Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
laura Oct 2017
started wearing surgical face masks
in public to hide zits
i dig the tiny apartments and the drift
of tokyo skylines
i dig the anonymity, paper thin walls
you can hear a neighbor
playing his guitar
sometimes i wish i could fly back
and live there forever
quit living with an abusive boyfriend
but he rich tho
hope he crashes his bike tho
Must it be a Test to Love without Cause
Like Dad's Clothes worn un-thinking of Perfection?
This be your Practice despite Facts beknown
Towards way-end your Silence ignores Diction
For One who speaks on-file, eager to Present
Once your Lights dim and return to Normal
Expect Reserved Silence to those you amend,
Played Jester with Clouds and thought you Mortal
Even ID's have Foot-Long Lanyards, Sir
Meaning regardless of Gold or Bronze frame
Remember this for all Intent and for Her
All primmed Apartments connect the same.
This you adjust, according to your need
Her she understands, whatever you please.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Jay Aug 2018
coffee cups in separate apartments
attending different weddings
soothing comments from parents
longing for grandkids
a sudden empty feeling
below the chest
when stumbling over fragments of
us

are you also afraid  
we will not find our way back?

I miss you so.
Outside Words Oct 2018
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.

Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.

Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.

Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Listen to this while you read:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIJhiimooeg&list=RDP7K3pzoAwcs&index=2

© Outside Words
Chris Neilson Mar 2017
Racing white Audis with black leather seats
overpriced apartments and penthouse suites
the overpowering stench of ill-gotten gains
steroidal meat-heads with reduced brains

A section of society without respect
a grasp on reality at best suspect
always wrong but never to blame
flaunting wealth and lacking in shame

Worshipping at the alter of materialism
swaggering past the homeless with egotism
some are privileged sons and daughters of the rich
he's definitely a ******* and she's probably a *****

Leaving half an eaten expensive lunch
this exclusive elite are an unlovely bunch
I've never had much money so I don't miss it. This piece is aimed at those who have wealth NOT through honest hard work
Lacey Clark Oct 2018
Raised faux-religiously in a catholic school by convenience of neighborhood (though, I loved the plaid and I wanted to do Eucharist but my mom explained I wasn't catholic, so I dabbled with the hymns and cursive) by my two *** moms and some 'extra kids' (fostering, etc) in Spokane. Homeschooled later (and seriously religiously, Vacation Bible School, NO HARRY POTTER and no saying 'stupid', a lot of neighborhood scootering) by uncle auntie and my two home-made and hilarious cousins (siblings) in Nevada. another private school in the Wild West with my grandpa and grandma (maybe religiously? they took me out to Mexican dinner religiously). And scattered across the West, Mid-West and South for all the rest. Public schools interwoven and equally traumatizing in between states.
One school in florida was known for fist fights and head lice. I kissed my first boy there. and girl. I left for what I thought was summer vacation and never came back. Another accidental move.
I had been squeezed in-between the palms of each coast for high school (plopped in the midwest).
In Wisconsin, I popped like a pimple and broke some major skin. Tried to end my life a few times. Psych ward after psych ward. Pills. Pills. Pills! A nurse took me aside and said "i have hope for you" and it was the first time i felt seen. met hard drugs to replace the cutting- they felt like long lost friends. Easy to pick up.
And recovery was like feeling your face after a satisfying shaving... and not a scratch since.
Now gliding along the West Coast in Academia's matrix. Politics and community engagement and the center. Clean. In the Heart of the City. Biking with helmets. Shoebox studio apartments. Nose in book, nose in food. Day job with a class of kids who I love and who love me. Space to grow, assess, reshape. Optimism. Peace. Stability.
PC classic Jun 2016
The weather was not as hot as it used to be
I was still adjusting to the chaos
The wind would play hide and seek on my skin
I was getting tired of listening to my favourite band
The apartments were still growing all around
like fungus on wet logs or
Fire on dry ones (take appropriate metaphor)
Two old women slowly climbing the stairs of the building in
front talking presumably of other slow walking men and women
I was overwhelmed by the longing of some miracle that would wash me up like a tsunami and take me elsewhere
even though all things were
good enough
I knew I had to do something but the walls were my
addiction
A gust of wind threatened to blow away my shirt which was hung
to dry
For a moment I felt that I should let it escape
but then I have to walk down three flight of stairs to bring it back


