Take the scissors,  
And cut around the edges of my heart.  
Don't worry about how it looks.  
Fold whatever part of me  
That you need to make the first cut.  
I'd be surprised if you find any part  
Of me that's folded neat.  
The kaleidoscope of construction  
Paper that is me.  
  
I consider myself a collection  
Of scars and different colors—  
Of the things that I like and dislike.  
Even the wrinkled pieces of myself  
I've forgotten about.  
You've brought light to those pieces  
With each snip of your scissors.  
I've noticed how quiet and content  
You've become.  
  
You cut, and I bleed in color—  
Purple, blue, and yellow.  
Of all the shapes you've cut,  
None of them are painful.  
Watching you mix up the different color pieces of my soul,  
Your love, the stick glue that  
Gives these pieces more functionality.  
  
I breathe easier, knowing that you're here.
No longer restricted  
By stagnant stillness.  
You can even fold them into an  
Airplane and sail across the room.  
I haven’t had this much fun  
In a long time.
Don't forget the scrap pieces

How do i tell him.
How do i tell the stary eyed boy within,
The prospects of your dreams seem dim.
I tell him i tried and tried but its rather grim,
I gave them my all but in turn lost limbs;
My limbs of love, hope, and peace gone on a whim,
And those who cut them hold no remorse within.
So how do i tell the boy... with a grin?
Or do i give him a bottle of gin,
For who shall pay for this sin.
How do i tell him,
It ends the way the story begins.

I am at the zenith
Of my
A
    N
        G
           E
              R


I am at the zenith
Of my
E
    M
          O
               T
                   I
                       O
                            N
                                 S

And why
                       D
                     O
                    P
                  E
                O
             P
           L
        E
Act like unsubs

I have lived a childhood
Of sadness!
Though I was a
Sweet and kind child
Brilliant in every way
The other pegged my for my
Race and my looks
Oh the sadness
I had to live
And never knowing real love
From another woman

What would happen
If I were
To strap my heart
To a polygraph test
Would it stay true for you
Would it just lie to me again

I am sorry
So so sorry
For what I did
But I am
Fearing that you
Will be unforgiving
Yet again
I am sorry
So so sorry
So so sorry
That I am getting fed up
With our ‘ship’
Is tanking
I am sorry
So so sorry
So so sorry
Beyond comprehension
For what I have done

A lover of justice stuck in his ways,
A person who hopes for change but remains the same,
Questions are asked, answers to be unfound,
Limitless possibilities clearly without bound,

His identity lies in confusion and love,
Pride is certainly felt, actions he knows not of,
Those who ask about certain events of what he thinks,
Are surprised, they don’t go back to their platitude spits.

An ill-doer he is not, mistakes he punishes like a prison,
Sentenced unclearly, punishment unwritten,
Labor is emotional, not physical, questions asked are not trivial,
Time will tell in this duel with the spiritual.

Suggestions can depend with their relevance,
Escape from disturbance is a sedative,
Grappling with self-proclaimed hypocrisies,
And the private vulgarities of loved ones filled with verbosity,
Strangulate the spirit and mind with despair,
Locked him in this decorated, optical, verbal lair,

Illusions he puts on, change he desires,
A rage builds within him, the heart filled with fire,
Hope feels like a choice, lies and false narratives cause others to rejoice,
“Take a break”, they tell him, “Don’t worry so much”,
Yet in this world, his fear feels like a must,

Answers may be found, only for another question to be asked,
Emotion restarts. New reasons and realities blast,
The dynamite is either exciting or scary,
Feelings that arise can be soothed or just dreary,
A car ride on a highway with speed changes abrupt,
The mind sadly knows few dangers that will not corrupt.

Still he persists, driving sober through the ride,
Friends are there to help him so he doesn’t crash and die,
Reason goes on in pursuit of the truth,
Through time and resilience the ride slowly smooths,

He wakes up from this ride, but can fall back to sleep quick,
Unfinished and unresolved, he remains determined,
Sticking through it all, things improve as time goes on,
Yet it remains to be seen whether he’ll make it back home.

(Of course, he’s feeling fine. Don’t ask him about it. He’s feeling completely fine.)

Oh hell
That is a strong way
Start the day nothing
Good come from anything
That’s stars with hell
So say you
Flip the script

I am always all over the emotion
Wheel when I am creating
And spilling ink
As I feel the full scope of the
Emotions
Like carrying a child to term
It is joyous and painful
And yet I do it every **** day