Am I ready to restart?
Really ready to leave it all behind?
Just the people, or the places too?
If the memories hurt this bad,
Would reviving the pieces pain me even more?
I don’t know if I could stand,
Another rejection to send me sulking in reflection.
I hurt myself too much on my own.
Even after you apologized,
I was still lost on how to act alone.
You taught me to love creating past myself,
Now is there anyway to find that once again?
I feel bad for leaving what made me.
But then again, I hate who I am.

i wrote
blackout poetry
in my bible

and

i made
paper cranes
out of the ripped out pages

i did not mean to disrespect
i merely wanted to create

Boy.
You are atrocious;
You are belligerent.
You cocky thing.
You disgust me.

Boy.
You are revolting;
You are untrustworthy.
You are not deserving of my time.
You are worthless.

Don't you dare come back to me.
I won't let you in.
Don't you dare try for me.
I can't let you in.

Boy.
You are idiotic,
Chaotic,
And the least exotic.

You are flour in the kitchen.
You are dandelions blowing in the wind.
You are useless.

You're the puppet now, and
I hold the strings.

You're the bell,
And I'm the freedom that shall ring.

You are nothing if I say you're nothing.
You're something until I give you something.

I created you.
I designed you.
I gave you life.

Don't you dare make me take it away.
Because, boy, I will.

for i am a collector, seeker of beauty
appeal drools out of the pockets of my mind
death creates an entry to preserve, why must a take
this chance for granted?
for i am a collector, i take what i see,
and reform its original refinement by nature itself
a life form is only dead if one preserves it to be, taken to a frame,
it creates a form of life on its own
unable to move, unable to gaze,
but able to be wondered and admired by others
that is life, if it sparks a mind then surely
it does so within itself

i am not an artist
and i don’t know
how to paint

but if i were to take
all the shades of blue

and blend them together
they would most certainly
create a painting of you

"A grain of madness is the best of art."
Second best is a handful of heartbreak on a base of isolation with a drizzle of self-reflection.

one second is a time
to create a universe
inside our heads