Is it really survivors guilt if
I haven’t survived yet

It’s okay that you never put me first
Because I will
It’s okay that you never let go
Because I will

Someday you’ll be someone that I once knew
Someone who someday might become someone that’s worth it to know
But I will never
Know that it could have been great
You and me; imagine that
For now; it’s been too late
I was worth it, you know
You held onto your pride and me; you let go

It’s okay, though
I forgive you
And maybe someday
Even today
I’ll miss you

Dear Room,

You have been pink
You have been blue
And yellow, then pink again
I even drew Whinnie the poo

And now you're white
With one wall blue
And I have loved 15 years with you

Soon another little girl may burst in
With different color to choose
But I will always remember
That you were me, and I was you

Bittersweet song
on my radio.
Reminiscing on our story
as if conjured.
Some roads fork
and divide,
others turn to dirt
and get lost in the wilderness.
Still, there's a melody
to be found;
memories fondly held,
despite the lies.

If I went back in time I’d kick myself in the shin,
try to grow a spine and then reinforce my chin,
with hardened steel over rusted tin.
‘Cause it’s taken hits beyond count, infact I’ve lost track of the amount,
but I know even with my jaw broken I can still force out a grin.

I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems I’m guided into it for an alibi,
and I can’t help but question why I try,
when there’s no one to answer to; just time flying by.

I’m not as stupid as I act,
but I guess I can say I’m a good actor.
I make a sound but immediately retract,
because in a split second I balance every factor.
I don’t want to be another casualty
in a war effort so effortlessly,
in a fight that shouldn’t concern me,
but my flight instinct took flight instinctively.

If I could go back in time I’d clock myself in the face,
past me would rebut “what a disgrace,”
while I’d agree to the mirrored me who’s never finishing, **** even last place.
I know that my shoes were tight and tied,
I was at the line waiting I never could hide,
but still I’d trip and flounder, I should’ve double checked each lace.

I don’t want to have to lie
but it seems it’s better than admitting defeat or spitting out a goodbye.
And I can’t help but wonder why,
I even cry when I’ve taped my mouth shut and closed each eye.

The butterfly of my effect has lost each wing,
trapped in a jar, not going far;
what a tragic thing.
I press my hand against the dome,
to let it be known, it’s not alone,
this prison’s now it’s home.

Poetry has given me the ability to travel through time
to stand in shoes I abandoned on the concrete.
Paint the scenery in every word and rhyme,
and change the outcome in each stanza and beat.

I fully feel the sun shine and the wind’s blow
every single day like I’ve just arrived and met.
Now I’m cursed to be a Romeo to a stand in Juliet.
Design the plan for me, and I’ll blur the lines and matra,
I’ll fight as Marc Anthony to only one Cleopatra.