another recovery story
another story about the kid who killed himself
that isn't really about the kid who killed himself
but the things he left in his wake
i hate stories like these
stories about suicide
never quite sit right in my stomach
i think i just want the story
where the kid gets better
where the kid stops hurting
but doesn't just, stop
and it's not some other kid that saves him
some angel who finds it in their golden heart to love the broken boy
but so much love
an all enclosing embrace from the universe around him
from the people he needs and has been reaching for
his friends stop laughing at those jokes and his mother starts to understand that screaming can be so, so quiet
and when he says he doesn't want to be alone
he isn't
and when he says he needs someone to hold him down so he doesn't float away
the world cradles him gently
and when he needs to cry
he can
and it doesn't feel like knives and empty and drowning
and the kid gets better, slowly,
the kid gets better
the kid can get better, right?
if all he wants is for the hurting to stop
can the kid get better?

I don't want to be the way I am
And that's saying something
Given that I'm many different ways
Sometimes my throat closes up and I can't speak and I want to hide deep deep under ground
Disappear with every embarrassing tic
Shaking in place
And sometimes I don't ever shut up
And sometimes I'm joking
And sometimes I'm screaming
Bruising my own skin and pulling out eyelashes
Body made of lightning
Shaking in place
I hate the way I am
When my thoughts are going a million miles an hour and I get overwhelmed with the sound
I hate the way I am
When my processing is low and I can't understand and everything slows down
I jump emotional extremes and identities
Putting on masks and playing games
Like it's Build A Boy Workshop
Tell me who you want me to be
Because this isn't who I want to be

imagine if you were born at the beginning of time
imagine if you had the whole beautiful world placed in your hands like soft clay, ready to and waiting to be molded
imagine that you were the first domino to tip, the beginning of the chain reaction

i think about this a lot
i think about the big beautiful world in all its glory
i think about the big beautiful world and what we've done to it

imagine that you could look up at night and see the stars before light pollution, before air pollution
imagine that you could see every animal that has since gone extinct
imagine every life and every glimmer in your hands, watch them die faster than you can keep track of
would you do anything, everything to prevent it?

we are just here
we are just... here
we created society and money and the concept of purpose
hand to the throat, grip tight, contribute to society
you owe corporations for the air you breathe
it is up to me to decide if you are worth basic necessity
burden
free-loader

imagine
you could just
live

Don't touch-
Don't touch the live wire don't touch-
Don't touch me don't touch me don't TOUCH Me
I am a Live Wire
I am made of fire and thorns
With lightning in my veins
And trembling in my hands
I will rattle unstable
Reaching out for a tether to the level-headed world
And wondering what it's like to not be made of
Fire and Thorns and
Fear and Anger and Electricity
Really, truly, I am soft
They say I Lash Out but I am soft
Like flower petals
Like down feathers
Like memory foam
You could press against me and leave imprints
But I will not let you hurt me
Don't hurt me
Don't touch me
Static Electricity
When I'm angry, or scared,
Cornered and baring my teeth
You will watch me,
Tense,
And not dare to approach me
So as not to be shocked
You will not hurt me
You will not touch me
You will not try
And I will ignite again

or maybe*
I'll pack it all up like I've said
Take my dreams on the road
Spend my life alive
Just driving to the future
Wherever my art may lead me
Run laps around the coastline
And memorize the feeling
Of your hand in mine,
Racing off to some new adventure,
Lost on purpose

the world is just starting to seem real
clay in a firmer state
studier but harder to mold
and i am still trying to shape it in my hands
without getting it under my nails
... something,

something under my nails
clambering for something to hold onto
anxiety racing, scratching, life catching up to me
why am i bleeding
why am i bleeding
this is supposed to be freeing
i guess i just
pick one of these lines
deeply clawed into my skin
paths like addict,
wash up,
footstool;
lives carefully planned for me since birth

i played trumpet in junior high
so that must mean i'll be a paralegal like my mama
regretting my love choices
regretting my life choices
wasting away at a job i hate
doing work i don't get credit for
destined to fade away lonely

but then again i've got my dad's bad habits
and twice his screaming spirit
so maybe i'll spend half my life in a bottle
and the other half trying to chase the dreams that i ****** away in my twenties

maybe i'll run all over creation
trying to be something bigger
someone stronger

yeah
that sounds about right