Initial reaction: open.
I’d do anything
to help you navigate
out of yourself.
Wrap you up, consume you, carry you
and your demons inside of me
until you are new again.
In that instant
squeezing so tight, in hopes
of putting all your pieces back together.
But that would take millions
of moments and we were only given one.

Processing reaction: closing.
Resorting to all I’ve ever known
helplessly watching from inside
locking myself behind the walls I build
to protect myself from harm, selfish.
Not wanting to lose what I’ve worked
so hard to construct.

Final reaction: I will not set
fire to myself
to keep you warm
but I will help you
find your own.

i hate when you don't respond
late at night and i know you're
getting much needed rest i'm
sorry for being so selfish and
needy but i don't think i've
ever been anything else

I wake up every morning and think:
"I am a free man, I will do what I want.".
So I walk through my comfortable, three bedroom, two story home with a fully furnished basement, proper neighborhood and a good school.
I go eat breakfast with that stupid rabbit,
which is my favorite form of self- loathing,
Then I dress in my tightest jeans,
that my friend Tommy told me I needed.
I awkwardly shuffled to my car,
whose red color emphasizes my power,
at least thats what the salesman told me...
So I drive on these roads I payed for,
passing by the people whose lives don't exist,
to go to work and pay for:
The car which shows my success,
the jeans which makes me as attractive as success,
the cereal I drown my sorrows in,
and the house which lives my broken dreams.

I got tired

Of proving that my dreams are valid,
That the diameter of the me that you see in no way predicts what exists inside

I got tired

Of whispering my words so that those around me could feel tall
Taking up space was a sin and

I got tired

Of hearing my sins repeated back to me

I got tired

Of the burning in my heart as it became ash
Because they like their barbecues

I got tired

Of distracting myself from what I hated most
Because I was scared they might be right

I am tired

Of holding on
Because I forget how to let go

not everything I write is about you.