I've done ecstasy.
No, I have not done
Ecstasy,
But I've done you.

I've felt you baby,
You're not here,
But I remember
Ecstasy.

How it hit me quickly,
Heightened my obsession
With you,
Stroking my leg,
Telling me to cheer up,
Treating me the same.

I know ecstasy baby,
It's in the middle of the night.
Silent to everyone but me,
Sirens and cellos:
This music touched me
And I felt it grace my arm.
Goosebumps!

Florida saw a stormy weekend.
Buckets of rain
Poured out of the sky,
We did not yet know
That those pouring buckets over
Our heads,
Were angels.

A short drive away,
49 full souls broke
Into shattered pieces
Of memories and
Laughter.

Safety and security evaporated,
Into the sky,
Among the ascending
Spirits of cut-short lives.

Treacherous storm, Florida,
The sun says hello,
Shortly after its short nap.
The sun woke up and
though its beams pressed on the earth,
things were darker now.

Through the rain,
The sun shined an illuminating
Rainbow,
For 49 empty bodies
To dance on,
To bounce off the colors,
Feel one final breath of air;

Reaching freedom that humanity
for so long refused to grant them.

I am surrounded by white
walls, they smell like
cleaning supplies.

An angel sits at a desk,
phones ring,
they sound like chaos.

I have been standing here
for two years.
I still have not approached
the angel.

For two years,
I swore she did not
exist.

Now I am ready
to tell her that
this cannot wait any longer
that I have finally died.

I am terrified at my
broken self.
My soul has been entering
and exiting by body for
days now.

I need to walk up to the
desk.
I need to save myself
from myself.

I knew there
was no god
all along.
And now,
I am gone.

Local government, wretched round, which
everyone claims to care about.

A storm. A virus. Unprovable. they call it “some sort of new device”--
it is nothing new.
Facebook videos condemn the 1 percent, demand that we look up;
I regret not looking up...I know this.

I catch his eye.
There is no complacency; he called it war.
Little boy. He cries to his mother.
He cannot fight the thought.

Catastrophic moments like explosions on an endless row.
“something that tracks us…”
We are not all safe.
Without guidance we crave “more”,
some regret it; we were told desire is fatal.

It swish swirls in
the valley of trees;
his last stroll.

He does not know to
catch the shred of a breeze.
Who knew that moment
would doom us all.

and for a brief moment
i swore that the world i had once knew
would never return to its complacent being

the elusivity of time had made its way into
my brain and suddenly,
we all realized nothing had mattered in the slightest

They say "you can't go home again"
I dismissed the thought; believed that I could return to the town that I once
rode through on my beach cruiser,
walked through with my friends,
utilized poor construction sites as makeout spots

"I've come home", he sings
but if there is one thing that I believe my mother was right in saying is
that this is all geography

That perhaps is the scariest thought of all;
that I don't yet know where by home is or who will fill rooms with music
and enjoy the elusiveness of life with

I've come home
but not in the way he means it
I have come home to my teenage broken heart--and its perpetrator
I have come home to a house where I was on month-long bed rests
I have come home to a structure that is seemingly not mine

I suppose I wish it wasn't true;
that you can't go home again
and things are ever changing...
that is something we must accept as we grow older

When I truly think about it though, I don't know that I would want to return to my once "home"

I think I just wish I had one.

wean me off of consumerism's
cure to my chemical chaos
\\\\\\\\\\
dim the lights
i am still awake

this ride is no longer free
you are suffocating
\\\\\\\\\\
i am still awake

swollen eyes
hidden motives and one week later
i am in the same bed
with the same fears
in the same solitude
that brought me here
\\\\\\\\\\\

weakness:
no longer a choice
seemingly the only form of vitality
somehow.
i am still awake