The old women were still climbing up the stairs
The winds whisper into
apartment windows
Helene Marie Jan 8
high on fear and messy dreams
running on caffeine and gasoline
empty bottles, no one to be seen
the party’s over, no longer pristine
Evan Stephens Dec 2018
There were
those thickets
of flat
graying trees
and a frozen
skin of lake
out by the
hunched rink
behind Georgian Woods
the terrace apartments
where Dad lived
after he left
the family.

Left to my
own devices
while Dad
delved in books
I slipped out
the sliding door
through
the frost-grass
and the
snow branch gap
into the
unfolding stillness
of the drowsing park.
Sometimes
my sister
was there
with me
in the woods,
our play
always some form
of running away.

In the early
years Dad
smoked a pipe
his thick
blue rug scented
with Captain Black
**** tobacco,
the white tin
with the rigged
ship logo.
The humming silo
of the air purifier
Dad's concession
to my convulsing
asthmatic chest,
close-gathered lung

like the branch bark
that scraped
my lip
as I ran in
the park wood,
blood slipping
across my face
and down
into the ache.
Sebastian Macias Jul 2016
I look out to the street
And I know what I see
The cars, the drivers
The gas prices, the stop lights
The bus stops, the starbucks
The apartments, some trees
The afternoon jogger, the birds
People going where they don't
Actually want to be going,
And the people doing nothing
When all they desire
Is to be part of the picture
The society is a mixture of
Nothing and everything
And some sit high as
Others swing low
And I can't help but ask,
What am I really looking at??
It sure isn't the truth
The truth, is right here
Away from the noise, just looking

If you fear what man can do,
You will be paralyzed
By what life will show you
There is no mix up there, my friend
There goes the 83 bus now
Downtown Los Angeles
I believe the bus driver,
more than a President
girl gonzo Feb 4
The walls are slipping, in your mind that apartment is ever a reconciliation of forced adulthood and early realizations with the faux french ceilings and the off white walls, everything from the closet you trapped that cat in because it dug it's claws too deep into your skin and where's the line between affection and possession. The Cortez Apartments, like the last name you will never be able to claim because it doesn't show up on your birth certificate, not that you ever much cared about birth. Would-be apartments once hotels, now stripped at the turn of the century, my mid-century nightmare. But it never loses the gusto to haunt you in its corridors and I think I could have learned to love that but now things are less glamorous and I only wear dirt-stained jeans.
I should have used that fire escape, I should have climbed to the rooftop and absorbed the city into a jar that I could look at when I felt empty of blood cells. A defiant permanence, I can still taste the lead paint chipping and the exposed pipe but you aren't supposed to know that and why would you.
Panda May 2018
Most of these days
I question why I stay
When leaving my bed
Causes aches in my head
And heading upstairs
I breathe in, and beware
For I'm "not allowed" stress
While things are a mess

Things are always a mess.

I'm 18
I'm free, right?
Free from a screaming mother
Free from a violent brother
Free from my anxiety bombs
Free from my role as the mom

I'm 18
I'm free, right?
I spend hours at night
Scanning the net
For apartments and jobs
To get my life set
I could move across states
Far away from this home
I could travel to China
Or Paris or Rome

But it costs too much for Rome.

