A glass has come between me and reality.
This glass encapsulates my being.
The longer I remain in the glass,
the hazier my view becomes.
How I long to shatter it.

The glass has held me captive for quite some time,
and I realize I have come to know the glass like no other.
The glass has protected me from the strange outer world.

I have come to long for the glass which holds me.
But when I reach for the glass,
all I feel is bleak
and yet still my hand is left with nothing.

I cannot grasp the glass
because I cannot see the glass itself,
only what it is not.

Is there romance in ***?
Does romance deplete once kisses turn to slobber?
Do I feel love when my shirt comes off?

After "I love yous" have been said
Or more accurately,
after I finally said "I love you too"
They lay me down
Say they need me
In this moment
It means so much to them.

And I can't tell
Was it romantic?
Would it have been moreso
If we just
Held hands?
Or stared at each other
In loving astonishment
At our mutual feelings?

Am I learning to feel the romance in ***?
Or do I just adore
That they
find romance in something that is so
sexualized?

one of the most painful journeys
takes you to a destination you never intended to visit

you spend days engulfed in pictures and daydreams of bright colors and future memories

until one day you look up to a view so paralyzingly dull, not even your hope could see you through

I’m being handed erasers
when all I’ve ever known is the smell of ink
I’m feeling so clueless
I don’t know what I think
I’m like a bird born in a cage
who does not know what wings are for
while others fly, I sit and cry
because I don’t know why…

I smile the most
When I want to
Cry

I laugh the most
When I want to
Die

I sit here
And I act playful
As we text

But deep down inside
My heart
And my hope
Have failed
And I lay here
Stuck in my head
Unable to leave this bed

I miss having more people
To hold me close
And cuddle
For now everyone
Makes it ******

I miss holding hands
With people
And going on adventures
But now everyone
Assumes that means
I want them

I do want love
And I do want someone to hold
But just because I cuddled you
Or held your hand
Or was goofy with you
It doesn't mean
You're the one I choose

A cuddle
Shouldn't turn
Into a ****

Holding a hand
Shouldn't turn
Into love

So why is that
What I always
Run into?

My mind is often like a large space of odd thoughts scattered memories pure confusion.