forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
I have stolen, lied and cheated.
I've lashed out at those that did not deserve it
and praised those who put themselves on a pedestal.
Yet, my most awful transgression
was self inflicted suffering.
I let others steal from me.
Lie to me. Cheat on me.
Let them break every bone in my body
And stomp me into the ground.
But I didn't mind..
I cared for them.
Be they friends, lovers, or enemies.
I only wanted them to love me.
To be proud of me.
So I let them destroy... everything.
I am disgusted at myself.

She walked with grace.
She talked with a voice as sweet as honey milk.
When she cried I felt every tear hit the ground.
And when she laughed, I knew I was where I needed to be.
Then she changed.
She began speaking softly where I could not truly hear her.
She turned away from me at night and left me cold.
Her white lies turned to pure fallacies
And her eyes became deceptive.
Then she left.
She said she had eyes for another.
And had, for a while.
She claimed it wasn't fair to me
and I agreed with her.
I think about her every day.
The way her touch sent chills through me.
The way her eyes poured poetry into my empty hands.
And spilled between my fingers.
My room still smells of vanilla.
My guitar still sings your praises.
And never stops crying the blues.
I hope to forget you. Entirely.

I've written copious amounts of poetry in my lifetime.
Stacks on stacks of notebooks and paper pads filled to the point of bursting.
But none of these thousands of words
Can arrange themselves in the correct order
To express how lovely I think you are.

I find company amidst the strange.
Solace in anything idiosyncratic.
Normalcy leads to boredom,
And a boring life leads to sooner death.

I'm so tired of screaming at myself.
I'm so tired of screaming at everyone else.
I'm so tired of pulling bottles from the shelf.
I'm just tired.

I am invisible, but also transparently see-through.
You could read me like a book if only you'd open the covers.
Intolerably difficult, but I'd always stand beside you.
Open my spine, read a line and shudder.

Here I am,
the boy with the heart made of lead
And the feet made of brass
Always wondering why I feel so weighed down.