I'm 18
I'm free, right?
Free from a screaming mother
Free from a violent brother
Free from my anxiety bombs
Free from my role as the mom

I'm free
But you see
When my brothers and sister
Can't rely on their mother
Cuz she screams out her stress
Leave them feeling useless
When my brothers they rage
Out in anger and spite
They don't talk to their mother
Out of distrust and fright
Who do they come to
When scared?
Who do they come to
When wanting advice?
Who do they come to
For love and praise?
And I'm not saying
That my mother didn't raise
Her children the best she could
But right now
She's not alright.
And right now
It wouldn't be right
To leave my siblings
Flaws and all
Without some guidance
For when they fall

I'm 18
I'm free... right?
Is this right?
Will things be alright
If I'm free?

I'm alright.
Jordan Hudson Nov 2018
(Yeah, I got a memory for you all, I'll never forget this, yeah, just listen to this memory, I'll never forget this ,like I said, I just gotta tell you this, I'll never forget this like I said)
This memory now haunts me and slowly deteriorates my brain in despair
All of that brief time that flew past as I breathed different air
Another world, away from this arctic place
As I freeze while they walk along the open space
Feeling the heat, feeling the treat, having a good time while I eat
Or freeze, or ski, while they feel the breeze on the beach
This deserted industrial land is brutal while they relax on the sand
Surrounds by relics and great places while I am surrounded by factories, apartments, not the greatest, a Hoosier I am
Cold air, all the way around, the towns, the streets, the ground
With frost, the cost of having Indy in the background
The Florida flag has been crowned by my means to see
What we don't see, what we can't be
The welcome sign is a sign of you to cross over to something better
I'm not tryin' to be a bossy oder but you'll need a sweater
To cross our boring corn fields and plains of nothing
I was born here but I kneel for something, a better thing, anything
I'll keep complaining until I see what you will bring, I sting
In this freezing air, don't you care, stop and stare, think of something clever, will you ever, say a prayer I am still finishing
I can't imagine something other than this
Is there land like this, out there, I know, I know there is but I can't believe
What that looks like without being there you see, it's just me
That says this will be like this and that like that don't you see
See, it's not just me
The sky above is just a hallucination, an outer being, like God
That will be the end of that lesson, where, hey, stay with me, yeah
Let's go, quietly dear, shh, the other side will hear, now we're a team
We can move on without them seeing, now we can create something together, not by myself, not on my own, but together, yes, thankfully
(Yeah, it's a memory, yeah, it's a memory, yeah, thankfully)
I miss Florida
Columbusphere Sep 12
Every newspapers printing blocks
Bang out headlines; of out cries,
For. A. Thief.
He’***** five apartments
In under five weeks.

Wet newsprint and posters
Weighed damp to the ground,
Have been marked by the sole
Of this shadow walking man.

Cat burglar! He’s branded,
By the chimneys he’s a slave,
To the dark smeared night
And the jewels he craves,
Wake him up.

Astonished are the wealthy
Who are used to sleeping deep
Now find their efforts pimped
By the nocturnal thief.

Battling with the sunrise
He streaks atop the houses, holding fast
His takings,
Some are spilling out his trousers,
Gathering in the gutters.

Turning out of an alley
Into the opened street square,
Walking with the early workers
Discreet within their army.

Hunched over desk, peering intently
Through lenses, enlarging
Details magnificent!
Rocking back in his chair
Smiling. Ruffling fingers through his hair.
Might find myself altering this one to flow even smoother! Wanted it to feel like film noir.

© 2019 Columbusphere All rights reserved
where do wildflowers
come from?
here
in morning light
you can see
the light brown in my hair.
lying here,
time goes by
before we know it.
the sun
is drawing you —
long forehead,
then the curve
of your nose,
the top
of your lip
aglow;
dust
like stars
in the air
around us.
the pink sky
is reflecting on your skin,
and you're thinking
about something.
never planned
or calculated,
wildflowers grow
naturally
where they're supposed to;
where there is
a sign
of nurture.
turning to me,
shoulder against the window;
you —
a silhouette.
the golden hour
envelopes
us;
i
giggle
against your teeth.
it never
felt right,
but
i'm moving
out
and you can keep
the apartments,
cafés
and the good parts.
in morning light —
this is
perfect,
but
there are no wildflowers;
there never were.
e fields Mar 21
They are all the Stonehenge slabs waiting
to topple over, granite foundation
of the cosmic cardhouse.
Expressionless: blank stares
Like the ceiling of the sky with
wall-to-wall cloudless gray
Warmed over with a vague upset -
The sun still tries its damnedest
Underneath the folds somewhere

