Planet of Sphere. Ocean of Water.
Word of Mouth. Light of Day.
World of Why's.

Every other breath a question.
Every other gesture a fist
Shaken towards the skies, or palms
Tracing a hole of absence
Shaped as a closest one.

There are no parents
Treading this Globe of Ground.
All of us infant siblings, comparing
Perceptions in a vacuum of
Answers.

Sons and daughters all become
Not.
Fathers and mothers fall victim
To blood drawn from own blood
And remain as drained
Heart shaped shadows, if in any
Shape at all.

The only cure against loss
Is not being there to lose, or never
Having had any ones to.

World of Why's.
Men of War; each a Child of Mother,
Whether as living as childplay  
Or fallen as something that
Has.

I am strong enough to hold you
So hard you won't feel yourself.
Inside you, where you carry
All you love, though, is a universe
Away from my
Reach.

That is why they are safe.
Safe as statues, painfree as
Mountains.
And why
You never
Will be.

I hang onto the edge of your tongue
like a cliff that holds my obituary
written in it's stone structure-
as if every word you speak could change me
or send me flying over the edge-
forever falling, with no sense of security.
I have been bent and broken
and twisted and misconstrued  
into a shape I am no longer familiar with-
I am a mere figment of what once was
a shadow hidden in the dark alleys
and bed sheets of my subconscious.
Who I was is now just a ghost
and when resurrection is a rarity
I'm not sure there's anyway to make it back.
It seems the only time I am enough
is when I am putting on a smile
or kissing the traces of your neck
I left the dark side of myself behind when we first meet.
Seems I am the girl you hide away
inside your bedroom and your sheets.
The girl you sleep with, and sleep next to
but one you never seem to exit your comfort zone for.
I am more than just an everyday routine.
Please, just try for me. That's all I need.
Who I once was isn't who I am now..
So please give me back a fraction
of what I have left behind for you.

I know a man
Who throws arrows at the moon
He's often been curious
As to what it would do
If one of them hit
And stuck in the eye
Would the moon then
To Love be blind

I know a man*
Who sails the ocean blue
In a paddle boat
That has room for two
He paddles that boat
From shore to shore
In search of the love
That he has no more

I know a man
Who would love to fly
From the sadness he feels
Into another life
If he could get off the ground
Then he would be free
If you must know the truth
*In all actuality... that man is me

I take time to remember that the things which broke me
are also the same things that rebuilt me.
I take time to look at my father
and his reaction when I told him
the hands of time which he had no control over
withered my being with a bottle and made me trust men a little less.
I take time to remind my mother
that my issues with affirmation don't come from
never being in love or being alone a little too much
they come from long work days and even longer nights
spent bickering about the child that I see across the halls
that he sees when he looks into the mirror hating himself.
I take time to remember the wall I had my back pinned against
was cold like the winter seasons I spent hiding away
from torment and never descending vocals
attempting to outshine each other
one backhanded comment at a time-
and that it was never my downfall
never what held me back as person or made me afraid.
My downfall was with each slap in the face
that was literal or figurative I figured it was my fault.
But we can't help the hells in which we face
even if those hells are stained red across our faces
I have felt the pain.
I have remembered every moment I tried so hard to repress
and knew the tragedy it had brought me.
But with each moment of sorrow is another story
another reason my fingers hit these keys
instead of letting someone else hit me
I have seen the thunderstorms and slept under dark clouds
awaiting the moment I get struck by lightening.
Death is imminent, as well as pain and happiness
without them we would never appreciate ourselves
and each of our little hells inside of heads and our bodies
that have spent years waiting for validation.
We don't come with receipts, we are non transferrable.
We are that sweater you hate to love
and those old, raggedy boots that match every outfit
that at the end of the day you couldn't throw away if you tried.
The fight isn't over, it starts inside of us with each breathe we take
and the thoughts and feelings we possess are just soldiers
on the war path to defeat whatever life tries to throw our way.
I don't believe in most things..
but I do believe in me
so why should believing in anything else matter
when you have an entire war raging inside of you
just waiting, patiently for it's moment to attack.