I've been fighting with myself for so long
I know that you need the let things go
because you cant control eveything
And why would you want to control something
if it doesn't exist under any other condition?
But I want to fight for you.
I feel like I've given up so much in my life
I just beat myself down,
convincing myself that I deserve it.
I close off and let everything crumble around me,
I give up so quickly.
Focusing on wanting to make others happy
at whatever cost that may be,
even unto myself.
I've grown tired to the taste of the imagine I create
"Caring about someone means letting them go."
Why is that the saying?
I understand people need space and time to grow
but why does it have to be done in that manner.
What if I fight for you?
What if you don't know what you want, what you need
and it turns out to actually be me,
and I'm just letting you go when I shouldn't be
all because it means I "care."
Maybe this is something that should be fought for
and not so readily given up.
I've been told all is fair in love and war
so why do we fight so many battles to then so easily give up that war,
Hoping that in honor of our struggles,
sometime down the road
they will return.
This makes no sense.
I've already suited up for combat and readied my gear
I'm hitting the point where I'd rather fight the war and die
then retreat and wait.
I've done that for mostly my whole life.
Now I've found Something
Someone
worth fighting that fight for
And this time I won't give up.

In the last days of summer
you were my lover,
my life’s detour.

In the last moments I saw you,
I didn’t know who
I had turned into.

In the last month spent in my room,
in this locked up tomb,
I’ve tried to move through this life without you,
this life without you.

Everything,
it happens for a reason.
I'll keep telling myself that
with the change of the seasons.
And I won't move from the top of this mountain,
until I'm repaired.
Where I will begin
the slow formation
of a new constellation.

All that I am
is driftwood for the sea,
It engulfs me,
it engulfs me so easily.
This disease
is thicker then the woods,
It surrounds me,
it surrounds me for good.

All that I am
is cold cracked skin and bones,
It enfolds me,
it enfolds me all alone.
This room
settles harder than the cold ground,
It suffocates me,
it suffocates me until there's no sound.

                                                         ­         There's strength in a faith that is blind
                                                           ­         and I'd go blind for you,
                                                            ­          There's soil for these roots to anchor us
                                                              ­           if we just hold on through.

It’s strange to think we fear the darkness
when we are younger,
A form of innocence that we harnessed
I’d much rather prefer.
Now that sounds crazy but hear me out
it’s something that you’ll see,
When innocence is gone you’ll come about
to find it hides in me.
That same darkness resides in you
I dread it’s greater than,
The darkness wrapped around your room
that you feared at age ten.
It’s something that grew inside your mind
and clung to your rib cage,
With every breath you come to find
the wars inside you wage.
It hides in every crevice and corner
bound to your bone marrow,
It tears apart your soul and worse
sometimes it even shows.
So I’d prefer those simpler days
with light came faith and trust,
The flick of a switch can’t keep at bay
the darkness inside all of us.

I am a boomerang.
             You throw me out into a blur,
             of unanswered questions that reoccur.
             No matter though, I turn around,
             and come back to that unsteady ground.
I am the song you sang.
             The one that got stuck in your head,
             that you hummed softly as you went to bed.
             From time to time though, forgot it,
             the words would gradually lose their pitch.
I am that scarf you hang
             The one so easily covered,
             that suspended there amongst the others.
             They cater to your separate needs,
             since weather changes so drastically
             from summer to winter or in-between.


I’m now an overhang
             I see above everything,
             and the waste of time it all did bring.
             The cloud that loomed over my mind, (is gone)
             can’t bring you back around this time.


I’ll no longer be the blood on your fangs,
I’ll no longer be your boomerang.

It’s unnerving how powerful things under the surface are,
things all people share
but communicate only through pursed lips about.
I am continually blurred with thoughts
that flow through my mind.
It’s like I’m running
and not knowing what for
or why.
And when I am
where will I be then?
Maybe there is no destination,
only a constant motion
of running thoughts
that can only be seen as vacant vessels.
With cargo that we can’t label,
understanding that we’re unable
to know of it’s true end,
if any.
But then I feel someone around me,
like I’m having a conversation
with a ghost or a memory.
Who are you?
What do you want?
Do you have the answer
to all these drifting thoughts?
It’s like talking to someone
but not knowing their response.
Maybe these are questions
not meant to be answered.
But how can I guide myself
without a sense of direction.
I guess this is what people mean
when they say life’s unpredictable.
Our thoughts are unpredictable.
We are shaped by them,
what we think we become
and without knowing their meaning
can create or destroy.
It’s unnerving how powerful things under the surface are.

The rush you get stepping on autumn leaves,
the crushing and crinkling below your feet.
            These thoughts they submerged me
as I found one on my car early this morning,
soaked in on my windshield from days of soaring.
Laid there surrounded by pebbles of rain,
and left me thinking the way life is strange.
One moment we’re lifted through tree limbs and air,
carried by the breeze, feeling weightless up there.
But how that same breeze can lead us astray,
and plant us on windshields just to be whipped away.

Sometimes
the places we didn't go,
are just as important
as the ones we chose.