First, I forgave the bullies
Who made me cry.
I didn't know your story.
You didn't ask for mine.
Now the hard part.
I forgive myself
for the mistakes I've made.
It's been a long, weird game.
But so far, I don't regret
The way I've played.

It is through the pathological:
The presented image of the journey
as being that of the road, less traveled--
a foundation of sand,  presented
as being that of bedrock..
It is the ancient shortcut's  need
to prop up it's own deception
that is of that which harbors  the greatest judgement
        of all that is upright
and it is upon these agenda-ed, subjective pallettes
that the pastels are mixed and arranged,

as the landscape of the world's reality
becomes,  painted.

Saw it unfold before my very eyes

But it happened too quickly for me to wrap my life back up into the neat little box it was packed in

My heart is the home of squandered potential,
Depression sets in,
Cement the state and fall away into my usual state of mind.

The mirror I trod upon is the unfalling foe,
Introspection's regressions feed the deathless ranks of anxieties,
With but nothing left to say,
Nary a hopeless smile althewhile.

Pop another pill to drown tomorrow's sorrows,
With today's having a long way yet to go.

One where I’m happy –
Where I can laugh with sincere glee.
I can appreciate all the things given to me.
I can look in the mirror,
and like what I see.
It’s a world so perfect –
a world where I want to be.

But then, there’s another –
a world full of misery.
Where every time I meet my own eyes,
I wonder why I even try.
I don’t like my smile, my laugh, or my thighs.
Sometimes I wish, even with temporary bliss,
that I was blind.

I doubt all I am and all I ever will be.
I don’t trust myself or anyone around me.
I try to be strong and to keep my head high,
But it’s exhausting – going back and forth.

Up, then down.

Ecstatic, then depressed.

Something, then nothing.

Two worlds, I live in…

Yet neither belong to me.

Each time I shave my face,
I scrutinize with my eyes,
To look for my mistakes,
But my eyes, they fraternize,
With the enemy on my chin,
And so, too late,
When on a date,
I feel them with my fingers

Oops.

I fu
C

ke


d

uP.

Now I'm under

lock
                 and key




wEll ****.

I am a panoply
Of all things inane
My mind is half gone
And my dreams
Are a mess of the dead
I'm probably concussed
And I can't feel my legs
So let's go steal Greenland
To wash away the pain