\
children::
i cannot hear you
this silence is screeching
your voices are lost

parents:
you always said you could not save me
i do not remember agreeing to believe it
i lay here and i believe it

parents:
would you have changed anything
somehow.
i am still awake

parents:
this is torture.
i am still awake


parents:
do you care?
i am paralyzed in my silhouette
i do not know how
i am still awake

parents:
you never listened.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\­\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

children:­
i can hear you
you are liberation

children:
i finally woke up

Kerouac said the only truth was music.
I suppose I agree,

"truth" is elusive
it means zip; no one cares.

the truth is like water between my fingertips,
air in my grasp,
a writer without a tragic backstory that you can probably sympathize with.
sorry.
the truth does not exist

we are here
how's that for elusive

meet me at our place,
at half past twelve.
you were the truest form of contentment.
the darkest form of light.
the secrets that I hide.
but meet me there,
and I will share...
whatever it is you have been wanting for all these years

because isn't that the truth?

*we're just here

Wine nights are for the lonely
for the lonely to gather
for the lonely to ponder an alternate world

in which they have a companion
or apartment larger than their current residence
or five year plans absent of labor

I love wine nights.

Wine nights are the winding ***** on a Jack-in-the-box going backward
soothingly miserable
my fondest type of drunk; loopy, then asleep

Wine nights are for the old and wrinkly
kidding.
the old and wrinkly have husbands

wine nights
pathetic, right?

**** wine nights
i'm going to sleep..
SOBER

getting over him was seemingly
never an option

love does not disappear,
love haunts you

love is the source of inexplainable flashbacks to nights that were simpler

us ending...we never ended
in my mind, you are alive
I can see the dimples reflecting the saddest smile
your smell is present at bougey department stores
I am never alone

but our love hibernated
nearly a year ago
yet I am holding onto memories of simpler nights
and embraces of comfort and affection

moving away did not rid me of your existence
you are always here

I am not angry that you have not yet left my mind
but I am angry that you refused to remain by my side

getting over you was a stupid thought

you will always be here

head to pillow
heart asleep
my eyes: exhausted
for insomnia has taken my mind
endless sleep on morning's light
yet night never takes me

irritated eyes
I toss and I turn
I beg to fall into slumber
my head does not stop moving
but then it halts
halts into the most obscure position
halts into; "why am I thinking about this"?

insomnia, it is 2015
your existence is as old as time
but instant streaming is new, and I'm not alone with my thoughts
in fact...
I believe my literary repertoire is built off insomnia...

let me sleep now for rested sounds peaceful
2:00am poems never bothered me
and music sounds better when no one is awake

but please, let me sleep
allow me to loll into drowsiness
I am telling you I am tired

2mg of Klonopin...still restless
2 boxes of chocolate...still broken

Insomnia, you are an illness
but please have mercy on my sanity
for I am losing it,
and yearn to merely breathe

Here is a jumbo sized "*******" to my ******
Three years, countless breakdowns, a broken person, and one friend request later...
Here we are
Social media is deliberate, you adding me was deliberate
Do you know you are a ******?
I did not consent to you on that eerie February night
I will not consent to your friend request today
I ask you; what could you make out of seeing my profile?
You have already violated by insides, you have violated my heart, my mind, my body
Do not seek a response from me, I have myself to take care of
When I saw your name, I was surprised I did not cry
Animalistic and intentional, all I can think is "how dare you"
Actively "add friend", *******
I am at a loss for words
I am incapable of rationalizing this
Who do you think you are?
Stare at my profile picture now,
My eyes are sadder
My smile less pure
My demeanor more awkward
all resulting from the night you were a bandit
the night you stole me
stare at my picture and figure out who I am now
I certainly won't look at yours

Lighter days, do not lie to me
Contentment is kind and I wish for it to remain
Lighter days, you often fool me
I am not one for love letters, but Lighter Days...
fill me with hope
remind me on dewey fields, breezy mornings, and coffee at dawn
Lighter days, you are my savior
Through the darkness I remain entangled in, I know there is another path
Sweet symphonies are nourishing
I have heard the music
I do not want to stop listening
Lighter days, you are "lighter"
Lighter than the dark
I am still here, complicatedness and pain are still here
Continue to remind me that the operative is "lighter"
and that one day, my "lighter days" will soon be free

