you’ve stolen so much of my soul,
i’m still trying to remember who i was

It's a world nobody knows about
Only you
You're living in that world
It's terrible there
The only thing you can think about,
Is your secret
To make it better
You have to tell your secret
Every person you tell will live there too
More people more fun
If everyone knows
That world will be a nice place

I know what you are thinking.

"Oh, look at this, another cry for help disguised as a poem"

I wish I could say you were wrong.
But I wouldn't continue to write if my cry was answered.

This is for the people who leave me on the floor and judge my judgment as if theirs is any better.
This is for the people who can't see things from my eyes but see with their own that I am in pain.
This is for the people who ask the three dreaded words and believe the lie that I tell them
This is for the people who tell me I won't make it as an artist or a revolutionary but instead become the nothing that I have always feared.

But mostly, this is for me.

I judge these people just as hard as they judge me
I see these people through my eyes but fail to look through theirs
I beg these people to ask and I get mad when they don't have faith in my answer
I push these people away and then blame them for not helping.

I know what you are thinking,
but I don't want to say it.
This poem is brutally truthful enough,
I don't want any more pain.

i was so desperate to hear the liquor induced
"i love you "
that oozed from your lying lips.

sometimes
i bump into the thought
that i don’t really care
about anything

not school
not being pretty
or healthy, or better.

when you wipe off
the good girl cosplay
the soft peach blush
and the freckles
and the lip gloss

the straight a’s
and the sweet potatoes
and the self-discipline

you will find a wild thing
dancing around
in her underwear
drinking iced coffee
for lunch and
doing nothing but
writing and reading
and abandoning any
semblance of sanity

completely consumed
by all the things
i shouldn’t be.

and when i have
destroyed everything
around me
with my negligence
and delusion

when the decent ones
have seen themselves out

when there is nothing
left inside of me

there will always be poetry.

Looking for good in all the bad places,
searching and meandering,
forlorn for so long.

Hearing a song in a room of silence,
straining and deciphering
only to realize it only sounded like music.

Draining others for what I already had,
pilfering and pounding
when it was inside all along.

I wrote a book about making riches,
Sold it for twenty dollars a copy,
And made a lot of riches,
Open it up and it said to just do this.
Most people understand the ball
But keep missing the pitches.
As soon as you have the keys,
Every lock appears to be switching.

They say you'll make it far
With a modest heart,
An open mind and an honest tongue.
The person saying that was shaking a hand
In his pocket hiding a gun,
A couple side deals that felt like solid leads,
Stealing an honest man's wallet while he bleeds.
But you take it at face value
Instead of biting the hand that feeds.
Why? Because you don't have a choice it seems.

I'm not a starving artist,
I don't have the gift to be,
I'll stroke out stressing on a job
That stands with or without me
Retire then expire, dance the dance of fools,
pay into social security I'll never get to use.
Go ahead and tax my tea,
I can't afford the tea to tax
Just don't ever move that carrot
Or I may fall off these tracks.