When people expect the worst from you
It's really truly hard to maintain a positive attitude
So then you start presenting what their expecting
And it's so **** hard to keep those tears from slipping down your face
Because your parents have the audacity
To tell you that you make more mistakes
Compared to how many times you have made them smile
And you regret choosing to live at home  
You regret living in general
Because living is difficult
But people told you that you were strong and you believed them
You believed the pretty poisoned lies they told you
To make you feel like a better person
And you said “ your right , i can do this “
And that was that
But you noticed the more people know about how your feeling
The more pain you feel
So you stop
You stop showing what the sadness is doing to you on the outside
On the inside
And you somehow get away with it
Until your psychiatrist asks how you're doing and you can't keep it in anymore
You tell her that mountains of painkillers and antidepressants
Are beckoning to you sweetly
You play around with your wording because you want to be remembered
With a sense of humor before you die
And she calls your mother in
And she cries
Because the daughter she gave birth to doesn't even want it
But she understands!
She understands your pain because your own mother is dealing with some of her own
They call security
They call the paramedics
They come into the room that your in and you look away
The officer says “ You have a whole life to live “
You smirk and a single tear falls down your face as you chuckle
“ This isn't living “
Your mother ***** in a breath and lets out a thundering sob
She pulls you into a bone crushing hug and you tell her that your sorry
And as you repeat the overused sentiment you wonder what your sorry for
If your even truly sorry
Please help me understand …
Your sorry for making someone feel bad because you feel worse ?
Your sorry because you feel mocked by people that tell you to get over it
When they happen to not give a single thought EVER about anyone but themselves
And my person inside me begs for me to scream  “YOU HAVEN'T SUFFERED ENOUGH !”
No
They haven't
While the sun arises each and every morning for the blessed and humble
Your sun hasn't risen for years now
Instead a plastic and artificial version of what the sun should be ascends into your day
And shines in your eyes and taunts you
It laughs at you because YOU have more scars than friends
YOU can't go places alone because your suicidal tendencies screams louder
Than your mother yelling from the outside of the ambulance
“YOUR GOING TO BE OKAY!”
And you wave
You wave your hand to your mother as your taken to a wretched place
That throws you out worse than the way you were when you walked in
One month passes
Your home
But your parents are treating you like polypropylene
Tough enough to still be parented
But still weak , still a bit vulnerable
Six months pass
You become a ***
You make relationships with people
Because they make you feel good about yourself
And you foolishly get attached
Because your addicted to the feeling you get when they leave
Heart Wrenching sadness
Your so accustomed to it
And you think that the taste of salty tears would grow old
But depression comes in all different flavors
And when they bid you farewell
You promise yourself , no more
No more people
Just focus on yourself
But there is nothing to focus on
Because your so ******* broken that only the pieces of your shattered heart remain
And it's hard to explain what's going on inside your tangled mind
Your not even allowed to be okay when your not okay
Not allowed to smile in the midst of your tragedy
Because everybody is expecting you to be this sad piece of nothing
So when your anything and everything your not
You get **** for it
You’ve been getting **** for it
To this day you hide how you feel because the truth is to abhorrent to bear
Anytime you say that you don't want to do this anymore
Society says “ Your lying “
And you feed yourself lies
You tell yourself that your not enough
That you have never been enough
You never meet anybody's expectations
And you lean towards believing
That disappointment is just another form of terror
To cause trauma to what's left of your heart
And the worst thing about being a disappointment
Is the lack of trust from other people
They don't expect you to be there for them
Because the silence you were unknowingly feeding them is causing them to choke
And then everybody is gone
And you're to blame
YOUR TO BLAME
And you wonder and ponder upon ways to fix your heart
But it's not that easy
You need tools to fix something that is broken
Everyone who loved you were your tools
Tools no longer
You were the heavy lifter
You carried your overweight broken heart because ironically
You were the only one with that type of strength
So now your learning not to put it on the line
The hard way
Your lugging it behind you tied to a string because it fell off your shoulder
And you start to realize that absence makes the heart grow fonder
And that confuses you
Because its dead
Or so you thought
No matter how broken it is …
Your heart is the only thing that wont give up on you mentally
“If i could i would **** every insecurity that told you that you weren't enough “

sadness
it sometimes makes me want to puke
the hands of agony push against my insides
palms of brutality fiercely grip my heart to the point of pain
proof of my internal torment fall from my eyelids
smelling of oceans , salty salty oceans
the devil strums dismal chords on my rib cages
and more proof of my internal torment fall from great heights
my brain is no use to me
for all it sent me were harrowing memories of my abhorrent past
my fingers twinge from gripping my chest too tightly
my neck aches from hanging it limply
hanging because it had been carrying my broken fractures for some time now
i don't want to feel the shadows of my monsters writhe around me
i don't want to be the nail in my casket
not anymore
but i've been buried alive
and the pressure of unearthly sorrows are drowning me

I'm so down to earth I’m 6 feet under
Here the sounds of silent thunder sing me to sleep
The torn clothes, never worn, keep me warm
Like a baby in a laundry basket full of rags
Tags ripped off
What a waste of money how much did it cost
It took too long to realize I was lost and I am now one with the dirt
Stains on my shirt
I dream of my legs going somewhere important
My lungs are a meter stick and my breath is a child too small to ride
It just doesn’t reach
Teach the kid to stretch I’ll smile from my state of rest
Keep drinking your milk kid
Maybe you won’t be the man too short to live
Powerful enough to break a strawberries heart
A rollercoaster is a good start it teaches you how things will be
Unless your me, just lay still on the ground
Hear the ringing sounds but don’t analyze what it means
Because behind the scenes of these stained glass windows
Is the 2018 year-round gun show
The bullet missed my smile by a mile but it must have hit a parallel universe because once again I am one with the dirt
The elements sing me to sleep
Quick wit lies, open eyes keep me alive
And when the shovel comes I won’t be ready to leave
I've faked my death for a quarter lifetime of peace
I decompose piece by piece
I'm so unbreakably sane that death hit every ***** but forgot about my brain
Meaning I'm no longer in pain but I can think about what it feels like
From now on I’ll stay high as a kite
But the oxygen diminishing dirt wont let my geeb light
As sober as a drunk man that lost his liver then found god
From now on I’ll be high on death
Until the lower mantle steals my last breath

Poetry is like an addiction,
It is such a strange condition;
I cannot sit, I cannot stand,
I’ve no rest till I grab a pen;
To write down all I feel and see,
Compelled to write all shown to me.
Thoughts and words float into my head,
Be it I’m eating or in bed;
I welcome them all with delight.
Consciousness raised to a new height;
As we have to earth a live wire,
Thoughts need to be controlled, like fire.
I’m bubbling to tell all around,
Your thoughts are alive!...write them down.

Wake me up in this beautiful place.
Where the sun light hits my innocent face.
The sound of the wave plays like a music in my ears
And the salty air blows my hair and dries my tears.

i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good

Sometimes I have no control
I just stop functioning
But I don't
My hands move
My head moves
My eyes move
watching it all happening
But it's not me
But it is
What is happening?
Who is in control?