I have lost my mind
this is not hyperbole

I am suffering

I have lost control
I am in a twister of doubt
I do not know who to call

I am alone
there are no ears at the door
nobody knows to be concerned
I wear armor everyday

My armor does not crack in public
it is hard metal
my tears have remained invisible

yes, believe I am clenching my jaw and my fists
I am holding on for dear life

you told me it was worth living...

barren friendships
love lost
my armor is still on

I sob under my blanket
alone like a child

I do not want you to see my pain

I am afraid to tell you why it hurts

i am poetry
i am the figurative language English teachers aim to disect
i am the metaphor within the metaphor within the simile
i demand commas and semicolons because no sentence should only have a period
i am the body of language that people seek to understand
i do not need to be understood
you can check your dictionary
understand my anecdotal properties
see how many stanzas there are
i am poetry because i make no sense
these are words
the purest language yet impossible to understand
i am poetry because i can listen to the sound of the wind
i can speak volumes without speaking
i am poetry though i am not always fluid
but rhythm is not essential and forced thoughts do not matter
i am poetry because i want to be understood
but there is no clear meaning
there is no clear cut
evaluate me as you may
interpret what you will
i am poetry and i will live on

I am not a body
I am a soul
I am not an empty room
there are no reservations to be made

soulmates never die
they rest in your heart's valves
hibernating from the love that was yours
they sneak up on you occasionally
through hidden lyrics
through words unspoken
through social media, god ******

soulmates graze your heart like dandelion blossoms
they make you feel whole and loved and welcome

but soulmates are not always mutual
they are the one way street you do not want to drive down
the dead end you encounter each time you try to get close to the end

your heart may meld into my mold but perhaps yours needs growing
perhaps the valve pumping blood to your heart is reserved
for someone you have not met

but...
you have met me
you have met my grin at midnight
my tears in your car
my forehead on your shoulder

soulmates never die
you will rest inside me till i forget what it was like to love you

i will always love you
you fit my mold
you rise like magic out of a storybook

your words will never be forgotten
for i live to hold your memory

may it rest comfortably
and may it find a home
in my heart, I hope

This lack of inspiration is exhausting
because I need to write to feel
and right now I am as emotionless as a lampshade
yet as emotional as a broken hearted hoodlum
this emotional paradox is draining the juice that keeps me running
it is content but it is confusing
the only solvency to this whirlwind of blankness
is unknown
enter into calculator
no solution
this lack of inspiration
a mirror can't even show me who or what or how
the music that enlivens me no longer strikes me as perfection
and it's strange because this darkness isn't dark
it's not light but it's fluctuating
fluctuating like an unsteady heartbeat
and jesus,
I hate religion
what is this feeling of nothing
emotion: blah
it's pathetic
where are the words that used to save me
where is the poem that made me proud of what I had to say
all there is right now
is ranting
and confusion
and **** this because
I can't seem to articulate whatever it is that
I need to say
so **** this

blades of truth beneath
feet as bare as birth
inhale the soulful wind of
illusions of hope
and step
foot to ground
sigh at the flock, as
it has returned from
redundant seasons
i had hoped that
birds would not
return, as
their unison reminded
me of normalcy
and i am still standing
enclaves of shimmering
possibility become matte
in the light of
what has become
the spiral we call
*life

cradle the passion he fills you with

sing till lungs bleed for he is your melody

never question his word

only bite it with flame

grab onto parts of him that will one day go away

when innocence meets death
mourners reside
between unpaved roads
and shallow streets

when innocence meets death
sinister screams;
a mother cries

when innocence meets death
sullen eyes do not tear
terminal mirrors end
upon hallways;
empty;
clear

when innocence meets death
a certain caress
bonds with unknown;
tranquil;
endear

when innocence meets death
sanctity arises;
regretless, whole; no fear

when innocence meets death
he holds it
he breathes;
he understands that death
is not fatal at all.

