Last night, I had my earlobes pierced.
Prior, I had two piercings on my ears.

One on either side from my childhood,
I can only faintly recall the momentary ache,
not what came after

mom took me,
as she had before,

the outcome will be worth it, she’d explained
Bear the pain,
it only lasts a short while.
It won’t be long 'till the stinging subsides,
and all that will be left,
is a place you can adorn
with glittering gold and shimmering silver
and not-so-witty anecdotes and pretty metaphors,

So,
I let myself be swept in her pace again,
Two new wounds to be embellished.

One,
two,

Perhaps, I’ve regressed
but it hurts more than it did before.

I was an observant child.
I learned a lot of things growing up.
Things kids are not supposed to witness are tattooed on the back of my mind.
I learned the importance of discipline as fear was used to keep me in line.
I learned that lying is only bad if you get caught and the truth can be bent as far as you'd like to make your stories align.

A lot of my parents' lessons made me learn things like love is earned not given. A cruel truth they taught to a kid who was only seven.
I learned that I do not deserve their love or attention unless I do something, unless I accomplish the things to make me worth their affection.
I was a smart child. I was admired when all I wanted was to be loved.

My parents raised me. Growing up all I wanted was to be like my dad but now I'm worried I see him in my rage whenever I get mad. I learned to throw a punch before i learned how to apologize, I learned how to act strong when all along no one told me it was okay to be weak, I learned how to smile before I learned how to be happy and I learned to shout before I learned how to speak.

I am not a child anymore.
People would commend me throw compliments at my way as if not knowing a candle kills itself faster the brighter it burns.
I open up about the things I learned and they tell me it may be wrong but it made me strong. It made me stronger and it helped me become the artist I am today but I was a child. I did not want to be stronger I needed to be safe.


I learned a lot of things growing up. I learned that sadness felt familiar so I'm relieved when tragedy happens. I sometimes purposely set myself up for failure to at least have a reason to be sad. Self sabotage became my language and boy am I good at speaking. I learned I wanted to **** myself but still learning how to make it easier for the people I love when I'm gone so I slowly make them hate me.

I learned that I am not a good person,
I learned that my parents tried to be. They're still trying.
When you are not fed love on a silver spoon you learn to lick it off knives and maybe that's why every poem I write hurts me more than it hurts anyone else.

i saw a video on tiktok.
on a father wanting to spend time with his daughter-
something i couldn’t quite remember
the last time i heard the words fall from his mouth without meaning.
i saw my screen through half blurred eyes,
half burned with half shed tears
as he said i love you.
something i couldn’t remember
the last time i heard those words
without filled with a need to rip my skin new.

I'm seeing red,
clenching my fist.
Everything's wrong,
a never-ending list.
In just that moment I feel like
I'm being burned alive,
it's always itching it's way
straight to the surface.

There’s unresolved trauma here
that’s slowly digging itself out.
I hate anger and all of the issues
that it brings up with it.
When I think it's gone for good,
it springs back up yet again.
I'm afraid that I'll always
be clenching this fist.
Suppressing this anger
from days long passed.

I remember with you,
In the summer of '08,
Life was never blue,
And life was great.

Fly ***** and Popcorn,
I bet I can eat the most.
Triple stacks, Laser Tag,
Whys Phineas's head a triangle eh?

A lot I recall,
And I lot I remember.
You're not a 2nd rate,
And most definitely a diabetic so stop lying and saying you're sweet.

It's hard to talk now,
And **** happens in life.  
Life has a weird way of making **** complicated with complications.
Ive got to say,
But for now I refrain,
So please wait till I say I'm okay, okay?
Great.

