Intoxicate your feelings.
Leave yourself reeling
With the truth.
Don’t run in fear
Of the sobriety of pure thought.
For it is near.
But it is not something sought,
By you.
But rather something fought.
For how could one bear
Such truths.
Youths know no pain
And you make sure of it.
Drain your brain and hope the truth doesn’t remain.
Maybe it will be misplace and you will not have to face it.
So run, fight and drain.
Do whatever you can to avoid the truth.
And live that little bit longer?

THAT crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, "O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

Silence,
Licks up the air around you,
Intakes it all,
Constricting your very thoughts, fears, feelings, pains until...
Everything goes black

I want to be -

What?

That is the problem. I simply want to be.

To clarify -
I wish to be me.

See, me - it is  not the easiest thing to free. Eighteen years of uncertainty, of broken puzzle-piece searches through fear, love, art, what have you -

All for the chance to grasp even an inkling of identity;

Of me.

But, look -
I did it.
A start, anyhow. I saw my shadow, my outline,
and without hesitation
It was seized.
I gripped it tight
Refusing to let something sought so long
Slip through my fingers like water would fall.

Yet I lack time
I lack space
I lack ability,
Opportunity,
To break free of old restraints

Me - it is just infuriatingly

Beyond reach

I see you, me. I know what I need.

Yet I lay here imprisoned in a world worn by greed
Worked like a slave til eyes droop with fatigue

All I need is a door
A little room to escape

Room to breathe; breathing space

To find residence elsewhere;
Grab "me" on the way.

(Then, maybe then - I'll find peace. Some day.)

I'm chained to this system,
To these rules and regulations,
A constant spiral of the same sights,
Forced artificial happiness,
Recycled reinvented pleasures.

These comforts can only numb the aches,
Until dark skies and cold weather,
Expose my wounds to the wind.

Lack of materials, lack of all,
Keep me trapped in dizzy frustrations,
Fantasising new sensations and places,
Knowing the happy, coloured blurs will sharpen their lens,
And reveal their familiar, colourless forms.

Sitting on my fixed space of land,
Still rooting for the next month to win me over,
For the next week to triumph against the last,
I tug at my tired chains,
Hoping to God there's that there more than this.

I wanted to say
"I still love you,"
but somehow those words
got stuck in my throat,
and came out instead as,
"do you care about me anymore?
do you miss me?"