slathered in vain
drenched in ego
and reek of self

i can no longer feel
the soul that once sang into my eyes
and for miles i followed
the road paved

and i was there when manhood struck
when success was fluid
and love potential

but your heart is not kind
it does not speak the language of compromise or
compassion

and you thought you were free
yet you had everything to lose

it must ache now
force fed pride that consumed everything you'd done

today my muscles sang
songs of broken melodies
pieced together
as my breath became rhythmic
push till it does not matter
and pull until it does
the saltwater rid me
of what i thought was the end
but then it all came back
and i contracted once again
savior is for the dead

She looks at herself in the mirror
and sees an unfamiliar version of 'what could have been'
her skin is translucent
arteries are illustrated throughout her bare chest and arms
she looks down
it is not the body that she built
it is not the statue that she sculpted
there are legs but they do not run
they are latent and purposeless and blue

She looks back up
touches the mirror--right where her bowed lips are
they have not been grazed by another being since the last time she saw herself
the bags underneath her eyes
scream
I have been carrying too much
her eyes which once shone with possibility and ambition are now glazed over--impossible to reach

She hears herself speak
her vocal chords do not hum
instead she hears the words that she has written
as if her own poetry were a curse

She looks in the mirror
five minutes before she needs to leave for another day of something that someone somewhere deemed important
somewhere...

She turns around
back to the mirror
nose pressed
head down
ignoring her own cry for help

I am wiping my slate clean only to get it ***** again with memories of you

your loyalty fooled me
twice
*******.

I want to be anywhere but here
I want to scream at the top of my lungs
and say "I was here"
I am the anywhere but here girl
but the essence of me is here to stay
I will never back down and I will always stand strong
I will be resilient and quiet but bold
Because being stern is better than being a *****
and ***** I'm ******* done with this *******
so hold anything gross in your mouth
and throw it up in the bathroom
because we don't want to take it
I am going to hug myself
and love myself
and envy my own being
and when I do
I will be free

I felt the earth bring me to life
rooted from the ground up
nourished in soil that was rich
but the earth has now brought me down
and my life is a tundra
because I'm alone
I am without a person to turn to and
it aches
I'm sorry that I'm mean
and I'm sorry that I'm full of problems
but I'm not sorry for everything I have given
to you
to everyone
how could an earth so great
pull me down to a level
of sadness and despair
I'm alone
and it's my fault
there's only one person to hate
and it's myself

Before you were you
You bled tears of life and sang songs of fear
You believed in serenity
And met peace at its core
Till you fell out the building
That is when you changed
When you hit concrete and saw that there was a world beyond
The grass of child's play and hills of dewdrops
As you began to sail
You found me again
You found me when I thought I couldn't cry anymore
You brought me life when she died
You brought me excitement when I was asleep
And you brought me the gift of knowing
That even if I was alone
Even if you hated me
You would still bring me words of comfort
Or faces of need
And it is in those very moments
That I close my eyes tightly
Clench my jaw
Pull my hair
And realize
That even if you aren't with me
You will always be here

I've felt these chills
I've felt these aches
I've felt the burning
And I shake
For I've never felt this
All at once
So suddenly
So brutally
Incomprehensible
The trauma by body has endured
The sleepless nights and
Thousands of pills
And dreams of blood and spite
So here I sit in the light of a
Broken chandelier
With my esophagus burning
And my stomach churning
And my head pounding
Pounding like a heavy lock on an
Expensive door
An expensive door to an
Enormous house
Where no one can hear my screams
My moans
My "I can't do this"s and my
Shrieks of angst
And for what
For what
For love?
For happiness?
For purpose?
I haven't smiled in five years
And I can't recollect a pleasant day
A day when nothing mattered
A day when a day was just a day
But here my stomach cries again
And again the gurgles and cracking
And the unfathomable pain
But it's not unfathomable
Because I've felt it all before

