flowerland.

years ago,

i had it

my mediocre mind encased it

for a few hours, i understood

it seemed manageable

but my body has changed

and now i see an unmountable problem,

surpassing pain

but not enough to shake it off, tonight

sentences can’t hold it

fleeting, like liquid birds sliding off the page

flying into a dark that my eyes cannot make

for a few hours, pity was all mine

and i cradled it like my own child, unborn

now, the deafening connection has been made

and it traps my mind

it breaks my heart

and it is only me

all alone

and i am entirely confident that no one can understand

not even the one who speaks these haunting words, filled with broken bones and flowing blood

to an outlet that is my tears

when i can’t deal

another hopeless one.

God gave me a lot of things. Unfortunately, one of them was the keen ability to hate myself. Too many times today, I wished to disappear in a mug, or be blown away with the frighteningly strong wind. Or perhaps to become notes on a page, simple and permanent, lending to a greater sound than the pathetic one I have been creating as of late. Dissonance has never sounded so beautiful than now; hallowed images never so patronizing and true. Having been given permission to diverge of the more foundational complications of my existence, I confess that I have no words for the things that tug at me day and night. What's done is done, as they say. I am sorry, but I can only pick myself up so many more times. Life feels like crawling, and every step causes rugburn to slowly tear at my feeble skin and the cracks that were already there break. I will continue to tear at these scars until they heal from the outside-in, because I cannot access my blood and bones if my mind denies their growing. I'm so mature, aren't I? Questioning everything for myself. One day, hopefully your sons and daughters will be just like me--secretly dying, little by little. Where do all these noises in this too-quiet house come from? The dark scared me when I was a child--I now find myself frightened again. Sorry, mother, father, but I cannot bind up my mouth like a slave to my secrets. As I ride through the night empty cries emit from my sour mouth, and once again, I am gone with the wind, which has intruded on my time. Didn't you know? I am having an affair with the night.

a selfish proclamation of me.

in that little room, i told you i wasnt good at anything

but you leave and i am good at whatever i need to be, or have to be

in dip shit land, the girls who love their faces continue without a second thought to a whole soul gone without them

today i remembered that i am not pretty enough to turn heads

nor kind enough to get over the dam that blocks all real, good thoughts

not recognizable

not even when lying

just a bright smiling face when i need to be

and exhausted when the pretenses fall away, like sheets of sleet off a window

im sorry i cant be enough for anyone right now

i am not fun, hard working, pleasant, or anything

just a case of a person

that melts like plastic at the close of another day

one day, i will make a necklace with beads that shine blue, iridescent of the night

like clothes of a queen

and people will see it and understand

i will be in that bead

and you will see into my soul

dsm-iv.

that little bouncing black ball

that turns into a hole

its real

only a few of the lessons i've learned.

from you, i learned responses that mean nothing

you, how to make someone feel loved without trying. which doesn't mean anything either.

and you, how to live simply.

from you, you bastard, how to fall so easily.

you, that i was worth it.

you, how to survive, despite life throwing every obstacle it knows.

you, to render sympathy and not let life kick you in the ass.

ha, you, to let yourself feel every few months or so.

you, sweet boy, are still learning.

you, how to be silent and know the sound.

and you, how to throw your cares to the wind, and run and fetch them shortly after.

from you, naming something and holding it passionately close.

christian

ryan

zack

christian

trevor

father

mother

sister

brother

anna

hannah

laurel

black sheep.

and not the kind that soothes you to sleep.

shitdamn. i am that angsty person. who felt like a lesbian because she asked a girl to qdoba and called someone that she didn't know well enough beautiful. who ate a burrito alone and then played some chopin after her steady chocolate heart sugar-buzz wore off on the closing of another valentine's day that really just needed to be over. because she broke up with her boyfriend two weeks before. yup. feelin sorry for myself. who a few nights before burst of self pity into spurratic tears and researched mood disorders. who needs her sister, but her sister is too busy with her boyfriend and important life to check if she is feeling better. im not, by the way. mostly lonely. realizing that no one is really in these shoes... i really wish i could explain it to you. i do. but i cant. and even that sounds angsty. but when i feel so alone who am i supposed to go to if the people that i want to cant understand? get over it. move on. push it down. i fucking cant okay? and its not about a goddamn boy. i am just the sarcastic instigator. not the lonely, hurt one. hurting. i am not my problems, but sometimes it feels like it. so i listen to bach as a i sit in my bed because i couldnt go to class today. because i couldnt care enough to walk over, to present myself. cancel all my appointments that ever happened. i am done. i want to write music. instead i have to write a fucking bibliography. leave me falling.

that illusion of middle ground.

i'll never do you wrong

no harm

i don't want this to be a stressful thing

its always the same.

another person takes up mental space

they or you grow tired

it ends

and they leave a dent

makes my brain smaller, its tiring really.

so i read my books,

and try to discover the reason i get up in the morning,

or who i am right before i wake up

or something