If you let it,
The ocean will carry you.
Feel yourself bobbing up and down
With the pulse of the universe
And just trust
That it will bring you back,
To lively shores.

Like a ballerina twirling as she dances lightly on her toes,
She is free.
And as the Earth swirls in her own sorrow, painting her poetry in the newly sun-less sky,
She is free.
And like the plump and pigmented cheeks of a child experiencing her first snowfall in the biting winter,
She is free.
And as the roses bud in the birth of Spring, the birds sing of their anxious wait for the comfort of her petals,
She is free.
And as the cotton candy dizzily gathers in the candy store windows of her childhood dreams,
She is free.
And as I tied back my hair this morning and pulled at the laces on my shoes and painted my lips with my favorite shade of happiness,
I closed my eyes and batted my lashes as my head filled with the music of
I am free.

I will not put melodies behind your madness,
I will not create metaphors for your mistakes.
I will not write poetry for your sadness,
I will not turn this into something beautiful.

That is not how this works.

Kids don't just go skateboarding anymore to fix their problems. They drink or they smoke or they put a ******* knife to their wrists. That's the way our world stays in orbit these days.

I looked up as you watched the vultures kiss my neck
Just like you used to.
Of all the people who have pushed me towards the edge,
I never thought you would be the one to throw me to the ground.

Hold my hand a little tighter,
Let me know that you aren't going anywhere.
Leave the door wide open as you walk out,
Let me know that you aren't going anywhere.
Put your arms around my waist and leave your hands off my neck,
Let me know that you aren't going anywhere.
Turn out all the lights as you set this fire in my heart,
Let me know that you aren't going anywhere.
Say it just one more ******* time,
And let me know that you aren't going anywhere.

The lullabies you wrote in my mind are starting to sound like screams.
And meanwhile she is writing the words "I'm sorry" like it's all that she has left,
Because maybe as she throws up on the bathroom floor
Maybe it is all she has left.
And he's running circles in my dreams begging me to get him out
As though I'm the one that put him there,
And I'm starting to believe that maybe I did.
And he's writing down clichés for me in places my mother would not approve
And he titles them as ****** love poems,
But he still believes they're better than mine.
And I'm writing my own obituary on my hips
The same way I used to write suicide notes along my wrists
Because your lullabies are screaming that maybe that's the only way I can feel again.