I prayed for my death
but it came to someone else.
It's only fair, right?

This one is for the bullies.
This one is for the cruel.
Try harder.
Because these walls were made with the intent
of keeping you out and instead
kept out the rescue party.
Too many are the tears which we have shed
over being too fat or too thin
or any other of these thousands of things within us
that define us as imperfect.
This one is for those that kicked us while we were down,
for the class clown addicted to our embarrasment,
to the flicked pencil that hits our back as we pass them.

If you've ever felt scorn,
if you've ever felt torn between the greatest two evils,
if you've ever as a kid felt that primeval urge of fight or flight
or spent a night crying over your bathroom sink,
It's okay.
I'm not saying that as if I could ever
make you feel as if that pain living inside of you
will abstain from your mind.

I'm saying that you aren't alone.
Simply let it be known how you feel
and you will real impressed
by how many others have felt the same.

This is one is for the playground bruiser, try harder.
This is for the girl writing '****' on her locker, try harder.
This is for those that will always insist
on testing the waters of an uncalm mind,
TRY HARDER.
Because it's never been an issue
of being smarter or stronger.
It's been about you holding on this extra while longer,
long enough that you can put all this behind you.
For all the gossips who acted like they knew you, try harder!

Because this time they are not getting through.
Concede to them nothing,
abandon no friend or creed,
let not their need for acceptance give lead to your self-loathing.
Remember, it is not your clothing or your skin that incurs their hate,
do not lock your gate to those who would help you.

The shallow brook runs the loudest,
the wounded dignitary the proudest
and so long as we allow them to hurt us
they'll believe they can get away with it.
We are many,
united in the trials through which we have grown.
Let us stand together now
and not any among us stand alone.

I don't normally entertain demons
but tonight, I'm giving the devil his dues.
I've got a pen and pad
to write the Jailhouse Blue
so I'm ready to take on the world.
I've got my mind curled around the idea
of making each moment last
so I grab my insecurities and doubts
and kick into three years past.

I've got shoulders that I fly like sails
from the mast of my spine
and as much as I want to say that
I've been doing alright or doing just fine,
I haven't been for the better part of long time.
But if I can make it rhyme than it can make sense
so here's my two cents
spent on ink and incense.

Just so that I'm totally clear
I've given more to this than my blood
and my fear.
I'm in a mood for killing gods,
but the one in the mirror is the only one I see,
so I set the stage with anger
in place of serenity.

You can't escape ****.
**** is a part of life.
Can't deal with ****?
Stop eating.

We live in a world
where we no longer try to deny that
each beat of our heart
is farther and father apart.
A world where we cannot jump start our imaginations
and let our thoughts run wild.
Where the meek and the mild can finally be safe
because the bullies have found love.

I know it's always hard to go through tragedy
when you have always thought of your life as a comedy.
Try as we might,
for some, there is no remedy for a bad day
but sometimes we have to allow ourselves
to give way for a miracle.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to say
with absolute certainty
that I love someone,
but if I can bend my mind around the idea
that marriage is no longer a contract,
then I can try to make contact
with the boy I used to be.
The one who used to dream.

I remember when we thought
ourselves immortal.
That we two, me and you,
could stand the test of time.
While once I built monuments to our passions,
carved your name into stone
and into every bone I possess,
I find myself digging graves
instead of planting flowers
and no-one expected any less.

With each poem that I write for you,
I am just throwing another ***** of dirt
upon the casket we share.
A box that contains nothing and no-one,
but empty promises and filthy air.

I find myself beyond even my own care.
With one eye open and one eye shut
I watch the castles we built crumble
stumble upon the broken glass that used to be my innocence.

Let the morning rain clear these streets
my mistakes and my sinnings,
wash away
this sense of decay
and make way for new beginnings.