I wish I could tell you that sometimes I'm terrified of life.
The negativity seems to scathe my soul,but yet somehow, I seem to push past the fear and get on with my day.
Fragile like porcelain doll, how did I get this way?
Optimistic at my best, I say to myself, that this too shall pass.
I wish I could tell you that it will be okay, because you might need to hear that too.
I'm fearless for others but not for myself.

I'm polluted with thoughts I don't feel comfortable thinking. I'm searching for an on and off switch, constantly, but I still haven't figured out why the world looks so different when I don't take my medicine so it's hard to imagine cutting my own circulation.
I am a figure of irrationality.
I counteract myself more times than I can count on a daily basis yet math has always been my strong suit. I like right or wrong answers, it's easier when there is no room to debate, but I like to argue more than I like to talk, ask any of my ex-girlfriends.
A guy I knew from high school shot himself in the head on top of a hill behind his parents house on my 20th birthday, for days I only thought about the look on his brothers face when he found the body. everybody described him in different ways, but my only real memory of him was the time I got drunk with him for the first time and I ended up running off a 6 foot wall, I don't have feeling in part of my leg because but for some reason I still wish I could hear his final thoughts plugged into my aux chord in my car so I could listen to them on my way to work and attempt to decipher,
I only want to understand.
Understanding always makes it hurt less but I think that's just because I make excuses for people in order to make myself feel okay.
I learned really early to play dead. It quickly progressed to avoiding mostly everything and using my newfound skill to become invisible. It's all just so morbid now. I talk a lot and smile a lot and enjoy life way too much for somebody who has these thoughts but one of them is surface level; I'm not sure which, I'm sure one day I will though. It's not my place to think or feel any of this, I have no right to reach out to people, but I still firmly believe that I am the owner of all my experiences. I miss feeling nostalgic. I don't care about the past anymore and it's only making me homesick for the times I spent swallowing the noise. It's just so ******* quiet now.

Why did he do that? How did it get so bad?

We do not have to plead our case
For he took our place
Tracing back-to Genesis
When we were molded by His grace
His love demonstrate
Breaks
Gender and race
For we are all the same
It’s a shame
What we are today
Is not how we were made
To walk around with these chains
For we bear His image
Polish
To a perfect finish
But we’re stained with sinful *******
It's self to blame
Self-most fade
Our ego trade
For a righteous change
He paved the way
So that our sins will be erased
Our hearts engraved
With the message that saves
Demons shack
When they see His face
The devil races
Back to his cage
His love is like a flame
Power with in His name
From death the grave
To life, He reigns
Your guilt exchanged
With your sins paid
Forgiveness He give
Don’t have to wait
Come to Jesus today.

If you think you're
the only boy
to say that,
you are
very
wrong.

Everything
Is the same...
Yet different.
How?
Well,
You are born.
You learn how to walk.
You learn how to talk.
You play around.
You go to school.
You meet friends.
You find hobbies.
The world knocks you down,
But you get up.
You go to work.
You meet somebody—
You marry that somebody.
You build your own family.
You work again.
You reminisce memories.
You cry.
You laugh.
You live.
You die.
****!
Same old story.
Very ordinary.
But the thing is:
If you're broken,
You become extraordinary.
No, not like Superman or anything.
You become "you."
The scars and wounds tells a
New story.
How you heal it
Is what makes you "you."
Everything is the same
Until they become different.

The same routine
I sit and scheme
My words will set me free.
I have my mind
I have my pen so nothing can silence me.
Words are drawn on the page created one by one.
They tell the story of a broken man.
On a search for something different, something new.
Day in and day out the same routine at hand.
It's time for him to grow up
It's time to be a man.
Change is part of life and that's just how it goes.
But when life doesn't change at all that's when he begins to question it all.