The dreary grey portrays this state
this state of contentment
the contentment however
is troubling
because lack of inspiration
is troubling in the sense that
I don't know what to do or what to write or how to write
and because it's my "art",
I'm angry that I cannot articulate these nonexistent thoughts
To think that creativity stems from suffering
is to think that pleasure is contingent on pain
still, this contentment is leading to mania and confusion
confusion as to why my writing isn't what it used to be
and I ask myself to weigh the costs and benefits
of suffering versus peace of mind
and I don't know
so here I am,
unexposed
left in between two fragile states of
emotion,
that cannot be described

He said it would happen when the time was "right"
I can't tell you how many times it felt right
Because the number is countless
And after all this time
It was finally right
But not with him
And although I'm glad he doesn't have me
I'm angry that the time for us still isn't right
How does one night triumph two years
How

My past is not my present
So stop using my past against me

This lack of inspiration is exhausting
because I need to write to feel
and right now I am as emotionless as a lampshade
yet as emotional as a broken hearted hoodlum
this emotional paradox is draining the juice that keeps me running
it is content but it is confusing
the only solvency to this whirlwind of blankness
is unknown
enter into calculator
no solution
this lack of inspiration
a mirror can't even show me who or what or how
the music that enlivens me no longer strikes me as perfection
and it's strange because this darkness isn't dark
it's not light but it's fluctuating
fluctuating like an unsteady heartbeat
and jesus,
I hate religion
what is this feeling of nothing
emotion: blah
it's pathetic
where are the words that used to save me
where is the poem that made me proud of what I had to say
all there is right now
is ranting
and confusion
and **** this because
I can't seem to articulate whatever it is that
I need to say
so **** this

fear drove me to hell
and hell drove me to angst
angst drove me to anger
and anger led to clarity
clarity that is too clear
for the human eye
because no one should ever see
anything
that sting

I didn't know what I was doing
the ***** had gotten to my head
and I was already absent from the real world
here I was with someone who seemed like
perfection
yet we had only just met
but he was charming and sincere
and "being" with him felt right
it felt right…until
until I wasn't me anymore
until my values had been shattered
and my dignity stripped
I can't be the strongest person you know because I ****** up
and it was awful

in my moment of despair
you came to my rescue
to my swollen eyes
and unkept hair
and your timing was perfect
so thank you,
for offering me comfort in the form of food
and thank you for holding my hand
and kissing me like there's no one else on Earth
but I can't forgive you for all the times you've asked
for us to sneak around
because I am wonderful
and you are wonderful
therefore,
we shall be wonderful together

The ache of my cramping stomach
gives me chills
and droplets fall down my cheek because
it hurts so much

the anger that comes with my greatness
has been described as a blessing in disguise
but the situation is entirely transparent
and my effort
goes
absolutely nowhere
because one moment of recognition does not suffice

I resent my parents because
they neglected me when
a chronic illness consumed my body
and for months I was alone
in my bed
immobile and miserable

I miss what could have been
it could have been everything I year for today
but I ****** up
twice
I miss us

I miss the days that I can't remember

Her mind is troubled and her thoughts are blurred
nights of endless crying
nights of despair
nights when life didn't seem worth living

You could never tell that beneath her "put-togetherness"
was a girl
who couldn't be in further disarray

She questions love and all that it means
her self worth hasn't been quantified
and the concept of love is foreign yet it lays beneath the fingertips
that type away at the one
who brings her the utmost happiness

Here is a girl that is broken
here is a girl that wants to believe that one day
things will be better

but life is unfair
and she has yet to have a moment of clarity
the moment of clarity that facilitates a purpose
and things are weary and unclear
so she keeps asking her self
"why?"

