Beginnings are hard, right?
Especially after eons of repetition
Fingers curl, bend, and break
At all the right angles
To either hold the utensil
Or press the keys on the keyboard
Always just using muscle memory

Imititating the smile you burned into my mind
Your laughter echoing in my ears
Your touch so enticing
Yet so distant and unforgiving
Intimacy with others seemed mute
No matter what I told myself

Now those thoughts are flooding back
Filling every orifice
Every aperture
Every stuck up synonym for a hole
I'm drowning in the same situation
But in a different face
A different smile I've never seen
A different laugh I've grown accustomed to
A different touch that I lust after
I need
I want
I have to work towards

Will I lose myself like before?
I tried and failed a couple times
Almost succeeded, but never quite
I have blunt permission to love
And be loved by
That should be enough, right?
Will these fingers curl for someone else
With the same elegance as before?
The same bends
Same curves
Same angles
Will those help me describe her curves?
Her bends
Her angles

I can write my heart out about
My love for her personality
But that ****** up every time before
These fingers need to improve
In their muscle memories
In their beginnings
**** me, they're hard

"Beer. Trucks. ****."
"If you have money
I'll give you what you need."
"My spirit animal is Garfield."
"I'm a juggernaut
In love's battlefield."**

How can you narrow your life down
To 150 characters or less?
I do that every time I write
About how my life is a mess

Structure is what I lack in life
So I maintain it in my art
Does that mean I've grown stale?
Souring people's mouths like tarts?

I haven't had a full meal in weeks
No one else shares my space in the sheets
My love is stretched but still poignant
Can I just hire a ******* clairvoyant?

Have I described enough?
Or am I still chock full of secrets?
Something I'll always regret
Is never knowing that stuff

Dumbing down my English vocabulary
My teachers would be so proud of me

Every word is a brick
Fortifying the border
I cannot afford but alas
It'll help keep order

Everything in me is screaming
"Don't block us out, fix us instead"
Not realizing this is directed at me
I drain thoughts from my head

These ideas need controlling
Not roped in like a bull
Don't **** it off and leave
Grab the horns and fight the pull

Then maybe this wall
Will crumble and fall

And I might actually be ok

Every collection of pixels
Programmed onto the screen
Every line of sulphur
Etched into scraps of dead trees

I still can't make my hands big enough
To grasp the relationships I always crave
My tongue is no match for my hands
And not even the way that I need to behave

I just always left lust behind
In the pursuit of emotional connections
Now this empty bed plagues my dreams
And what's on the nightstand? Rejection

But definitions have become twisted
My love is still compared to the first
And now my throat knows of no other
It always has this ******* thirst

Can lust finally catch up to me?
Is that a bad subject for my pleas?

It's hard to tell
If I should feel hatred towards anything
Should I start from the beginning?
Would that help?

Should I be mad towards my parents
For loving one another but apparently not enough?
There are infinite definitions of the emotion love
Who am I to judge their past intent?

Should I be mad towards myself
For halting the progress they both worked towards?
They would both tell me with conviction that those words
Are just bad for my mental health

Should I be mad towards the world
For ******* my life into where I am now?
My happiness has elevated past the highest cloud
My smile never curls downward

Should I be mad towards the past
For constantly occupying my entire thought process?
It never helps to dwell on mistakes and losses
Even if they pile up way too fast

Should I be mad towards the present
For shifting my actions without my permission?
I can't always see today as an inescapable prison
Though it's difficult to live in the moment

Should I be mad towards the future
For making me question and doubt everything?
People have died having that way of thinking
I will too if I continue, I'm sure

I feel the need to have hatred
Towards literally anything I can find
But my life's perfect in my own mind
Clearly, by what you've just read

So what was the point of this?
Probably to bring out my inner neautralness

Self-esteem has never been
A strong suit of mine
Either I have too much or not enough
Wait
The right definition is hard to find

But I'd rather constantly question
My worth to the rest of the universe
Than struggle with the digestion
That no one wants me to be heard

So I write, I yell, I scream
Rhyme literally everything
And crack jokes so I never take myself seriously

So I never have a case of froideur

When I was a young boy
Alive and well in the north
I was always quite annoyed
By the silence brought forth

From the graveyard down the street
And the weights tied to my feet

When I was a young man
Broken but happy in the south
My future was devoid of plans
By the silence from my mouth

Protecting my feelings from others
Always trying not to be a bother

When I become who I aspire to be
The man that can be loved without fear
Will the past come back to haunt me?
Destroy all the people I hold dear?

I'll silence every doubt in my heart
After all, I've known silence from the start