You are too sweet to lie
I am too much a lie to be sweet

You are too loved to be hated
I am too hated to be loved

You are too gentle to hurt
I am too hurt to be gentle

You are too good to the bad
I am too bad to the good

You are too beautiful to be ugly
I am too ugly to be beautiful

You are too kind for this tainted world
I am too tainted for this kind world

You are too perfectly perfect
I am too imperfectly imperfect

You are my contradiction

What do you see when you look in the mirror?
A friend, a creep, a thinker, a freak.
The reflections of my own, burdened by bone;
Leave me breathless to the contradictions I hold.
My image is twisted externally from within
The identity of myself is buried underneath my skin
I'm a composition of conscious affliction burning for complex attention
Burning to be found and defined
Burning to be hidden and paid no mind.
Burning.

Today I met...
A man with sea blue eyes shining from fiery hair
I said "you should be a pirate"
Then Effie piped "Let's turn this bus into a ship"
He mined for gold in Australia
Working 12 hour days and nights
Visiting home he found bad repute
In Coromandal's strong anti-mining activism.
He complained about the packaging
Of the tourist L&P; ice-cream he'd bought
"It should all be cardboard and wooden spoons"
The miner turned environmentalist?
Did the activists hear him out?

Behind him,
A man with eyes enclosed in triangle parentheses,
A tattoo of reminder.
- Reminder that being locked up is a waste of time, of life.
- Realization that being in that crowd caused trouble. Drugs ain't the thing. And
- Regret. It caused him to care for young minds, to teach what he had learnt.
"I was only in there for drink driving" but for two years?
He left at Paeroa College, "take care",
Not hearing our "thank you for sharing"

At our transfer we serenaded
In happy gratitude and spontaneity
The pirate watched, intrigued.
The drivers; our faithful who had driven us so far
And our newly acquainted about to shuttle us forth;
They watched
'Til ye old faithful lost faith and went on with his duty
A boy stepped off the bus
Listening shyly, hiding.
My bow slipped over out-of-tune strings
Effie's voice rang true, feeling and joy,
Hand strumming, familiar and fond.
A mess of black hair from Colorado
Complained "there's too many guns"
But was a gunsmith "For hunters... I love it"

I held a rifle once,
Scared of its kick and its bite,
A man shouldered it for me,
I pulled the trigger.
Paused. Then relief.
- The clay bird flew on,
Its demise instead the ground
It hit and crumbled.

"I've been told that to fix the problem, you must first find its root... But you can't fix something that's not broken. I am not broken, just slightly damaged. My mind is like a thousand year old oak tree, and my facade as fragile as porcelain. My emotions act as a wrecking ball and when the night hits I'm nothing but a decaying mask. I fear pain, so I don't welcome love. I turn it away; a ruthless rejection, and send it back to where it came from. It haunts me, and in the night my own demons become insomnia. To fix the problem, I must first find its root." 
Or perhaps I mustn't focus on finding the root, I think the real issue might be that I am conscious that there are monsters in my head and my insomnia is result to the ongoing battle I have with myself and those monsters. Weather to love them or hate them, I do not know.  They save me and protect me, yet they seclude me from the rush of risk and beauty of bewilderment. When I lay in my bed my body feels great fatigue but my mind and my eyes are wide awake; ready to run circles around the world if they could. I no longer think that the solution would be to find a root or a specific turning point, but to end the battle of contradiction with the monsters that have taken over my thoughts and stolen my sleep. So do I love them because they protect me and have made me a smarter person? Or Do I hate them because they are the bricks that make up the walls I have built and they are the guards holding the riffles at the top of the walls shooting every single beautiful daring soul in their attempt to reach the real me? I will hate them. Yes the souls that have hurt me right after gaining my trust are the reason to my hurt and the nutrition to the growth of my monsters, but the very own monsters themselves are the ones responsible for my inability to recover from the inevitable hurt. They have Inprisoned me in this constant dark and uttermost thick desolation. It is because of how overpowered I am by them that I fail every single time in my attempt to breath. They are suffocating me and burying me in a state so dark I fear the incapacity to  get myself out. It is a journey of endless work, the wounds i have will eventually heal, but there will always be scars. It's like an addiction, even after being clean and sober the want of the drug will always be as great as it was the first time. So the fragility of my scars is so great it is completely capable to revert me back into the dark whole if i get hurt or scared again. i need to realize and accept that these things are inevitable and not close myself but open myself even more for the next person. The final solution will be to accept that the mosters?they are their, acknowledge them, deal with them, and never let them take over and do what they want with me. Then and only then will I be able to sleep.

Because when I dream
I dream of flowing breezes through vast lands of green
Streaks of pink in clear skies and
seamless roads that lead to nowhere.
I wish to walk along the empty streets
in the subtle rage of downpour
Spend a lone evening in a strange city
in it's nostalgic allure.

Because when I dream
I dream for rustic memories and
the reflection of bonfire in my eyes
But sometimes,
I wish for neon lights
and blazing winter nights.

I'm happy and sad.
And trying to remember that that's okay.
Allowing tears to fall
And angels to catch them
Allowing laughter to escape
- Half in fear it may not return

I'm falling fast.
"Hard and fast" they say.
Stealing shy glances, sideways grins,
A touch of her skin
Stealing time, giddy,
Nervous heart ticking its own clock

I'm bereft. Suddenly alone.
- And falling so soon!
For a moment he was my everything
But then forever fell out the bottom.
In these moments she lifts me up
- But too soon, too soon

And I find it strange
That in loss I am in love
for lust was never this deep
Here I counsel myself to slumber,
To heal,
Biding time.

If you are insecure you surround yourself with fake friends,
If you're broke you flaunt your cash
If you're depressed you pretend to be extra happy

Whatever a person tells you about themselves seems to be their weak spot
For you really shouldn't talk about yourself.