my full and true semantic
can only be illuminated by the lonely moon.

i try to draw it out into the air...
so that your ears might embrace it, but
it crackles and fizzles
and sputters out before it gets there.

ellie's parents are dead.

i was adopted 23 years ago by two people
that have loved me in their own true way
which i try to pin down as selfish, and
who is right
and who is wrong

i've learned to let go of those battles
but some days they still fracture the sunlight
break its bones, break my heart.

ellie feels she has to rely on her druggie boyfriend
who is in and out of jail
she says she really loves him
but the people she is living with are suddenly moving far away,
and now she needs a place to stay.

she can't move back in with her sister
and when she was accepted to college her sister replied
how are you going to pay for that?

i've only been able to get through my legal troubles
because my parents have helped me
driving me to drug tests and to work some days
a recourse i brought on myself with temper tantrums
i should have outgrown

but forget subjunctives,
if the police could open me up, if the law could unfurl my soul
they would feel bad for putting me in jail
and placing this onus on my shoulders.

they would.

but my full and true semantic can only be illuminated
by the lonely moon
as i bike home from ellie's house
we shared beer and cigarettes
and "Champion" by Fall Out Boy blares from my Bluetooth speaker
which is a keychain on my backpack...

i said in a low voice, passing listening houses
you don't know me
because i have gone at least partially insane
with my loneliness.

only not. and the suburbanites who think they can assume things
the law who thinks they can properly judge me,
they CAN GO **** THEMSELVES.

i have good intentions.

i am a brilliant person.

i have an ego.

and i sink into humility again.

and i think about ellie

and i think about everything, a child with cancer
a child with malaria
and i think
i am ~so~ beautiful.

did you stop to think about what 'so' really means?
of course you didn't.
i could spend all day telling you things
you missed about my beauty.

that's how vile and vain i am.

you don't think this poem is perfect.

it deserves to go down in ******* history.