Watching her play "The Entertainer" on the keyboard,

I was completely overwhelmed with a vast ocean of deep emptiness.

I've completely dived into a realm where I did not belong.

I could never belong.

But I already knew this.




I didnt know how to act or what to say.

I have nothing that has prepared me for this.




The little girl has so much excitement to see

but I could care less about her.

She is not me, and I'm not her.

There lied the initial problem.




The little boy has down syndrome.

and autism.

he is the only person I can relate to

as we share the same bewilderment towards each other.

We stare, having trouble wrapping our brains around the fact that we share the same blood.




All I can do is stare.

I can barely muster up any fake smile or laugh.

I can barely carry on a conversaton.

What am I doing here?

I feel like a ghost who realizes everyone in the room can see me.

I sit in silent anger.




All this was premeditated.

So why then, am I choking?




This house in which I sit,

This music which fills up my ears;

This was all taken away from me.

And Im the only one that really understands.




Too much time has passed for anyone to try and put a bandage on the wounds.

Too much time has passed for anyone to cap the nightmeres.

I was the only one that tried to split the gap.

I was the only one that cared.

I am not all the things my words make me out to be.
While my tongue clucks of bravado and strength
my eyes search for the easy way out.
I tell tall tales of how I've gotten by
by the skin of my teeth
by my own daring and will
but the enamel is worn thin
from the nights I spend chewing over
the moments I wasn't ready for.
Every day the sun passes over me
is another day spent passing idle conversaton
of what I will do one day, only if, never when.
If I speak to those who construct their sentences
with actionable words
with authority
with that self-assuredness
that theirs is the correct path,
I find myself wondering when the day will come
that my own words
will shape the person I say I am.
When will I be the person I say I will be?
Not until
I write my own story,
instead of listening to those of others
while wishing I had
a story to tell.

her name always sparks something.
a song,
a thought,
a conversaton.

but sometimes just thinking about her makes me panic.