are now
and remembering the person i am, and who i am becoming
without you in my life i can see things more clearly.
i hope you do well in the future and you find someone that
makes you happy again, and that you can make yourself happy.

i hold myself at night when i cry now
and i seem to be sleeping just fine.

getting ready in the morning i see the scars on my thighs
from the days in high school where my life was falling apart
and my skin was my outlet.

the scars are a milk white now, interesting as i'm already quite pale
running my hand over them i can feel the indentation from
where the blade sank in.

i remember the nights where i'd be crying and listening to some
kind of edgy, angsty band and how numb i felt as the
blade swam over my skin.

how good it felt, to have something real that i could validate and
how interesting it is that i no longer crave that pain
instead all i seek is admiration.

things aren't always as bad as they seem,
honestly it's not my fault.

the way things ended up, i couldn't have prevented it
how could i have known that evil lurks in friends?

i try to tell myself, it'll get better, i'll forget it
but sometimes at night i can't help but feel those pervasive hands.

and the way that i cried, and
how it felt like an eternity before it ended.

her face haunts me at night,
knowing someday she might come looking for me.

i can't provide her with what she hopes for,
i'll never be the mother i was supposed to be.

so many regrets, and at the same time
deep down i know i couldn't have done it any other way.

the way i am, no matter how much of a mess
it's how i'm supposed to be.

that's what i tell myself, sometimes it helps
sometimes it just makes me feel even worse.

of all people, why me? forcing eyes shut
trying to imagine a different past.

after a while i would have thought that i'd get everything figured out
it took a lot of pain for me to realize that things don't always turn out right
never taking the right precautions, putting all the blame on myself
turning inward forgetting to look toward the future

i became who i had been, the person i never wanted to see again
looking in the mirror and wishing for a funeral
trying to hide myself from my peers, only to have prying hands force themselves in
learning to bite my tongue, telling half truths
running to the finish line

letting the walls down i hoped that this would be the final time
telling someone the secret that's been haunting me,
only to find that halfway in it wasn't what they wanted
too much of a burden, with too many issues
no one wants to be censored

easy to fall in love with, even easier to fall out
eventually i'll get to the point where i'm content instead of
this empty feeling of nothing.

this isn't what i expected life to be.
i had the whole world in front of me,
everything was a possibility, there were no limitations
nothing was holding me back besides my own self-doubt.

throughout high school they told me
that i'm wasting my potential, that
i'm not trying hard enough
even though i felt like i was using all of my energy
just to get through the day,
wading through the mud
in order to make it to the end.

now as an adult i'm told the same,
that i'm able to become an incredible person
and achieve great things so long as i try,
as long as i work towards my potential and not
waste it.

what potential do i have?
if i've spent all this time climbing to the top
just to hit a wall and i don't remember being given any equipment for this part of the obstacle course.
there's nothing to scale the wall, no cracks nor holes,
nowhere to go.

pressing myself against the barrier i realize that
maybe the wall is just myself, keep me from ever unlocking
the part of myself hidden away after years of abuse.
i left high school, but i never left the mud pit.
now i can wade through it as if it were nothing but air,
but i know that everyone can see the filth i'm covered it.

i'm not sure how to pull myself out,
i don't know how to rinse myself of this dirt that's caked on my skin after all these years.