Here is a girl
who is the epitome of empathy
and the center of love

however, she has yet to receive
any sense of reciprocity
and until the reciprocity exists,
the world will remain to be nothing but an empty plane

Here is a girl
that has fallen to pieces
only to bring herself back together
again
and again
and again

Here is a girl
who has creativity at her fingertips,
but she needs more love, so that her creativity
can become the magic that it has always meant to be

Here is a girl
that has loved herself
and hated herself
and has endured more suffering than anything imaginable

Here is a girl
that represents suffering
that represents strength
that represents
a reason for tomorrow

I don't want to hear the echoes of what could have been
nor do I want to think of today as a distant memory
because right now…
is the beginning of always
and I always want to know what should have been
or what would have been

what would happen
if tomorrow, I looked you straight in the eye and said "there is an "us""
would you shoot me down or would you let me articulate the thoughts that have brewed inside of me for months

would you say that "we" are something…

I have much to say,
and you know that I do
Because two nights ago you said,
and I quote
"I know you want to say something"
But I wish I could tell you how I feel
the feelings that you know exist
We're two halves to a whole, **** the cliche,
we are great
We have been described as "perfect" to the nearby observer
and hell, all I want is you
I want all of you
Not the bits and pieces because if I can love one part of you, I can love it all
This hurts because you know that it should be you and me
It should be the two of us
I won't forget you
You've molded me, and I molded you and there's no denying it
There are days when I think of the end of "us",
and it results in ***** and tears and lack of motivation
I want to crash into your emotions…
the way you tried to crash into mine…a year and a half ago
You'll be in my heart until someone else takes over
but I hope that no one else takes over
Despite your many imperfections,
I would do anything for you
because that's how it should be
Why won't you speak to me?
Why won't you admit that you love me back?
Why won't you make it official?
I know why…
it's because you want power
you want the image of a player who ***** hot *****
…the problem is…
you are transparent
I know you love me
as does the rest of the world
and I hope that one day this is resolved
because I don't want "what if?"s
Show me the solidarity that I know you can exhibit
and convey the emotion that you refuse to acknowledge
and when you do,
you'll be free from the *******,
and even better, you'll be free
free with me

As tears fall down my swollen eyes
My instinct is to call you
To ask you to save me,
because you're the only one who can
You can mend my brokenness
Your kiss, your smell, your embrace
All of you, reminds me
That there is something worth living for
And you remind me that life is ****** up and the only thing we can do is exercise our free will
You know how ****** up the world is
Hell, life has been crueler to you than it has to me
For me, it's just more evident
But that doesn't mean that I can't see your pain
Because I see the main and I want to heal you
I want to make you mine and share the thoughts I've written
I want you more than anything
Because you are the cure
The cure to this misery

There are untouched moments
Of porcelain faces and priceless youth
Moments that reflect our faces as children--

Faces that sing nothing but clarity
Clarity that is unimaginable,

Because our minds have been tarnished by the generation that we've become
The sadness of that perfect moment

The moment that cannot be replicated until we watch our own children

Shuffling through these boxes of memories
Makes me wonder who I've become
Because I was happy and happy was all there was

Yet today, happiness does not seem possible
Not the happiness that our infant faces reflected

There are moments
Moments that have been captured
Moments that make me remember that one day, I will smile again
And when I smile, I will be genuinely happy
Because I want to be

In the past year,
I've taken an unquantifiable amount of photographs
Yet none of them capture the moment that I speak of

This unexplainable moment
The pain and joy that fills my chest when I look at myself as a child and wonder,

What happened to me?
When did this happen to me?
And then I ask myself--
Why can't I remember the long days of fairy tales and lemonade stands?

For a year I thought that you were the perfect person for me, but then I fell in love, and you became a memory.

You will never need me for the reasons that I need you, and that's why we'll always be broken.