So while Nostalgia, was it? That reminds me of a better, understand I love you, even though I'm not comfortable in this weather.

mom?
dad?
you there?

there’s so much I want to say
and too much time to say it

and it hurts and throbs and I want to let it out

but I don’t want to ruin the happy haven we’ve made

just like me at 7 laughing joyously with her friends then getting a cut on her toe from a rock and the cut hurt and throbbed but she kept going because she wanted to have fun and the cut hurt and throbbed and got infected

(there’s always a price to pay for waiting)

here I am laughing joyously as my (our) secret hurts and throbs and I

I’m weak aren’t I

I can’t
I can’t muster up the courage to break the silence
too scared of lies on the other side I guess

coward

but

I just want to ask or to hear or to confirm or anything to let me know I know I don’t deserve to know but the knowledge affects me too and I need to know don’t you know?

you don’t

I’ll keep it in as I always do
wishing for the truth but ready to ignore it if it comes

you there?
dad?
mom?

My momma always tried her hardest
Growing up I made decisions that weren’t the smartest
Yet she’s still trying the best she can,
And
Depression hits, I know for her it’s the toughest.
She beats herself up.
Now, that is the roughest.
The past is the past but I don’t control what she does
I know because sometimes she lets things slip out in the mornings when we drink coffee from my favorite cup.
Life isn’t what it was.
Life is what it is.
I often reminisce on the best memories we have and when I think of life now, all I can say is what the ****?

It’s depression;
But it’s also me fighting myself and I hit so hard I end up in the hospital where I find my repression
Of all the emotions I numb out.
I can feel it through my body and that’s a knockout defeat for me.
I feel like life’s doubt.
If life were actually alive, I wonder if it’d survive.
Tina, please help me forget about life.
One inhale is all it takes to feel alright.
Make me forget about everything at least for the night.
I have mental issues but you can help by actually following through.
Hold on, I’m a little emotional I might need a tissue.

It’s bipolar;
People tell me to calm down.
When I’m manic I’m no where to be found.
The thoughts inside my head scream so ******* loud.
Trust me, my mood swings are the worst to be around.
I keep fighting but end up with my *** on the ground.
My insides are tearing themselves apart and it’s a constant war zone between my head and heart.
I don’t know when this all began, all I know is that my emotions control me and that leaves my fuel tank empty.

Theres the manic episodes;
The highs and lows of my constant panic mode,
The hypersensitive, the hypersexual, and my inability to be flexible,
My manic episodes lead me down a twist and turn road,
They take me for a ride and let me cry for weeks in my bed,
They let me talk about what’s going on inside my head,
They won’t lock me up for wishing I was dead,
My manic episodes don’t care they destroy and they constantly bulldoze.

It’s the anxiety;
The constant fear and worry.
The wondering if someone’s going to hate me because I’m in the clear.
The scorpions in my stomach, stinging me.
It’s crippling.
It’s worrying.
I can’t do anything.
Thats codependency but I need it.
I need you mostly and another hit.

It’s the brain injuries;
I can’t remember a **** thing.
I only remember strange little details like peoples clothing and if they’ve worn it for consecutive days.
I haven’t always been this way and I don’t feel okay.
I can’t make phone calls.
I can’t make my bed without getting too inside my head,
I get lost easily and then no one can find me.
I can’t remember the days anymore it’s like my brain is shutting doors and
My eyes are waterfalls all because I can’t make one call.

It’s the grief;
I still can’t believe they’re all dead.
I only have spiritual conversations with them or when I’m hallucinating off drugs.
I miss everyone’s love, especially my dads last hug.
So I do a drug to forget the pain but now I’m getting so high I can’t remember my own name or the day.
I know I have nothing to gain from my actions but I don’t care and I don’t know how to
Without you.

Most of all it’s the trauma;
Others call it drama when they don’t love you, They’re rough and tough.
Well, I’ve had enough of,
Post
Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
They try to bubble wrap you, I’ve done some stupid things so I would too.
I can’t get out on the outside to look inside because my eyes are always dodging contact.
Trauma is a gateway, some days you’re so dysfunctional even your own lawyer stops and asks if you’re okay.
Small little fact; we’ve only talked on the phone, never in person. Just when I was in jail alone where the world denies that I’m male.
If I were to weigh my trauma there’s not a big enough scale and the only one I see nowadays is when I abuse myself and pick up.
When I go there, my thoughts turn back to having coffee with my momma from my favorite cup.