"Yes, sir. Thank you for trying to teach me. Don't give up on me, Dad."

I'm not a deadbeat like your other son
That man is not my brother
He is a widow to what life offered him and he looks for his vices in alcohol and cheap women

That is not me
I am trying
My room is not my reality and I am not staying here to be afraid of everything
I am trying I am trying I am trying
My best is your worst and I just want you to understand that I'm one of the most driven people you'll ever meet

I'm not awake at 3am because the liquor and smoke is in me
I'm not gallivanting the streets with bad influences
I'm awake at 3am because my body has offered no other option
I'm not wasting the time I don't have
My imperfections don't define me

I work hard for what I want regardless of if I get it and the only advice you're pouring into my head is to "grow some" and "do something even if I don't want to"
I don't want to listen to you because I'm trying my best and I just want you to realize that I'll be strong when all is said and done

I don't need to be force fed
I work for my own food
I'm talking about the food of life
I'm talking about not letting the half empty glass get the best of me
I'm talking about wanting what's best for me
If you wanted what's best for me you'd realize I'm trying my best and your words only hurt me

These cuts are too deep for a bandaid solution
I need a neck brace to stop myself from hitting my head against my wall and a coat to keep myself warm because every time you make me feel like the worst I grow colder on the inside

I know this is hard for you to understand and you probably won't take any of this in and let it breathe inside of you because you never imagined your son would write a poem about you, especially not one like this

Trust me when I say I love you

I just want you to know I'm going places and I refuse to be held down by anything

I hope you're proud of me in the end

Everything seems to be pitch black and quiet
I'm alright with this, considering I've grown tired of being in the spotlight
I don't remember how I got here or how long I've been here, but everything looks and smells so vibrant
I'm laying in what looks to be an endless meadow of roses
Everything is so beautiful over here

The last few things I can remember involve a couple of pill bottles, a couple glasses of water, and falling asleep with my TV on
I hope I haven't been sleeping long, I don't want to worry anyone
Maybe this is a dream
Something so wonderful like this couldn't possibly exist in the real world

I see people walking around way over there, but to be honest, I don't even want to bother them
I'm having the best time in the world just resting here in the roses, it feels like home
The people looked like flowers at last
I want to cut myself open and let my entire body pour out around me here
I wonder if the vines will wrap around me and turn me into something beautiful
The weird part is that I'm not even jealous anymore
I don't even need to plant my roses anywhere, I'm completely surrounded by them and they look to be all mine

I suddenly felt a shock and my chest lit up in the pitch black of what felt like the promised land
I woke up but I couldn't open my eyes because the lights were brighter than they had ever been
I saw my mother quickly reach for me but another woman immediately stopped her

"Your son is in shock, please don't touch him, it could make things worse"

Where in the hell am I?
Is this a hospital?
Where's my meadow?
Where are the roses?
Why is everything so bright?
Everything is so loud!

The doctors repeatedly shock my chest while my mother grows hysterical next to me
I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear
I only wanted to take a nap, honest


--

A few years have passed
My therapist made me start my own garden
I'm embarrassed I couldn't do it on my own, but I'm glad he made me do it, or else I probably wouldn't have
I still write in the same journal I got from my grandmother when I was a small child in hopes that she sees me, wherever she is, and that she knows I'm still fighting for myself
My garden is growing like a wildfire and some days it's the only thing that makes me smile
At least I can still smile

It's been a very long time, but I can still remember my adventure like it happened yesterday
If this is what death is, I'm upset that everyone fears it so badly

*Everything was so beautiful over there and the people finally looked like flowers at last

You might as well just burn me with that magnifying glass
I'm better off dead than being searched for, or at least that's what my skeletons have told me
What do they know though, they're just piles of ash
However, everything that was once made of fire and brimstone is now ash, so it does make me wonder

The sun rays cascade into a quiet valley, not a soul in sight
I am a house built between two hills, or for lack of a better term, between a rock and a hard place
The lights are on but no one is home
If someone were to go looking, they'd find me inside the caves of my mind
Bar fights, fist fights, blood all along the lines
My head is a rather filthy place to stop by
I'd stay away if I were you

However, you aren't the first, and you most definitely won't be the last
I may be a wreck, but this is only a little bump in the road
Once it's my turn to go, I'll never stop again
The gasoline I've been filled with will drive me for years
You left and I've been a little twisted ever since
What else can a broken man do besides cope the best he knows how

I wish you'd come back so I could beat the **** out of you for what you've done to me
Let's be honest here though
We both know I wouldn't touch you
Not because I would be scared to
Mostly because acid rots flesh and your skin is more acidic than your personality ever could be

I wish I could bury you and dig you back up again
Maybe that way you'd know what it feels like to be covered in dirt that you can't get out of
If history repeats itself then I guess I'll learn to roll in my grave
Nothing's funny, I just want you to know how it feels to have someone turn their back on you

A hundred years from now I'll be nothing but a pile of ashes
You know what they say though
Everything that was once made of fire and brimstone is now ash
My youth was a raging wildfire that didn't stop for anyone
You weren't the first and most definitely won't be the last

Muster up the words, "I beg you."
Form some kind of apology, please
This isn't you and you know it
Your heart is too warm to treat someone so cold

The breezy winds flow through your hair just as well as they do your emotions and you're making her feel like a helpless feather with no other choice but to get blown away
Even a simple goodbye would be better than this
Trust me, I know closure isn't really your thing, but she deserves at least something
Anything would do this situation justice, just please talk to her

This isn't you, please snap out of it

I know you've been hurt too many times to count and you're looking everywhere for something or someone to fill your voids but do not use innocent hearts as vices, they don't work like that
Don't rob someone of their feelings just because you have a hard time coping with yours