Some of the grim flock re-picturing
bedspreads they snuck under with
lovers passed on long-since
(Stop, dash, as good as dead
Dash, stop, resume again)
They felt trapped,
they motioned Your Honor for bust-out.
New apartments, new partners,
new town centers eventually
seemed all the same and they
were stricken apathetic:
dead end

New installations of municipal plotting
erected in a Cold War mindframe,
Brutalism put to shame.
Rising above an alma mater
Those who stayed pass by,
Itinerants late-stage en-route
To spiritual tent cities to remain.
Rising above the rest of town
Squinting producing the pitched
Concrete walls, the barbed wire vein
Circulating among borders
Teeth of ******* razorblades.

Another life they’d never graduate
Now all that’s left is ponzi schemes,
billiard hellscapes accented with
deep-discount tobacco flames,
greasy spoons caddy-cornering
shuttered gas stations with their
mummified attendants left
moaning with desire from
beneath the boards:
Broken glass glints on felled horizons
of the ever-present post-industrial plains
What a waste slog on what a waste
What a waste slog on what a waste
Your Honor we request another stay
Your Honor we request another stay
One soul speaks through all beings. Do you feel your breath this instant? Listen to your gut. So much for laughter that never hurts.
Maybe that's true if only for less than a minute.
But prisons have rhythmic fences. And sentences are full of repetitive dissonance.
Listen to inflections upon inflections of assonant elements.

Permanent renegades find solace in their bank accounts.
Routine check-ups in tenements are redundant.
As are our abundant landlords.
Saddled with debt, sandwiched between apartments and developments.
It's a cantankerous day in the city.
Our feet are fired up. Like living in an aquarium.
A solarium is a serpent's ideal apartment.
Kindness is always humble.
So I stumbled into your arms and found my retirement package.
SJG Sep 9
Jesus may well, for all we know, right now may,
Be decomposing in someone's shed.
And there is no heavenly sword or rotten mount
To reorganise the dead.
I find I'm smoking more, I find silverfish under my pillow,
I find strands of light emanating from cracks in the ceiling;
As if to say: "Do not mourn nor await something
That has already visited."

Because Jesus would not want for any person
To suffer as he did.
He would not fetishise his means of execution,
Or reign through organised institution;
To Jesus, there was nothing more wicked.

Because Jesus did not (and does not)
Sign autographs or hawk relics.
Jesus would not condone nation states, megachurchs,
Instruments of containment, or great swathes of capital
Invested into luxury apartments and drone technology.

(Every day, I lose a little weight.
A few pounds here or there.
I find my brain slowing down,
And my heart ceasing to care.

And if there was something between us, a universal language,
I would write down the things I was not and will not be,
And later, from you, your deficits I'd like to see.

Drag the river, until the bed is bare.
And all assorted junk treasures
Can once again, gaze back and stare.)

Because Jesus was not, and is not,
A wound across a palm.
Jesus was just another witness
Concerned by the mess of brief existence
And the little feeling things that come to harm.
Little angel set in gilded marble
With your steel eyes and silken laid out
Stone body and sculpted dreamy mouth

And steel smile and iridescent grin
Steel wing end my life that shines like death in my eyes
Cut my time like erudition like a war in creation

A fire used to dance, now taking a vacation
I am in a distant dream looking for salvation
In rented apartments and stolen cigarettes and smoky billowing clouds of marijuana smoking silently
A cracked hip is worth a broken whip, this is no joke
SJG Sep 5
II.
We could throw those gooseberrys down where they belong:
The gooseberry ditch.

