I am broken but that is okay, right?
It does not mean that I can not:
hope,
dream,
love,
care,
fight.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means I have:
been through hell,
suffered,
watch people suffer,
kept terrible secrets,
It means I have lived on, despite.
I am broken but that is okay, right?
It means:
I cherish the light,
but not afraid of the night,
if I end up alone that it is alright,
but if not that is a delight,
it means you can kick, hit, cause me to have random breakdowns, or even bite,
but no matter what, I can write.

My legs are made of jello.
I keep inhaling and exhaling
in awe and disbelief
whispering "oh my god"
to myself
as I walk home.
Did that really just happen?
I really felt that,
it was mine for a moment.
I had the shape of your body,
the taste of your lips,
the sound of your breath.
They entranced me.
Your fingertips
dance across me.
I haven't felt this,
it's new.
I've felt a longing mostly,
so the mutual desire
it blows my mind.
I can see it all over your face
when you look at me,
and you actually see me.
Caught up in a tornado,
a whirlwind of lust.
Your touches tingle.
I'm breathing way too loud
and too fast.
Still in disbelief
of where your hands are
on my body.
Entirely focused on your fingers.
****.
Everything about you feels so good.

Sometimes the start of tomorrow blends with the end of today
Just as the stars start to fade away
The sun starts to rise
You can see the moon reflecting across the skies
The one time of true peace
Just before everyone wakes
The one time I feel free

I breathe deeply
Everything's a game now a days
No one loves steeply
No one actually stays

You get what you need and you leave
It's like ******* the nicotine quickly out of your **** cigarette
I mean isn't that what we're taught to believe
(haha)
Taught that using someone shouldn't be something we regret

What happened to us.
Exactly two years and 264 days ago
We were not in lust.
You wouldn't have stooped this ******* low

Now you're burning into my skull
You're something I hate but want to love
And I'm in awe with the **** that you pull
In ongoing mental traffic, let me give you a helpful shove

You want me to show you my body
You don't even tell me you love me anymore
I'm no longer your somebody
Literally you've shut me out, slammed the door

What  even am I to you now?
A ******, dim light that keeps flickering in the back of your mind.
And I'm managing somehow
Attempting to scrape the insides of your ******* mind

But you still treat me like ****
Like this poem I put too much effort into
It's pathetic
So **** it

We've become cliché,
And not just one,
But a multitude.
The forbidden romance.
The older man.
The late night phone calls.
The cigarettes after ***.
The hopeless romantics.
The songs we sing to each other.
The late night drives to nowhere.
The fling that never ends.
We've become cliché.
And I couldn't be happier.

I've been ignoring you for a while now.
Trying to forget and live my life.
I'm moving on, dismissing your imprisonment.
Leaving the pain, burying the strife.

But today, I thought of you.
I wondered how you were doing.
I know you called dad.
I heard the phone ring.

My wonder ceased, and I remembered:
That I stopped caring when our family was fractured.

It's so hard trying to improve myself
when there's voices of
those who told me that I can't.

It's so hard trying to prove
people wrong when their words
are imprinted into my brain.