sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record of all the times i have been left and all the times i have been unable to leave. i wonder if he thinks to himself "will she ever  learn?" as if he feels my heartache too. i picture god himself sitting at a desk with a mountian of crumpled papers at his feet with bags and dark circles under his eyes hunched over a typewriter with a furrowed brow beginning me again and again, but somehow he always ends up at the same part in the story where i am all ****** palms and and propped up on bruised knees spitting up blood and teeth at his feet screaming "IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!" But he doesn't answer.

i clench my fist hoping i've grabbed the last inch of air i could put behind my broken jaw

breathe in, breathe out

my mind attacks my memory like it's a world war with no allies

breathe in, breathe out

i remember you
i remember you?
since i was 8 i've tried to play God
and ended up admitting i'm a sinner

breathe in, breathe out

i brought you back from the dead
only for you to sit in your grave

we all did
we prayed for you

breathe in, breathe out

my memories don't lie
and i remember a change in you
and i thanked God with all my might that i could no longer blame you

I WISH I COULD SCREAM IN YOUR FACE BUT...

breathe in, breathe out

if i could pray i would say: God help my dad so he doesn't die in a puddle of his own rage

*breathe in...

ill sit you down and hold your hands in mine
and i will tell you all of my stories
from the very beginning
you'll inhale them
eager and hungry for more
you'll build a little picture of me in your mind
your brilliant ******* mind
god it's so gorgeous
the pictures will be based off of the things i tell you
and only that
they might be twisted and strange
they might not make sense to you completely or at all
but you'll love them because you love me
it's important that you know these stories that i carry around with me
because here's the best part of all
you are in the pictures now
you are one of my stories
a silly dream that actually came true

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may **** me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.

And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,
The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed form the noonday glare, the favour'd sight
Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.

But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,
Or fairest lustre fills th' expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
Leaves but a hallow'd memory of love!