Lido, come down from your balcony. Are those your shoes?
Don't forget to fold your fallen gown.
Death waits for you at the bottom of the tower: don't be late.
Do your remember the film where the guy jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge?
I think it was real, but they run out of reel, so the man sort of still floats between the bridge and the bay,
And the rock scallops and the cold dead wind and the security 18 digit locked doors of the secret apartments
Of downhill and backwater old new Manhattan.

History class? History class?
Listen, buddy, history, one day, eventually, after all is said and done,
Will tell how a human invented a wheel, then instantly perfected combustion engineering, then
instantly fashioned a car from the auto-line around the wheel and a perfected combustion engine (after instantly inventing and perfecting and mass-marketing the autoline).
History will then tell, in the end, that a human then instantly jumped into their instant automobile wagon,
And then accelerated to speeds which were then inconceivably fast,
But which by relative modern standards, are quite conceivably slow.
And then a human drove at such inconceivably (quite conceivably) quickening and innovative speeds,
That they were no longer able to pay attention to the road that they had managed to build while driving,
And were no longer able to perceive oncoming hazards that often appear on roads,
Such as jars of jam and mops and deer and swans,
And it was more than a matter of time before a jar of jam or a mop or a deer or a swan
Would happen to be on a human's new road and also in the incoming vicinity of a human's new fast car;
Before the two would inevitably collide,
And a human flew right through the history glass.

Where's my bon mirage?
Where's my sweet thing with the sweet strings?
How many ladders does one have to kick down before death takes the hint and stops calling from the bottom of the tower?

(I used to be terrified of small and big things,
But I have since learnt to project confidence into my real self,
And now big things and small things make me furious. Like a man.)

I can't feel the front cortex of my brain or beautify or attempt to rhyme anything with anything and I do not have the will necessary to make good things grow from grit and trash.

Nobody really knows anything. They do their best but the world carries on by itself, left for dead to the darkest weather cycles, rising tides, and fascism creep.

Where's my sweet thing? I've been mortified by everything. The spirit is like stone and the dreams I dream are memories of you.

******* Microsoft. ******* gulls frequenting my mother's loft. The spark of energy that threw us on the street, the ringing of the bells for each hour couples meet. The ringing of the bells for any hour in which some expired family member is put into the ground or made to face fire or to have their ashes thrown around their favourite parking lot or riot square or dumped into the ****** sea.

I'm not trying to love you. It is only what I do. I'd fall for you anytime. Honestly.

Dying in the autumn time. Dying for a drop of the last ray of sunlight. Dying because I'm old. Dying because I'm cold. How did things get so inconceivably slow?

I wash my hair. I iron my clothes.

It's all semantics really. Right or wrong. Good or bad. Solitary or close.

I gave my best years to that coast.

This is how two disappear:

Hey Bambs, how you're doing? No-one's seen you lately.
They'd bet if things have gone anywhere, they haven't gone greatly.
Did you get any rest while taking some time off for yourself?
Did you place that little dream high on that shelf?
Your room is untidy and your fire's free of irons.
You try to go to bed, but the street by your house is alive with ambulance sirens.
Did you ever get that growth on your right temple checked out?
Did you ever message that girl when you felt things going south?
Are birds still in your chest? Does your heart ever rest? Us?
We're doing fine. The world's threaded through our wheel and the wheel's turning all the time.
We're as shocked as you at the money being made as our hometowns slowly ebb away.
Do they know what they're doing? Do they even care?
This fresh batch of Edwardians with their smartphones and 1920s hair.

Hey Bambi, quit whatever you're doing.
We're already in the ***, there's no use stewing.
This is how two disappear, weirdly on wings, lighter than air,
Like two poor angels rising above the broken ferris wheel at the broke county fair.

