I wish
to run
my fingers
between yours,
hold them
like you're
forever mine

America the great
America my favorite escape
You’re slowing falling deeper into turmoil and today was the day we were supposed to plan your escape
There’s a man leading you and your people into a grave
America please fight for yourself so we can go back to calling you brave
Stop letting them get you to conform, if you bend anymore we’ll literally forget your original form
And I don’t know if you know it yet or not but you and Russia seem to have an on and off relationship and the man that’s misleading you is how the wall was born
Immigration laws keep separating kids from their parents
Thank God my mom was born here but what about the friends that I cherish
Mrs. Pakistan doesn’t have a man but to keep her in the states she’ll be marrying this American
What about my Mexicans? My Africans? My Dominicans? And my Ecuadorian?
Bill Cosby drugged women and I married a handful just so more innocent families aren’t torn apart
Like I said before I’m selfless with my antics
I’d do anything to not see another family get separated and put in a panic
America we aren’t talking about money when we said we need to see a lot of change drastically before upcoming dates
Segregation can’t be taught anymore if it’s a current event and it’s happening before journalists can document the dates
Aren’t you tired of seeing blood and tears shed on your wide estates?
America I won’t make this too long but I’ll just ask this last question
America, Are We Too Late?

Him....
He was sunshine and rainbows, the calm after the storm.
he was the brightest days after the darkest night's.
He was mourning doves in the crisp summer morning air, singing melodies I loved to hear.
He was the sweet coffee I drank while watching the sunrise, he warmed me inside and filled me with a dose of happiness.
He was like chocolate. I craved him as much as I craved sweets as a child, I wanted him every day.
He was the sight from the top of a mountain, beautiful.... he took my breath away and filled me with adrenaline and contentment.
He was the changes during the seasons, with every side I saw I loved him more.
He was light, like a breeze between the tallest trees.
he was the trees. He held so much life, with holes inside of his body for everything he loved, he was home.
He was the city I lived in, I knew every street, every turn, He was a map I had memorized.
He was my home.

Until he wasn't.....

He is a hurricane, the eye of the storm. the rain it pours like the tears pour from my eyes.
He is the clouds in the sky on the darkest days.
He is the silent echo in the dewy morning winter air, there is an eerie feeling that he leaves me with.
He is the bitter taste, the burnt tongue as I struggle to swallow the scorching black coffee, he doesn't fill me the same.
He is the green vegetables I hated as a child but I knew I needed to grow, to thrive, to live.
He is the sight of an airplane in the sky while standing on the ground, he makes me feel so small.
He is the seasons in the arctic, always so cold. I trudged through the ice, the snow, I ran as fast as I could while the cold air burned my lungs, I heaved and gasped while falling to my knees.
He is the humidity in the southern states on a hot summer day, the air so thick and smoggy it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, he doesn't flow the same way.
He is no longer a tree, rather now the proof of one that once lived. He no longer holds a hole inside his body for me. He's now soil compact so hard you'd swear it was concrete, but a piece of his root still lives and he is now building a new home for someone else.
His need for practice of deforestation was perfectly executed on me.
He is a foreign city I've never been to, he is now a map I get lost trying to understand stand.
He is no longer my home and I,
I am lost..

Him, it was always about him.

I'm really good at running,
It may be hard to believe at first sight, but I have been running for my entire life.
Ask me what I'm running from, and I'll tell you where it started.
With fear.
When your body senses a threat, it produces adrenaline, increases your heart rate, induces heavy breathing, and signals the brain to make a decision, to fight, or to flee.
What was my younger self to do when I was unable to fight back?
Fleeing became my safety
But as the fear built itself a bullet, the pain could only ricochet itself into me 
So many memories of my feeble body yelling stop, trying to escape and having no where to hide.
I was drafted into a war zone of a home
where I was taught to thicken my chain mail skin, knew how to navigate the trenches of danger, but still ran any time I felt safe.
Safety came in doses.
In grams, mostly ******, the only shooting in this war zone was through needles.
I always dreamt of a place where I could become my own superwoman, a place where I could stop the shooting and no longer feel fear at every turn.
They say you shouldn't enable an addict, but if their drug dependency replaces your abuse, hand them the syringe yourself.
It's the rope I carried and gave so they could tie their own noose.
It's taken me a long time to accept the notion that parent does not equate good person.
I was conditioned to love the people who hurt me the most.
I was told that children who didn't love their parents were ungrateful and selfish.
Good kids love their parents.
But I.. I was a bad kid.
They thought I was a fighter because I layered myself in an armor of sass, and sarcasm.
Couldn't they see I was just trying to survive?
A war torn home and a fantasy of make believe heroes
I ran to find comfort, ran to find cover, ran to find a freedom we all hope exists.
Now, I'm still running...
Too afraid to stand still because if I slow down..
My past might catch up to me.

On a day to day basis people ask me how I am
I have come to realize that this is a habitual response rather than a genuine inquiry
On most days, I say 'ya know, I'm alive," and I don't bother to ask this question in return.
On my better days, I'll say "I'm good, how are you?"
And I'll watch as their mouth mimics the same lies in response.
I've started to wonder if anyone else can feel the emptiness in our words
Aren't they supposed to mean, something?

