I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.

The most awkward five minutes of my life.

There's a faded scar on my right shoulder
from three summers ago,
two more on my left from this winter.
One on my chin from the pavement
that got the better of an 8 year old
who couldn't say "no",
and another on my wrist
to remind me that metal detectors
no longer find me empty.

It's alright that you left,
but please don't act
like I'll just be okay again.
I don't heal well,
never have.

Who decides who is cool,
Who is hot
who is attractive and who is not

Everybody thinks that girl is awkward
Everybody thinks that guy is cute
Who is this everybody we're so loyal to,
everything everybody does we just follow suit

Well if nobody is everybody
then everybody is no one
Then why are we doing what no one thinks will be best!
Ohh this life is such a mess!!

I just fear we all try to do what everybody thinks is normal and cool
when really we design this everybody we seem to live for..
Who will be everybody..Will anybody..who'll...?

"I know it's cliche, but-"
You may stop right there
As, yes, cliches exist
And nobody cares
But life is cliche
We're all just living jokes
With stories told and lived
Since millennias ago.

Be as cliche as you wish,
You can't change what's done
And the way you express it
Or the need to tell someone
Wear your cliche with pride
Because, years before you, another did not
And it tore them inside
And now, in the earth, their body rots.

"I'm in so much pain, but none of it's physical
And god, that's so ******* cliche,"
But it's the only description you know
Your played out storyline's seen better days.
Because it's such a played out, worn out cliche
But it's unique because you hurt in your own way
And lord knows we're all dealing with the same thing
Living a cliche and fighting for something to change.

You smile, you laugh; you hurt, you cry
And I promise you another in the past
Laughed and cried at the exact same time
Right up until the day they died.
Because you may be something special
But don't ever think you're something new
You're life's been lived, been replayed
By hundreds, maybe thousands, before you.
So, yes, it's going to be a cliche.

Just breathe
If you can't do anything else
Just breathe
Even if I have to do it for you
Just breathe

Writer’s block does not exist,
there’s only uncreative writers,
and those who don’t care enough
to care so much.
As the former,
I will write this in my quietest voice:
I am okay,
I am okay,
I am okay.
Few would care to know,
fewer would care if they knew.
But it is the truth,
and I am in no business
of making truths I cannot keep.
I no longer write with tired eyes.
I no longer think with shaking hands.
I am no longer transparent,
or translucent,
or opaque.
I am okay.
I know this because I woke up today.
Simply that.
I woke up today,
and I am not empty.

I tried to drink deeply of the sky
the other day,
but lately I’ve been short of breath.
The air around me isn’t good enough.
The air between us isn’t good enough.
It’s too safe.
It isn’t pure.
It isn’t full of stars
and sunlight.
It doesn’t hold oceans
or forests
or peaking mountains.
It is air that is 2 weeks past its expiration date.
It won’t do.
I need more than the air between us,
I need the air inside your lungs.
So I will remove it with my own,
as you give me stitches made of honey
to sink into the cuts along my tongue.
I will carefully remove every last bit of it,
as it is the only thing that is keeping
me from drowning in the sea that
tosses within me.
It will keep me solid when my bones
start to evaporate.
It will fill each chamber of my heart,
pass through my lungs, and return again;
continuing to refill me.
I need more than the air between us,
I need the air inside your lungs.
No other air will do.