I deny the fact that
I can't be with you.
I deny the rant that
I want what's mine to be true.

I deny the loss that
spent my days all blue.
I deny the tact that
sent your response with a chilling hue.

I deny the phase that
I am into thinking
I deny the ways that
I held my ship sinking.

I deny the state that
though I recall what can heal.
I deny myself that
faith can be made real.

The winter wasn't cold enough for me to feel its chill
The ice is slowly melting now as I begin to spill
So what of this analogy and how does it compare
To what is really happening, I haven't been aware
That everything inside of me is nearly dead and gone
Yet I will never let myself forget where I went wrong
The purpose of a memory I've harbored all this time  
While years of every season passed, you never left my mind
I wonder where your feet have been, the soil and the sun
Have written on your skin with words that may have even stung
I want to tell you many things and hear your story too
I'll start with an apology for what I did to you
I let myself become the cold that I was breathing in
I let it stay inside of me for how long has it been?

Life consists of nothing but
coincidences.
Loud rushes of connections
that seem completely
unconnected.
Beneath all the nonsense,
the non-sensible,
there is order.
A system so tight and meticulous
there is no room for
chaos.

i would much rather
you hit and bruise me
than leave such emotional scars
on my frail heart
i would much rather
your strikes upon me
than aching; crying
in the middle of the night

broken bones heal,
while broken hearts
do not

*(k.s)

My father doesn't close cabinets after he takes things out of them.
He doesn't close the door to the trashcan.
And if it didn't swing close by itself,
the refrigerator would remain open as well.
He says "I keep them open
because i'm not finished using it yet."
So when he started closing my bedroom door whenever he walked by
i began to fear.

I have been no stranger to his ****** remarks,
i've got the word "disappointment" burned into my brain
using the heat of his voice.
When my father started sleeping on the couch
i thought it was just because he snores a lot
and my mom is a light sleeper.
But it wasn't just his snores that kept my mother up at night.

She no longer waits for him so they can go to bed together.
My mother goes to bed earlier every night.
My father leaves more cabinets open
and closes our doors.
Growing up, my father was taught to expand
and he has been teaching me to contract.
I shut myself away
and sneak around my house stealing moments of silence,
a thief of peace to which i do not feel entitled.

I was brought up in a house that felt like a prison
and my father, the prison guard.
His voice vibrates off the walls
and you can hear that his mouth does not close.
I guess his words were never finished either.
He would go on seemingly endless sprees of screaming
telling me that i did not belong in this family,
or that he did not belong.
Either way doors were always slamming.

Now, i never wanted to replicate or hate him
but i can’t help but do both.
A part of me wants to forgive him
but the rest of me wonders why i feel obligated to love him.
If he was just a boy i met
i would be told to leave him,
that i should never allow someone to treat me like that.
But just because he's my father,
it somehow makes everything different.

Dad,
you told me once
that i should be careful of who i surround myself with
because there could be people out to get me.
So when you started to break me,
was this practice?
Were you just trying to give me callouses
so the burns wouldn't hurt so bad?
So i could hold on to the things that hurt me
a little bit longer than i should have?

Dad,
i know what it feels like
to be fearful of everything around me,
like the world will turn its face away from me,
or even more frightening,
turn its face toward me.
Some nights i am more than just half you.
My friends tell me i am beginning to snore.
I say awful things to the people i should care about
because i just can't hold my tongue anymore.

I've started closing
all the doors and cabinets you leave open
because i am finished with the way
they let out bad nights they've always contained.
Your arguments
have been ****** inside of these walls
and every night i stay awake long enough for you to sleep
so i can shut the houses mouth
and finally get some peace.
But no matter how many cabinets i close,
they somehow find their way back open again in the morning.