Why stick around for a love that isn't there?
makeloveandtea Sep 2018
you like the streets
in the rain
and you don't care
much about your shoes.
learning to grow up
in rented apartments
hasn't been easy.
I know,
sometimes you don't want
to get the bread,
and want
someone to rub your back.
darling, you've come so far
from stealing roses
and melancholic sunsets.
washing the day away
in the shower,
i hope you sing;
hope that you take a chance
and learn
from what scares you.
make the mistakes again,
and again and again
and hold on to the good.
when you feel broken
and tired,
do the best you can —
feel.
in your darkest,
believe
in your imagination.
like the rain;
forget the shoes.
Liz Alvarez Sep 2018
I think about the day I was born.
I had a leg deformity due to a stupid *** nurse ******* up.
They gave my mom to choose between a lifetime of surgeries to correct them or break my newborn legs into place and hope for the best.
My mother choose none.
She put me in double diapers till she noticed my legs growing back to normal.
And for her, I am grateful she choose to ignore them.

I think about the day my dad left my mom and I.
He choose 5 minutes of *** with an already adulterous married person than to be with his loving wife and only child.
My mom before and even after the demise of their marriage, would still pick up my biological father from unknown locations.
Too drunk to even remember, he wonders how he got there and why his now ex wife and baby were in a strange unknown car with him.
Too dumb to remember the person he's sleeping with, they didn't even bother to look for him or even care to notice he was out.
Those moments that I've soon to know about, I acknowledge my mother's strength in all the chaos that was to come about.

I think about the day my mother, my aunt and I got assaulted right in front of our home.
The man had a large machete sticking towards my throat as he asks for my mother's car keys.
She throws them out and quickly grabs me and pushes my aunt into our apartment.
My mother calls the police as my aunt tries to comfort me.
I cry for my biological father.
My mother tucked me in and kisses me to sleep.
I learned that day to never depend on anyone for security but myself.

I think about the day we lost our home.
My mother and I were to be evicted from our first actual home because of a disgraceful woman who had been defrauding us.
We moved in with my uncle in a tiny room he spared us.
It seemed it would wonderful living there, as I saw my uncle as my father.
A new life came into the house and everything changed.
My mother and I were now felt to be confined in our room.
I witnessed a paper by mistake of some apartments for rent on his wife's desk.
Who else would this designated for? Obvious right?!
We were then forced to look for a home as soon as we even just moved in.
I learned that day that *** is more important than helping out your own flesh and blood.

I think about the day I decided to end my 6 year relationship.
The beginning was great until he saw his potential with others.
Secret messages and meet ups began happen behind my back.
Yet still, I forgave him after finding out this later on.
Of course he continued as I turn a blind eye.
The last first time of our day, I began to see his un-interest in me and our future together.
I began to unravel and truly see for the first time that history was and would be repeating itself.
I saw myself caring a child as he would be off drunk and being with adulterous women.  
Just as my mother.
Later found out, he had physically cheated on me.
On our last first day.
I learned to let go of what was hurting me emotionally, of what was to be my future and what was the future of my children to come.

I think about the day this person hurt me.
He was to be my savior.
He helped me through a nasty breakup and what emotions I had coming out of it.
He comforted me as I comforted him as well.
He listened to my secrets I never even told my past lover, not even my best friend.
I heard his dark secrets as well as we hanged out in a beautiful cold beach.
What was to be our place of solace.
Our place.
Things couldn't go on anymore for him with our complex relationship.
He ended it as while he ended my trust.
I began to feel things I thought you could never feel with someone you cared for deeply.
But it was too late.
He had said goodbye before I could even say thank you for at least being there for me when no one else would.
I learned that the person you are meant to be with is the one.
Your soulmate, your sun to your moon.
But it's just not the time or even the right moment in this current lifetime.

