this ache in my chest sends me backwards,
under covers and into a night
that knows no time zone.
hours mean nothing
to the face of a depression nap.

my hand clings
to my childhood blanket-
when all I've been
trying to do lately
is let my past go.

but there's nostalgia there,
hidden behind the tragedy,  
behind the smell of alcohol
on my father's breathe
and the sound of distain
in my mothers.

there was hope there once-
until I saw what it turned me into.

but is this version of me so bad?
I guess things could've been worse.
I guess all of this pressure
could've turned me a little more numb.

cutting off circulation
at my self-confidence
I've been trying to find a balance.
Dying to find a way to feel
non-restricted.

I guess there are better words
to be used than the ones I do.

But who has time to be pristine,
when someone will find me
messy anyway?

who has time to think,
when I am just
who everyone says I am anyway?

what good is pressure
when you know you
won't live up to all of these
expectations?

I'm wading in the water
awaiting a wave to carry me away-
but these blockades won't budge.

and I'm stuck
sitting in a place everyone wants me to be.
looking like I am happy.

where has this talent gotten me?
where will it even take me?

I have spent too long in the shadow
of someone else that I no longer know myself.

but have I ever?