too much confidence,
resolves in pride.
too much pride resolves in-
isolating yourself,
not letting others help you.
nobody helping you;
resolves in death.

How is it that the way I feel
Doesn’t appeal
the next day

The next hour

The next second

The next instant?

Sickening green plagues the airways and my burdened mind rests firmly in the folds of my skull
Hewn from dirt and molded like metal—in insurmountable heat

Absent of the pressure which turns to precious stone

Plagued in an illness that my own cells created
Or rather manifested
That nobody can see

And you hear it
You see it
It burdens you the same way it carves holes in my chest
Of deprecation
And inadequacy
That has absolutely nothing to do with me

And you hear it
You see it

So how could I ask you to help me carry
When your shoulders are already weary and heavy

Dare I reach out for the again-th time
I’d rather hurt quietly, convulsed, and inside.

I’ve always been told to be myself
To be honest
To be real.
But no one seems to be ready for the real me.
I open my body up and my secrets come pouring out like bats from a cave racing towards the light.
But they turn to dust as you look upon them.
You tell me,
That was too much,
Hold back
You’re being too open
Too honest
Too raw.
You’re scaring people away.
They don’t like you being too vulnerable.
It’s weird, and uncomfortable.
But how can I be both?
How can I be both open and closed?
Enough, but not too much?
I only know love on one setting.
I don’t do things halfway.

Every man that I have ever let inside me is you,
Mom.
Every man that I have ever let see me,
touch me, open me up.
Expecting them to tear down the walls that are hundreds of feet high,
just to walk right through
as if my guarded heart is a sliding glass door.  
As if they can see right through my frame.
They see me: bold, opinionated, strong.
But They all have all looked right though me, and can see the little girl who wants to be loved.
They told me they loved me.
Touched the hidden places that have hurt to touch,
as if they knew exactly where they could be found.
Only to treat me like a warm body for their cold. Blood.
They take me as a shell.

Because, like you Mom, they exploit me.
Use my weakness in seeing good, reading what makes me tick,
Learn to gain my trust.
Just to abandon me.
Like you.

brush my lips with more reds
make my smile look alive
let the youth touch my hand
allow the colors to dry

bury my casket along with my sins
and the poems i can never sing
get the black book and the priest
let the funeral of an art begin

brew the finest lies you got
the vengeance of the word
a ghost will haunt your dreams
a ghost that bears your name

the sick truth of a man
sought refuge to a face
a better death; to be betrayed
than drown in yellow paint