Wherever he walks,
droplets of chemical toxins are emitted
from the soles of his shoes.
Hansel and Gretel.
I follow his trail of breadcrumbs
like it is all I have to hold on to.
A winding, infinite path of poison.
I have been exposed to too much radiation-
to take one more step is to seal my fate.
But I am lost, and so all I can do is
wander.

The other day, as I was walking past my dad in the hall, he grabbed my paint-splattered arm and with a raised eyebrow asked, "What is this?"
"These", I said, "are my battle scars from when I went to war with my canvas , so that my ideas would unravel upon it as I need them to."
My canvas is a warzone, a mess with paint splatters and imperfect, unfinished ideas. You see, my hand and my head aren't exactly on speaking terms. There's a rather unfortunate love triangle going on. My head is trying to connect with my hand, but it refuses to listen. My hand only follows the beat of my heart even though my heart just really wants to be on speaking terms with my head again. What results is a bipolar mess.
3-D clashes with 2-D while bright battles the dark. Even though my canvas never comes out the way I want it to, it only comes out the way it was meant to be. It reflects a girl who tries too hard to be perfect. A girl who has lost some pieces and will never be able to find them. If not for human kindness, her cracks would be visible.
These colorful battle scars that splatter against the paleness of my arm show what I have endured, but like everything, they will wash off eventually.

When I look at my father,
I see a man who was kicked so hard by life
that emotion became a sign of weakness.
I see a man who chokes on the word "love".
I see a man who has never heard a single "thank you"
even though he lives his life for others.
His hands are calloused from years of hard work.
I've never thanked him for sacrifice.
He is made of steel and the strongest of oak
and yet I, his daughter, am made from too much water and glass.
I break too easily. Give in too much.
And yet for a second,
I have broken him.
He becomes all puddle and sobs.
All teary-eyed and cracked voice.
For once, I am out of words.
There is only silence.
There is no "I'm sorry".
He does not look at me again.

i sit here and i wonder what it is about you that draws me in
the world looks at you as a failure
one who couldnt survive against the odds
but the only answer i have been able to come up with for the burning passion i have for you is that its simply an obsession
a dark obsession that i cant seem to let go of but yet is hard for me to completely hold on to

I try my best to let go of you and let you live life how you choose
but the thought of living life more like existing without you is a nightmare
One i choose not to meet for as long as i can fight it
But soon time will be no longer present
And i will have to say goodbye
The last goodbye
the one i fear the most

I have always hoped this day would never come
But i know that it surely will
And as you will go on living not a tear to shed
I will be left broken and unwhole drowning in my tears and running from my fears
But the difference now will be that i will no longer have you to run to for comfort and some peace of mind
Just existing living off of instinct and hoping tomorrow will never come

tilt my head back
inhale deep
I look up
at the stars
its humbling really,
just how insignificant
all our petty problems truly are
in this vast universe
exhale