its almost 5 in the morning

Sneaks up without warning
Habit forming
Addictions storming
Dope burning
Stomach churning
Still yearning
Never learning
Its concerning
Its alarming
How I keep returning
Its disturbing
I'm not deserving
Who Am I Becoming

When you look in the mirror and don't recognize your own face
all ****** up you're a ******* head case
The type of lifestyle it creates
Feeling like nothing more than a disgrace
All you really want is just another taste
Of the **** that got you here in the first place

Old habits die hard I believe that to be a fact
Braced myself for the impact
Why do I keep on coming back
Chaos and calamity I attract

Nothing soothes the savage beast
Nothing I do brings me peace
I'm longing for that sweet release
Just a little bit at least

I don't know anything that's worse
Than this generational Curse
Me and my demons converse
Its ****** up when you don't know your worth

Hate the fact that you've got to have it
Do **** near anything to feed the habit
Head so full of ******* static
Earn yourself a straight jacket

How gut wrenching it is
To know
How many sunsets I missed
Because I was angry
How many sunrises I missed
Because I was sad
And all the clouds in between
Because I didn’t care

Writing poems at night
I might
Dreaming subtle dreams
I would like
Diving deep into meditation
Everyday I experience pain-bration

In my left shoulder blade
And my upper back
There is no explanation
To that.

But today I had a breakthrough
Sitting still.
Breathing,
Feeling my aliveness,
Learn to feel...

Years ago
I have made a promise
I will not feel this pain,
It might **** me,
If I'm honest.

I ignored all bad feelings
Learned dissociation
Back then, I must admit,
It was a helpful creation.

But now, in adult years,
It's hard to cry those tears,
Which were suppressed,
Because of many fears

At home
In childhood years.

She's deeply disappointed and angry as it seems
She lives in a land of broken hearts and shattered dreams
Unfortunate for me to be her mirror
I wish it was something that helped her see clearer

How hurt and abandoned one person must feel
Nobody to love her and help her to heal
She doesn't see nor her sorrow nor grief
The manipulation is her only relief

I don't want to pity her but
Want to feel compassion
I must admit for me
It's challenging as well
I try to be as present as I can

I'm paying my respects to all these survivors
I have struggles explaining how draining it feels
I feel worry, sadness and anger for
This land of broken hearts and shattered dreams.

When you fall in love with a mean man you’ll find yourself truly believing that you deserve the misery. The fighting, the hurt and the crying feels all too consistent. Uneasy becomes your default setting as you find yourself walking on eggshells to avoid the anger. You’ll forget how you once loved the sensation of skin-to-skin contact the more you catch yourself flinching at his touch. When he points out that you’ve gotten distant you wont even notice how guilt melts into consent as he takes what he tells you he deserves. It’s alright, he loves you. 
If you’re anything like me you’ll believe that you’re not enough. You’ll believe that it’s your fault when he starts a fight. If only you could do better, then he’d have no reason to be upset. You wont believe it when your mom tells you it isn’t healthy to come home crying every time you see him. You wont believe your friends when they tell you that you deserve better than a possessive man who won’t let you out of his sight. Worst of all, you certainly wont believe yourself when you’re brain is screaming that you cant take it anymore; because your heart is screaming even louder, “He loves me!”

Maybe I give myself too much credit: that I am good, I am doing better, I am great at my craft, that I have something to show everyone when in reality I am just average at best. What else do I show of myself that is worth a praise more than just “you did your best”? How bare do I have to be for people to pay attention to me? Maybe I am just having a bad day that has been going on for 182 days. But at the end of it all, I am just a mere performance worth 59% rotten tomatoes, it’s more than half, but barely fresh. At least I did my best? What other ******* do I have to say to myself so I don’t end up crying with a blade in my hand? It seems that trying is just never going to get me far, and the best I can give everyone is this: the mediocre poet who dreamed too high and fell so deep she died on sea. She had wings too weak and dreams too heavy that the only place she could reach was the clouds of 9, where she could only see from a few feet afar before she landed and died. That is the only thing I can offer.