It's not sadness anymore
It's shame
I thought that I could change things
That I could change things about myself
But people never change and I know that
I know that because at the tick of midnight he was nowhere to be found
And when I found him, his lips were pressed against someone else's lips
I'm the idiot
I was with him the night before
I know who he is and how he acts and I am at fault because people are incapable of change
This isn't sadness, it's shame
Shame in the failure that no one knows about
Shame in the fact that after 15 months, he still doesn't love me back
Shameful that although I believe I have become a better person, no one else has
I need to save me from myself before I **** up again
Things are ****** right now, despite the fact that 48 hours ago
I was happy and content and at peace for the first time in a long time
I wish that the first day of the new year hadn't ended the way it did
Because last year was treacherous and if tonight has set a precedent for the new year, I'm done
I will be done trying and fighting for the things and people I want

My heart is cold. It had been previously overheated, by emotions that my mind took in like sweet ecstasy only to spit these emotions out like sour milk. My body learned to stare at the milk carton, and no longer have the urge to drink the liquid that is perfectly fine. Expiration date: five weeks from now. But no, ever since I drank that sour glass, I can’t be emotional anymore. I want to sympathize and empathize, but only with you. Because here, empathy could be easy and sympathy would be natural. But, all I want to feel is you. I want to feel the shape of your thoughts. I want to be constricted to you and only you. You’re the only milk I’ll ever drink. You’re today, tomorrow, and yesterday. You’ve told me that your father is an alcoholic. He would get drunk off wine, and you called him a “*****”. You always stare into my eyes before we conform to each other’s bodies and say “Why are you always so sad”. My response is never fulfilling, and I’m sure you want to know about me, but I’m not ready to tell me story, so tell me yours. Your father is an addict. He had a difficult childhood and grew up to be a man, both hated and praised. Your mother had breast cancer and back surgery, but why? Maybe I don’t even need to know about your parents, what about you? You stare into my pupils and question my ever-present sorrow, so, may I question yours? Why do you shut off your emotions, the same way I do. Why do you remain unaffected by the pain of others? I have tasted the sour milk on my tongue, and I vow to never taste it again. But, when our lips touch, I taste honey and I smell lilac, and I feel home. So tell me, what your story is, please… We feed off each other’s agony and cry in our beds at night, we meet up at midnight so that we don’t feel alone, we rest in the pain that makes us bitter and unkind. I need to know your story, because although I have seen bits and pieces of an overcomplicated puzzle, I need to see the whole picture, and you need to see mine. Please, you’re all I have. Let me taste honey and smell lilac and feel at home, because with you, my heart is warm,

hours have been spent
hours of me, staring at myself
not in a mirror, not at a picture
but of my words

and,
i've come to realize that i have been wrong
and i have been wronged
emotion and pain are understandable but,
how can these words possibly explain how i feel

i've been thinking of someone else for too long
my problems aren't contingent on our relationship at the moment...
because that's pathetic and weak and it's not me
nor will i let it become me

i've been wrong
i cant blame you for not loving me
i cant blame the world for believing that my feelings toward you...
are unrequited
and i wont blame myself either

as a writer...
as a person...
the type of person i am...
it's difficult to call my previous prose and poems
"works of self victimization"
even if they are,
they're still art

**** what everyone else thinks
**** the world
**** everyone

but i will never say "*******" to myself

and that is where i have been wrong

it's going to take more than this
one, long, grievance
to mitigate...


NO

NO

NO

NO

NO

I changed my mind
I have the right to be angry and the right to be hurt
You hurt me and I won't let that go until you say "I'm sorry"

And I take back that comment about "self victimization"
**** that entire concept
If I am a victim of someone else's careless actions, I remain sane in writing it down
I can think of myself however I want to
I was NOT wrong
I was right in every sense of the word because I conveyed the emotion that will never slip through my mouth
It's the emotion that will only pour out of my eyes
and out of my heart
It;s the emotion that is surreal, yet my reality






























NO