I'm alright
A little tipped by
bad relations, bad expressions
But perhaps I will behave
and pertain to the world's demands

I'm just a human
with my wall of thought
of perception, of ego
A little buzz
in a sphere of buzzes
My thoughts, my prejudices
a meaningless whim
of part anger, part soul
To be free
is it not human necessity?

Ah, I incessantly thought
about mistakes, grievances
of the past, of haught
I forgot the written words
of the rulers of kingdoms forgotten
of the mighty greats that were finally broken
for all I have is an urge
To break through this wall
and perhaps be a bigger me
endlessly

I was wondering why
I can't get out of my door
I thought I was locked
And I couldn't get closer to you
I was looking at you from my window
A perfect soul I have ever seen
One more try and I have found out the truth
I was not locked
But it was you who was inside a cage
The walls around you
Set the boundaries
Of how far my eyes can look
Upon your soul.

My mother
She is a part of me, I am a part of her
But like a heart, there are parts to her

She remembers childhoods that I do not recall
She has expired food in the refrigerator
She laughs, she smiles, she's exploding in joy
She yells, she points, she's cursing at people
She gets me gifts, lets me know I exist
She constantly threatens to kick me out

I take her side, when no one else does
Even though she's wrong
They beg me to calm her with reason
Even though I'm ten
Tried to stop her from attacking dad
I begged and begged for it to stop
She blames me for not attacking dad
I'm blamed and I'm blamed

/-* I learned how to be calm through the continual screaming, the point my emotions are no longer continually bleeding. I'm dead, and that's how I achieved success. To be less human, and to be more in my step. My mom goes off edges, my dad is the wall, my family is a mess, but I will be strong

And there is nothing worse. That she is a part of me, and I am a part of her. I will always hate love her

I'm dreading.

To pack everything,
from the place we used to call ours.

The empty boxes are staring back at me.

I can't bring myself to fill them.

I'm scanning the apartment that used to be ours..

I'm seeing our history repeating itself.

I somehow see your shadow from the kitchen,
and mine from the living room.

I hear your laughter when you mess up cooking..

And suddenly you're everywhere, and I'm paralyzed.

I can't move you into boxes, and I can't leave you.

Yet I need to leave you within this walls..

i complain about the wall between us
but i am the one who built it

I imagine a therapist office
as they are lavished in on tv shows
and they're not really like that;
instead of a cozy dimly lit office
it's a white wall maze.

As my doctors
are not private ones
and they surely disclose
all about me
to the insurance company.

I can't help, but twiddle my thumbs
and wonder about the
cries for help
that linger on these paisley painted
dry walls--
snickered with inpersonal
portraits of strangers;
that probably wish
they hung in one of those
elegant, brash, and luxurious offices on tv.

Or maybe instead
the paintings longingly wish
to be dead as well--
instead of being
in this subservient storehouse
that is standing in for an therapist office.

Getting up from another stand-in
this rash beast of dull coloured dust;
calling it a chair would insinuate people
are supposed to sit there,
but I assume
it's true purpose is for the ill-ful
to find something uglier than life itself.  

Leaving through another betrayal
that existence couldn't be more lame
is a doorway with the most faux of all possible doors;
it's screaming "nobody ever cut down a tree to make this".

Slipping past another door (eye role)
I come to be in the same room,
but this space is two faultering steps to the left.  
And instead of dust everywhere
it's a mobbish moss melancholy
that distastefully lingers
in my personal office's air.