I was unprepared for your lack of self-awareness
and the way you approach life like a
kid running the wrong way with the ball.
Sometimes I feel like your mother
sending you to your room so you can tantrum.
Other times I feel like your daughter
when you lay out my shoes as if I can’t get them myself.
Talking to you is throwing rocks at a land mine;
There is a difference between creativity and indecision.
There is a difference between sensitivity and overreacting.
You have to find who you are, and stop lifting so many lids.
Your anxious energy is clinging to my calm like a parasite
Eventually, you need to find a calm of your own
take your spinning outside inward, where things are still.
I want to help you
and I want to escape,
because rarely do I feel like your lover
partly because I don’t want to anymore.
I don’t want your touch, I don’t want your kiss
your hands are vexatious, please just let me sleep!
I don’t want to gag and choke on your tongue.
Just rest for a while,
so I can figure out how to do this.

I am not partial the cold in my bones, the muscles that quake, or the shiver that trails down the spine.

*But these are the things that let me know I'm alive.

The Journey**

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

I've lost all semblance of myself,
an island that I unwillingly left behind.
Stepping gingerly at first
to test the water upon my toes,
venturing further as I grew bolder,
only to turn around
and find the shore gone,
all sight of land lost.
Now I'm stuck, treading,
tiring quickly.
And I've no idea which direction
I'm supposed to swim
to find myself again.

Who will be there when the civil war starts?

When your mind can't see past itself and your heart wants to stop
Will anyone notice that your smile falters when you hear your own whispers.
That your eyes tear from the squeezing of your heart.

When you stomach refuses to hold food down
And your kidneys start giving up
Who will be there when your mind is too heavy for your body to lift up?

Will there be anyone to lift you up off the floor?
Will there be anyone to wrap the red paintings on your wrists?
Who will even be aware of any of it

Will you, yourself even be aware?
Civil wars always end up with casualties on both sides.
And most of the time
Nothing is left worth fighting for

I was never going to be okay in your eyes
because my eyes are not blue
they're green...
I was never going to be a perfect Vogue model in your eyes
because I'm not anorexic enough for you
I was never going to be smart enough in your eyes
because I'm still learning
I was never going to be quiet enough for you...
because I'm a woman with opinions
I was never going to be a mindless ***-kitten in your eyes
because I'd rather read a book on physics
I was never going to be a hot brunette to you...
because I'm a blonde.

Your charade exists because of this..
the hate you hide
is all inside
the flaws you see
are not in me.

You hung me up
like a mirror on your wall
n' you glance at me
from down the hall...
you see in my eyes
but can't recognize the lies
you've told yourself
this ****** stuff
that made you think
you're not enough...

I am just the mirror.

I
      smile everyday, even though I feel empty because I
Want
      others to not know the pain I feel inside, begging
To
      Get out and scream to the world to just
Die**
      Because honestly, That is all that I feel is left for me

What is the word acknowledgement, to someone
Who never does anything about what they acknowledge?
What good is acknowledging a problem,
If you choose not to act upon it?

It's almost as if acknowledgement helps us believe
We are better people if we are aware of the bad within or around us
As if acknowledgement taints our minds
With a false sense of enlightenment
That being aware, is better than being there
To actually change what it is we acknowledge to be wrong

But if people only talked about their words, with no actions
We would only need to acknowledge, never having to change our ways
For acknowledgement can sometimes be, the golden word we need
That justifies an ignorance to our false sense of bliss