Tomorrow is today is tomorrow
A never ending saga of emotional turbulence
Breaking through the cloud of judgement and whispers

My feet are aching and in pain me so.
My heart is shattering as we speak.
My love is almost nonexistent.

He looks at me through intoxicated, glazed eyes
Angry again, yelling at me for something I did or didn't do.
I go to my happy place, my self-destructive shelter.

Why?  Why do I do this to myself?
What makes me stay a prisoner within these walls...?
When I am a free spirit that wants to fly with the eagles.

So I did something to myself,
That only I can do.
I hurt myself today to see if I still feel.

I had to use that line from a song about pain.
That's my reality today, tomorrow and yesterday.
Forcing my mouth to form words I simply don't mean anymore.

You fell for my tricks and devices.
You were a mark, but it's all turned around.
Now I'm the one in shackles and peering through the window.

Not able to breathe fresh air and make decisions for myself.
The shackles around my feet have cut into my flesh, dripping fresh crimson blood;.
My beautiful smile has been replaced with an angry scowl of sorrow.

I'm crumbling into a million pieces
That will never again fit together.
Something marred and broken, ugly on the inside.

Can't anyone see the signs?
The emotional abuse that causes me to run to danger.
Because it's better than the surreal cause of all my anger.

Lick my wounds,
Salty sweat burning the fresh scars, you have caused.
One day, I keep saying, but it will have to be tomorrow.

take.
it.



its all I have,
these words.
and I put these
words to paper,
but they are circling,
the garbage chute in my mind,
words I throw your way every time.

It was bonfires till the morning,
I wrapped up in the paleness of your skin,
and the embers darkening,
and camping in your backyard,
with you hands wrapped around me,
like you were falling,
but it wasn't you darling
I was the one falling,
into tenderness in sickness,
weakness attached to health,
and the regret of you existence,
married to the wealth of my emotions,
pressed tight between us,
was the seed of all my hope.

take it back.

There is a teddy bear that still guards my bed,
but never gets any love,
It sit upon a lonely shelf,
Watching from above.

A multicolor box of crayons,
Sits on my bedroom floor,
It's leftover from my childhood,
That is sadly nevermore.

But the memories are still sweet,
In bitter sort of way,
And even if some are sad,
It was a happy day.

1.That one special day in March where it's really warm.
2.The joyful laugh of a small child.
3.Asking questions.
4.Getting asked out by someone you like.
5.Realizing who your best friend is.
6.Seeing someone trust you.
7.Writing Poetry.
8.Making something amazing and destroying it.
9.Acting in Plays.
10.Making other people laugh.

Pebble after pebble,
my lungs fill.

The words "i'm sorry" have no meaning.

All I see is the black tangled mess that covers your head.
And the room is filled with echoes of once cherished memories.

Every second,
another drops.
Each drop takes away the meaning of the words spoken,
giving everything a bitter taste.
Nothing can come out of that word making hole on your face.
That weapon.
That promise.
That opening that tells others what you want, what you need, what you feel,
what this all means.
Or how sorry I am.
No words can fix this.

Every time I say it another pebble drops.
Eventually everything is meaningless,
And I can no longer breathe.

maybe it's okay. i think sorrow suits me -
i sabotage happiness.
pour gasoline all over it and
kick at it and
provoke it.
i can't sit still with happiness like i can with sorrow.
it doesn't make me write or think. happiness doesn't fit my heart quite right. it never has.
i can be alone, you know.
i can be alone and i can be sad and i can take my pain in large and crippling doses
and i can sit still and let it all catch me and wash over me and rip me apart
and i can let the stitches come undone
and i can let it seep into my heart and make me feel the blackest things you can imagine.
i have that capacity.
i'm that type of person.
and in the end i can let it right back out again -
it's like breathing in that way. i've learned to manage my pain, after all these years of having it.
it's not new to me - just yours is fresher
and maybe worse than what i've had before,
but it's not a novelty.
it comes
and it goes
tide in
tide out
crippling
then fine
then crippling,
and i will sit and i will let it take me and i will feel what i'm feeling and i will think what i think and i will live with it like i've always lived with it, and i will not hurry to heal, and i will not force any sort of happiness, because people need sorrow like they need oxygen. it is something real and necessary and raw. i can feel it and still survive. i can let it in and let it back out again, and i will be fine. and i don't need you to know that. and i don't need to tell you. and i don't need anyone to worry. because this is part of what i do, and how i am, and i can control my dosage, and i can control my suffering.
it suits me.
it does.