It's not feeling in general that people should be worried about.
It's those fleeting waves of extremity, the mortifying thoughts that finally burst out to convey
That people should fear.

Hey, slow it down.

What have I done?
I've messed up yet again.

There might have been a time
When I would give myself away

Those nights when I would leave you right before you fell asleep
And come back to see you wake up
But then, I wasn't really seeing, now was I?
My eyes were replaced with different lenses
That I scratched and clawed at but could not break.

Yeah, it's plain to see
That baby you're beautiful
And there's nothing wrong with you

Those lenses have long since fallen
Lubricated by melancholic tears
Lulled by the waves of irony that I still tried to hold onto
Because you were there
That one cay by this shipwreck of a human

It's me I'm a freak
But thanks for lovin' me
'Cause you're doing it perfectly*

I can't wrap my head around why you've stayed.
But you did.
You're still here.
And I'm honestly so indebted to you
Because you somehow see something worthwhile in this petty excuse of a person.
And--
God.
You're absolutely perfect.

I'm in a constant state of being subtly nervous for no apparent reason.

I am not a poet because I lack maturity,
My writing will always be tainted straying from purity,
There may be days I write my heart and soul,
But no matter how much I write I never feel whole.
I saw the world for its beauty but also its evils,
I've seen people be nice but also be decietful.
I am not a poet for I still find the word **** funny,
But I am fine being me,
Seeing the things I prefer to see.
My immaturity is what makes me how I am,
And if people refuse to accept that part of me,
Then I no longer require them in my life.
Immaturity does not mean I'm never serious,
It simply means I can distort my childlike side into this reality,
In a world where I'm taking orders from bosses,
Taking insults from university professors,
Why can't I retain my child like mind?
I am serious elsewhere, I am a stick in hay at work,
I am everything proper and mature,
But can't I be me when I want to be,
...
Why can't i just keep my childlike humour.
...

I don't love you.
I swear.
You need to trust me when I tell you
Don't trust me.

I don't love you.
I swear.
Even my presence is a mirage
There to say I'll never hurt you
Even though I aim a thousand arrows
At your blessed temple.

I don't love you.
I swear.
See through my white lies that spout from my mouth
Telling you I'll always be there for you
That I'll always help you in your times of need
That I'll always cherish you.

I don't love you.
I swear.
That gleam in my eyes
Is not adoration.

I don't love you.
I swear.
Even though I've managed to convince myself otherwise.

Whistle a Dixie marching song
And wave the colored cotton
Remember days when we were young
Lest old ways be forgotten

From Robert E Lee and freedom rides
Was birthed our greater nation
Where trust in liberty resides
United with a passion

Old voices echoed through the South
Emboldened with a fervour
As children full on sated youth
Implore us to remember

Judge not a man but by his deeds
Lest lessons be forsaken
Presume to know naught of his needs
The less to be mistaken

The past has passed, the future lies
Unguarded and unguided,
Whose liberties shall be denied
Has yet to be decided

Whistle a merry marching song
Let each man show his colors
Our children judge us right or wrong
By how we treat our brothers