I hadn't cried in years.  
I was always taught that strength
was not having the courage to let yourself feel but
******* it up, holding it in.
I am sick of "You're going soft on us, honey"
Today I came to understand that
you are completely okay with writing the same poem
over and over again.
This is a metaphor for the way you ****** her in my bed.
This is a metaphor for the night you copy and pasted love letters.
This is a metaphor for what really happened-
I never fall in the same place twice.
Except when I do.
I think the critical difference between the two of us,
critical because there are many differences
but- I think our hamartia, our fatal flaw,
our end scene is this:
if people didn't like my poetry, if nobody listened,
if I walked out on stage and nobody snapped their
fingers, I would still write for just your eyes.
I would still cramp my crooked, birth defect,
quadruple jointed fingers writing to you about the nights
you loved me back,
for a minute there you loved me back.
And you loved 20,000 other people back.
And you loved small towns back and big cities back and the entire west coast
back when you drove through, making temporary homes out of people
who should have been permanent
and I loved you.
And I hadn't cried in years.
Not because I wasn't sad, but because I was taught that showing emotion
was weakness.
So if my father made me memorize the How To's of strength,
if I were going by the book, today I'd be so fragile
you could say hello and I'd shatter so suddenly you'd
forget you were the one that let go.

I love how
the poison
of your thoughts
seeps though my veins
and infects me
with you

I walked into a the local bar
With the simple intention
Of forgetting the past
And all of its shortcomings

My glass full of foregn toxins
That flood my body with warmth
As I inhale its contents

We do it because we have to
For the sake of existance
But not actually living

Because when the bottom of the bottle
Is all we have left to hope for
At the end of the night
We become numb
And succub to the Insanity

at 8 years old
i thought i could fly
i thought i could be a superhero
like superman
or batman
i used to put on my red sheets
and wear them as a cape
but they said it was just a child's dream

at 14 years old
i wanted to be a doctor
i wanted to heal everyone
because my mother died that year
and i never even saw her
but they said i couldn't do it
that i wasn't smart enough
no college would accept me

at 16 years old
i lowered my ambitions
i wanted to be a policeman
because i didn't need college
and everyone told me i wouldn't make it
so i conformed
to what they thought of me
and became what im not

at 17 years old
i hated myself
because i felt
i could never be anybody
never do anything
never be better
than what they said i would be

yesterday my dad
told me to sign papers
to join the military
so i agreed

i took out my lighter
and burned them in front of him
" *******! " i yell
" your the one who amounted to nothing "