‪Things you don’t say to‬
People who
Suffer from trauma
And traumatic life
Those worlds are....
Spazz
Spazzing out
And spazzed out.  
Say that and you
Will see how ******
The universe really
Is!!!

What they didn't tell you about me,
They didn't tell you I have a problem called bpd...

What you don't see about me,
I am trapped, yet oh so free.
I am black and white,
Both at the same time.
Day and night,

Yet for some reason night is way scarier. No rationality behind it but it still is... oh it would appear I'm ranting...

What they didnt tell you about me,
One day I'm a writer,
The next I'm a fighter.
Fighting my nightmares.
Taking on friends double dares.

They have to be my friend.
Just my friend.
That would make me okay then?
Possession...
No that is not friend.
Confusion...
How does this thing work?

What they didnt tell you about me,
Is in no way can you ever expect what's next day to day.
You can never know what to expect,
But if we sway..
To far from what's next from day to day,
I will begin to hate,
I will probably make you late,
With my super sudden mood change.

I am zero to sixty in .01 seconds.
You love me or hate me,
I cant see the difference.
If you bleed out everything I will still be the same.
I hate being stuck in this stupid game.

When I want help my brain tells me I don't.
When I think I'm fine, my mind screams no you won't,
Won't be fine...
Won't be finw...  
Won't, be...
Won't....
Does he love me?
Is he with someone else?
What are we going to eat for breakfast on the first of next month,
What you don't know,
What you don't love me.

My mind is discombobulated all due to a condition called bpd.

Heavens wrought
and oceans blew
a golden glass antique as you

For ages past
and known no end
unspoken to by any wind

Reality
your sculpture bends
my iris drinks forth from a skin

The likes of yours
my only truth
you've turned my black

Into a blue.

sitting across from you
at the white kitchen table
or cross-legged on my side of the bed
is someone hollow.
not as sweet as a fig. not as dead
as the inside of a black rotting trunk
but close. i do not hold beautiful things
like a terracotta vase. inside my head
is a seam ripper that splits everything
down the middle. sometimes
you are standing in front of the bright window,
glowing like a saint. sometimes
i let you fall into an algae-lined pool
that i will not pay to have cleaned.
everything is floating within me.
i haven’t figured out
how to anchor this stuff down.

no one ever taught me how

As I walk into a dark cave
I am not able to see
Until I turned on the torch.
I am confronted
By the sight and presence
Of fierce deities
The energy
Demonic
I realize
Am
Looking at my own demons.

Unfortunately
Some scars
Are
Not
always
Seen
By
The
Naked eye
Or glasses.

keep me awake
i keep falling asleep

i keep forgetting 
that i have
fearfully crawled
into places filled
to the brim with
heartbeats and
suffocating heat
just to find myself
with dry palms
and a soft jaw
minutes later

i hold my tongue
only to cut it off
when i hate
the feeling of it
inside my mouth
and leave it for
him to hold
all pink and slimy
and frantic and cruel
and wonder
why it’s hard for him
to read my poetry

and every night
i lie my head
against the chest
of indifference
and swear that
i can hear the
lazy thump of
his affection
resting shallowly
below thin ribs

i am kept awake
through the
loneliness hours
considering
my own
self-inflicted
wounds
instead of dressing
the deep cut
we both share