During my senior year I was voted most talkative, my yearbook reminds me of how much I've grown
I used to take pride in that social chatter, being able to talk anyone's ear off, or being seen as bubbly and bright just because I knew how to waste time with the filler words.
Now, I tend to keep my mouth shut. I've learned that not everything needs words.
Why it's socially acceptable to ask mere acquaintances how they are, subconsciously reminding them of all the things going wrong in their lives, when we fully know that no one wants to hear the truth. In fact, they look down upon the truth. Don't you dare say the words depression, anxiety, ptsd, mental illness or anything else for that matter. If you can't muster up the "I'm good," it seems, the only other acceptable response is "I'm tired," because, "I'm tired" has become the go to blanket term for every other emotion.
But you know what I'm tired of? People, who don't even care, asking me how I am, because now I can't even stop lying to myself.
The other day my friend asked me if I was okay. In my most convincing voice, I said "I am - always, okay"
They looked at me and mumbled "not okay"
I didn't need their words. I believe that all words are empty until someone fills them up with the presence of their soul. I may not have as many friends as I used to, but the friends that I do have speak with sincerity. When they say something, they draw from life experiences and offer these pieces of themselves, something I do not take for granted.
I collect the pieces and keep them as treasure.
Words are so valuable, as long as you don't leave them empty.

I'm trying to move forward
Trying to build a life for myself
You know, the one that everyone seems to be striving for
We may not all want the same white picket fence or number of children but I'd be ****** if somebody told me that they didn't want the roof over their head to feel like home.
Some people say that home is not a place but a feeling
I don't know what they're talking about
I wonder if this is why I always feel lost
Why, whenever I go home, I feel misplaced. Like an oversized puzzle piece in the wrong box.
I am trying to fit in but it is clear that I don't belong
I am trying to move forward, trying to build a life for myself, but I have come to realize that I have been filling this void with material possessions
I have so many nice things in my house, that for a while I even had myself fooled
You cannot buy that feeling, but maybe it can be mended. 
When I look around me, I see that most people have the sense of home weaved into their foundation.
Some things cannot be built from scratch.
I had to take the good with the bad, despite wanting to leave them both behind.
I went home the other day, and by home I mean hell, and by hell I mean Phoenix, but it might as well be hell because that scorching city holds all of my demons.
I drove to my childhood home
To my surprise it was still standing.
I could have swore that the foundation would have given way by now, and that I would have to sift through the rubble just to find what I was looking for.
I glared at this house in disgust, as if it were a monster that swallowed my happiness.
As I was about to drive away, a woman walked out with two little girls in sun dresses. They were racing to the car, I couldn't make out their words but their smiles and laughter hit me like a brick.
I drove away and everything began to make sense.
Home is not a place, home is a feeling.

Sometimes, I dream about the ocean

How the currents pull me under and I’m left gasping for air

Only to ingest the salt water poison that is my love.

I reach the ocean floor.

There’s a gap, a crack that leads downwards

A never-ending whirlpool swoops me in, and there is no escape

You see, I am convinced, that this dream started when I was drowning in my tears

Fighting, like the only way to keep you is to reach the surface,

Sinking, my love knows no depths, and I keep spiraling down

Always loving people who will never love me back

Probably, because I am so broken, and ****** up, that I was never supposed to reach these depths to begin with

I was supposed to drown, but I fell in love instead.

My type is the person who will hurt me

Who has never known love like I have

Who can never fight for me because they’ll only end up drowning themselves

I will never be the first person to leave, I never learned how.

I forgive too easily; the salt has scraped away my ability to differentiate between honest mistakes and abuse.

I’d like to say that I love unconditionally, but the truth is I love recklessly

But I will never apologize, and because I’m always the one getting my heart broken, it means I never have to.

I may be the one to always love more, but it has allowed me to see the depths of something, so beautiful, something so magical it pulls me under.

You may think I’m drowning, but salt water is an acquired taste.

She was everything I wanted to be
No wonder I questioned my sexuality
But to find she might be into me?
My heart couldn't help but skip a beat

I was set on being her everything
Four years I batted my eyes
And watched as she fell for others
As she let them between her thighs

As young people will do
I fell for others to
But she was always there in my heart
My feelings always true

Lover apon lover
Cracked and broke me down
Slowly I lost myself
Slowly I began to drown

But I still loved them
Just as I loved her
But how could I love both
And for that I was unsure

Finally one day
I got my chance
After so long in denial
She had given me a second glance

I showed her what I could do
And she fell before me
She fell FOR ME
But it wasn't what I hoped it would be

For once in so long
I found that I didn't want her
And finally my life
Wasn't such a blur


Because I wanted him
And only him
I wanted him so much
That my love for her actually grew dim

I realized that day
That it wasn't about what you were
It was about who you were
Yes finally I was sure

So many people
talk about what they like
But I found that I like whos not whats
I'm not straight I'm not "****"

I am who I am
And I'm everything I want to be
And she helped me realize that
She helped me find me