I love it...

It's my therepist

The only thing you understand is...

is that I have talent
that i'm good at drawing
But you say

you say to use it in a different way
Well what is different to you
because I sure don't know

You don't understand why I draw
but here is the thing
I don't see my drawings as dark
as negative
as  gruesome

I see it as apart of me
something that I cannot do

You said:
  rip out the negative

I heard:
tear yourself apart

It may seem silly
"it's just a journal"
But my "it's just a" journal
is so much more

I love it

you don't know it...

But I can't
I just cannot rip out pages from my journal
you do not understand

The only thing you understand is...

you don't understand
you two see it as a negative
you see it's dark
I see it as art

I don't get how it is negative
I cannot draw and just
keep my mouth closed

You don't understand how this
helps me
makes me;
me

You did not ask
You told me:
  Go rip out all the negative
  and if you can't figure it out
  come back and I'll show you

You asked me something that
I AM INCAPABLE of
you don't know it...

'Neath a cover of black faux leather
bursting with half-written verses
Lie coffee stains, old bird feathers
and lines of illegible cursive
the bitterness of heartbreak
on lines by brine besmeared
of victories and of mistakes
and thresholds I have cleared
This is my skeleton key
a glance into thoughts long passed,
for my broken memory
I hold a looking glass.

I am still learning how to fill the gaps of the pieces you took when you left
all of the skin you traced knows it will never feel you again
and I like to believe your fingers are aching and your stomach hurts remembering the loss of me
I hope you make something worthy of all your regret
I bet it hurts to know you'll never know the girl that I'm becoming