this perpetual state of anger and sadness
this me that isn't me
but is becoming me

what is becoming of me
will I shrivel up into an upset mess or
will I blossom into the happy that makes me radiate
that makes me beautiful
that makes me
me.

I know I will be me again but
what does it take to bring the old me back
it takes changes
but what
who must be cut out and
who must be brought back

this perpetual state of anger and sadness
this me that isn't me
but is becoming me
but I must be free

It must've been a metaphor.
This one person bench,
calling my name,
mocking me.
I'm useless without her.
I'm an intricate doorframe;
beautifully handcrafted,
and carved of rosewood.
But as a door myself,
I'm missing a ****,
I have seeping holes,
and my past left behind
brutally rugged scratches and beats.

Love: the act of putting someone else's well being in front of your own without thinking and ultimately hurting yourself