I'm a beginner's violin,
A rental for newborns,
Carried crooked, strummed silly --
A hasty, cacophonous frustration.
Sometimes, my abuser will discover a melody within,
But I'm left abandoned each and every time.
A bruised composite of groans and tireless hours,
I'm useless to the former novice --
To the master musician seeking a worthy companion --
And I'm tossed to the next clueless dreamer.

I'm nothing but a stepping stone,
The first on the path -- the most walked-on of all.
I'm the start of a new journey, never the finish.
I'm the easiest one to trample.
I'm the training wheels that the little boy hates that he needs,
All too eager to outgrow and to pry from his bike of a life.

I'm the catalyst that pushes caterpillar to butterfly.

Most supportive, least desired,
Once I raise them, they're gone by morning --
Never a thank you, never a nod, never a thought.

Recently,
I have been writing about
How much I hate change.

Why did I stop writing about
How much I hate myself?
When did I change?

how am i supposed to go back to my life,

when i don't know where it is?

it seems i've misplaced it,

or maybe it's broken,

because everyone who once was in the picture,

i see lying shattered on the ground.

do i follow the trail of glass?

did my life get up and walk away?

what if i don't want to find my life?

i don't want to experience the shock

because when my life slipped away from my grasp

it left silently

but now, if i find it,

or rather, if it's forced back into my possession,

i'll hear nothing but screaming, and ringing in my ears

for the next ******* week,

because my life is like a sobbing baby

who doesn't yet understand

not everything goes it's way.

I'm your December,
you are my January.

The end of a year
and the begining of a new.

I am the despair,
you are the hope.

You love me,
I do too.

But,

I just don't wish for you,
to share the same angst.