I think about the day I wanted to end my life.
I cleaned my room spotless. Cleaned the bathroom, the backyard, everything.
You get the gist.
I placed a note on my bookcase.
Each note was to be dispersed to an individual in whom I love deeply.
I wrote down information to all my accounts to everything I was connected to.
Instructions were even put in place to what to do with my body as well as my belongings.
I had a plan.
Everything was set.
I looked around my house for what was to be the last time.
Swallowing a container and preparing a knot, I glanced at my dog and the picture of my best friend.
He looked curiously at the knot I was preparing.
He cried of course, being the crybaby he is.
I sent a message to my best friend saying I love her and I'll be watching over you.
No reply back of course.
Life moves on.
I know she was busy working.
I got on a chair and wrapped the knot around my neck.
I breathed in and out as slowly as I could.
Preparing of what was to be my escape from all the pain.
I began to cry, thinking about my mom.
How devastated she would be.
She would have to witness my lifeless body hanging in the closet.
Cutting off the knot so viciously and giving herself every ounce of her strength to bring me back.
Knowing what I know about my mom, she would 100% join me soon after.
That is how much we love each other.
For we could not live without each other.
I felt a tug at the chair I was standing on.
My dog wouldn't stop trying to get on the chair with me.
He began to cry and of course wanting my attention.
I loosened the knot and throw away everything in such a rush.
I immediately made myself ***** as much as possible.
And then cleaned up, and hugged my dog.
Even though he hesitantly hates hugs, he willingly let me.
I learned that even though things seem tough, there will always be a shining light waiting for you. It just wasn't my time to go yet.

I think about the day I needed to do something with my life.
I finally and unwilling let go.
I went on a couple dates.
Finally meeting someone that loves me for me.
I thought of before how some people look for certain characteristics when looking for a potential partner.
At this point of my life, I don't care anymore.
I don't look for a a person with money, with a extravagant home, rich lifestyle or any of that mess.
He was nothing at all what I had expected to fall for.
He cares for me as I care for him deeply.
He wants a future with me as I just want a future with him as well.
He builds me up and I encourage him up towards our dreams, our hopes and our desire to be better people for each other in this ever growing world.
I know I have a purpose here on this earth.
I just gotta keep looking forward.
And hope it will continue this way until it is my time to go.
Dedicated to my mom. She is the strongest person I will ever come to know. And to those who are starting to lose hope.
Throughout my life I've been diagnosed with Major Depressive disorder, Anxiety, Bipolar, and PTSD.

It's a crazy list I know, it's basically like having my mind and my body at war with itself and me.

It's not easy for me to see things clearly or even more so, to try to understand it.

This isn't the life I had hoped for, it isn't how I would have planned it.

I been through a lot including addiction if you want to add that to the list,

But honestly It was my way of coping with life and my mental status.

If anyone even knows a thing or two about drug addiction, then you know it only made it worse.

It only took the first 10 seconds of numbing, to have me stuck in it's curse.

Drugs took everything. Shredded me of what I loved and with every thing I cherished,

It was gone, completely perished.

What I needed was taken away from me.

I would look every where in sight and there would be nothing left to see.

It took jobs, apartments, my real friends, family, materialistic,

It didn't stop there, it took my heart, my self worth, my mind. I started to believe in the unrealistic.

The enemy in my mental steadily grew angrier and more aggressive,

The numbness never lasted and its destruction slowly became more progressive.

I felt even more down than I was before, I had became something unrecognizable and I was surprised,

I became the enemy, the monster, I had became something I despised.

That's when the power greater than me stepped in and saved my life with his power,

It took him doing that a few times but his love over me he continues to shower.

Every day is a decision to stay clean and every day is a decision to be great.

No one is a lost cause. Trust me just wait..
Battling your mind, a haunted past along with a drug addiction is a recipe for self destruction. There's no shame in getting help. So if you are having issues of the sorts. I encourage you to please seek help. Sometimes it takes things outside of yourself to grow and move forward. These mental health issues will always be a part of me. But I refuse to let them define me. I'm more than my past and I'm more than my illnesses. Sometimes you just have to keep reminding yourself of that.
Next page