I know sometimes certain situations and feelings can be interpreted differently, but don't kid yourself, you know exactly what you're doing and quite frankly it's making me sick

You aren't perfect and neither is she, but the least you could do is offer her a bandaid when she needs one instead of drinking her blood and leaving a mess for her to cleanup afterwards without even calling her back

All of this is running like a train through my head when I look into my mirror and see myself start to tear up
The bags under my eyes hold all of the emotions that I try my best not to let out

It should be easier than this
Maybe it really is easy, and I'm just not used to change
I'm not sure about a lot of the things that are happening in my life
However, I am sure that I need to stop becoming a bad memory to others

It keeps me awake at night to think about all of the wrong I've done
That there are people whose only memory of me is how I was the worst for them and I don't want that

To my past friends and lovers, I can't say sorry enough
To my present friends and lovers, please don't give up on me; you are the reason I'm still trying
To my future friends and lovers, I hope by the time we meet, I am nothing less than perfect to you

I'm not used to change, but I could get used to being a good memory

Yes, the lights are off, but you are not on your floor crying.
It's 3am and you're laying silently in your bed and you can't stop turning. You haven't gotten a good night's sleep in weeks.

It isn't "You can do this, just hold on!".
It's the constant gnawing at your neck and the feeling of disgusting hands reaching around your throat and choking you, yet your arms are so tired that you can't even muster up the motivation to want to reach up and yank the hands away.

It feels like you want to do everything you possibly can, yet you're too tired to do anything. So much so that you would rather lay in bed and come up with excuses about how even the simplest tasks are the biggest problems that you can't come up with solutions to. You would rather stay here and wallow in your sadness than open your window for fresh air and fix yourself something to eat.

It's being surrounded by your closest friends and still feeling sad.
It's staying up to watch the sunrise without even wanting to.
It's feeling nauseous without riding a roller coaster.
It's sitting in your shower long after you've washed yourself clean. You're only sitting in your shower because your tears feel less noticeable with the faucet running on your face; the only reason you're sitting instead of standing is because you're too exhausted to stand anymore.

You can't stand it anymore.

It's realizing what's best for you, and when you try your hardest to do what's best for you, it feels like the world is collapsing onto you.
It's a walk in the park on a freezing Tuesday evening in December when the snow is beyond cold but it's the only thing left that makes you feel anything so you feel compelled to sit in it.

It's a lot of things.
Most importantly though, it's nothing.
At least that's what you keep telling people.

*Please stop sugarcoating it.

The streets are running rampant with loneliness and exhaustion
The kids are breaking bottles just so their hearts aren't the only things being broken

Your lips are the only lips a lost boy like me needs
It's a shame that your lipstick is all over my neck
The others are going to be fooled into thinking I'm the only one you're hooking up with

Kick the **** out of me so I know I'm still alive, I'll be sure to put up a fight
It just really ***** to hear you say "I love you" and then watch you turn around and fall into the arms of another like I never even mattered to you
I wish you'd just say it
I wish you'd tell me that I never mattered
That way I won't stay up all night thinking about you
I'll most likely think about you regardless,
I'm just not sure what would hurt more
Thinking that I never mattered to you, or knowing that I never mattered to you

I just hope you think about me when you're in a bedroom with another
I hope my name is in your head when you moan his and I hope you can feel my hands wrapped around your throat when you're choking on the lust you're giving into

The worst part is the fact that I can see and feel the blood coming out from where you stabbed me
I just hope I can manage to pull the knife out fast enough to pour completely out for you because I know you love it fast and you love it everywhere

It's a small world but an even smaller place in my heart for you
Maybe someday the place will finally shrink enough to not exist
Unfortunately until then, you're always welcome here, whether I like it or not

Sorry, I've just got a lot happening.
I'm no longer able to stand the bright lights, so I've been standing off to the side trying to think of something to say so everything will get off of my back and leave me alone because it's unbelievably hard to manage stress like this.

Of all things, consider these:

You are sitting in an airplane and the pilot comes over the speaker and explains that you are thirty thousand feet in the air and something horribly wrong is happening to the plane. You have roughly twenty minutes until the plane will be forced into the ocean.
Will you speak up, or will you sit silently?

You are dying of lung cancer and you have roughly three months until your body has no choice but to stop working all together.
Will you speak up, or will you sit silently?

Your father is lying on his death bed and he is confessing his sins and apologizing for never cheering you on when you were trying to get your act together.
Will you speak up, or will you sit silently?

Of all things, consider what is really happening here.
Will you be the one to hide under your blanket when the wind picks up and knocks the tree branches onto your window on stormy nights, or will you be the one to embrace it all and accept it for what it really is?

I've been thinking a lot lately, almost too much, and I've reached a point where the end is almost as rational as the beginning. In other words, it isn't.
Nothing makes sense when you really think about it, so why even think about it?
All I want to think about is the number of roses I have left to see in my life, and I do not want to miss a single one.

I'm not sure when I'll be returned to the roses from which I came, but when I finally reach them again, I hope that I can smell them just one more time.
I always pass the roses in my life and rarely do I ever stop to smell them.
I make a lot of mistakes, but that's probably my biggest thus far.

I'll be jealous of the people with green thumbs I'll meet in heaven, they spent their lives taking care of beauty, and all I did was spend too much time thinking about it.
Of all things I've considered, life is a garden and I just cannot find a place to start digging. Maybe one of these days my mind will stop racing and I will comfortably find a place that I want to plant my roses in.

Until then, you'll find me in the shadows of it all, just thinking of something to get myself by.