My mornings

You know what this means, right? This means I'm not better. Fuck. I thought I got passed this. I shouldn't be this way any more. I shouldn't be thinking about that.

I need to go for a walk. This house feels like jail sometimes. God knows thats a shitty place. I fuckin hate jail. You always leave there feeling like starch and bad conversations. At least I can open the door and run if I want to here. Its too damn hot though. And I'm burnt. I need sunscreen. I need some food. I need some god damn money. Fuck this shit.

I think my story is coming to an end soon. I shouldn't be thinking about that. But I am. Still... I should feel lucky and shit. I shouldn't be so damn angry at everything. Why can't I just fuckin smile? Why do I still sleep with razor blades? Why is that thought even there? Where did this all start?

Everyone talks about the little things. About time passing and things getting better and to just bask in whatever sunlight I can find. I'm fucking burnt. I dont wanna go outside.

I shouldn't be like this. I know people in their 50's who do more than this. People who have been through more and seen more and had to deal with more and somehow they seem stronger than they were at my age. Wheres my strength? And when did I give up on myself?

I feel defeated. But thats my fault. I think. I didn't fight back. And I'm a fighter. Even after all the years and battles, the biggest wounds I've inflicted are right here. I see them every morning. I feel them every where I go. The one person I thought I was protecting behind fists and words and allusive behavior... is the only one who I've really hurt. I should matter more to myself. I'm just not sure I like that person much. I try to convince myself to, I do all the positive mantras and attempt to look up every once and a while but I guess I'm not too believable. I wonder if this even matters at all. I dont know...

I wish I wasn't so afraid to let someone in right now. I could really use a girl in my life. Just for company. I miss those days. Even if she told me she couldn't love me anymore, I really miss having someone to laugh with. And be silly with. I miss being touched... Fuck. This sounds gay. I probably dont deserve that shit. I need to stop thinking about this.

I always wonder when the last chapter comes. I guess I'll never really know. I hope it ends a lot better than this. It should right? Fuck it.

I'm gonna get up I guess.

difficult closure= a long time coming

understandable.


coming from my experience with the psychiatric field, nothing really 'works'. you can talk until the cows come home, you can drown in chemicals and become another drone but at the end of the day, nothing is going to change you beside you. anything else is just going to mask it. that might sound cliche and obvious, but its real. what you surround yourself with, who you surround yourself with and what you partake in directly correlates with how you feel about yourself. some simple adjustments to your life style/personal life/ friends might be all that it really takes to get you smiling again.

id be lying if i said you didn't need anything. i think theres shit in your life you need to come to terms with and figure out. so consoling might be a good choice. i dont have the answers. but i do know that since i started being selfish, and taking care of me instead of everyone else, i've began to start doing things i need and i've cut out the shit that fogs up my life. its helped.

going in line with that, i've realized that your really bad for me. and this comes from love, for you and for myself when i say that lunch probably wont happen. i have nothing against you nor am i mad you, i've just finally understood the effect you have on me and its not something i need in my life.

i hope the best for you and i love you but this pattern of coming in and out of my life needs to stop.

You stopped trying the day you said I love you

Its my turn to give up on you. I somehow gave you every chance you didn't deserve and now I'm hanging up. I've been on hold for years and every time I let you back into my life, you press buttons and annoy the fuck outta me so this time, I'm not even saying good bye. I'm ripping the phone out of the wall and throwing it away with all the memories I have of you. Its all garbage anyway.

Some day, I will reinvent the wheel. How, you might ask. Is that even possible? And I really dont have a fucking clue. I just know that some where down the road, I'm going to find an exit that takes me to brilliance and you wont be around for it. You can call all you want, leave messages and hope I call you back but I will be too far away to hear the phone ring. Purposely.

You wont be able to run back to me. You will only be able to run after me. Chase me and think back on the days you left me behind, wondering if I'd ever catch up to your lies. Thanks for that though. You taught me alot about myself. You taught me that I am worth forgetting about. And thats not right. You taught me that nice guys are taken advantage of. And thats not right. More importantly, you taught me that you aren't a necessity. You never gave me fuel or kept me company. Only wasted my time. You were just a facade. A comfortable pain. All you had for me was a place to hide, a title to go behind to feel like I have a life that matters. But even then, I didn't know you cared. I didn't even know you. You didn't even know you. And thats something I can't be a part of.

I'm hanging up now. Dont call me back. I'll leave the rest of your importance on the door step so if you ever decide you were wrong, or decide you want to apologize,

you can come wait for me.

I'll just be too far away to care.

Fathers Day

No matter how much time passes and how much growth I've completed, there is still a handful of things I haven't quit figured out how to forgive myself for. I'm sure you're with me. You might be able to breeze past that guilt on most days. Maybe just a few. But it always has a way of showing its head somewhere down the line. Can't run away from it for ever.


One thing I haven't forgiven myself for is what I've put my heart through. I've wrote about it almost too much and its still struggling. Some days I wake up and check my pulse to make sure its still there. It is. Its just beating for someone in a different world, in a different relationship and who I'll never be with. Forgiving myself for that open soar is going to take years.

But today I'm beating myself up for something more important.

I remember when I was 10 and the holidays were rolling around. My dad had taken my brother and I to the mall to do the Christmas thing and let us get presents for each other. Clouds were shedding pounds of snow at the time and it was rough to even drive down the street without getting stuck. We pulled into Sears. My dad turned off the car and put his head back on the seat. I knew he wasn't having a good year. He had just lost my mother, just battled cancer for a year and a half, just got out of a relationship where the woman cheated on him the entire time and was now fighting off a nasty case of pneumonia. He turned to us and said

"Guys, listen. This year might not be as special as others. But I'm trying. Honestly I am. I just dont know how much energy I have for all of this but I promise I'll try,"

he began to cough.

" Its been hard for me since your mom and now with the Carry thing and this horrible cold, this Christmas is going to be pretty taxing on me. So if we can just get along a little bit, that'd be helpful."

He looked at me, then lowered his eyes and said

"I know you hate me. But please just work with me this year."

At the time, this didn't really effect me. I thought it was good that he knew that I didn't like him and understood it. But as the years went on, and we got in fist fights and other disputes, this line got burnt into my reality. I felt like I sincerely hated my father.

When I was 17, we went through months and months of consoling. We got to the point where he didn't like me and I didn't like him. Plain and simple. And this couldn't go on. He was my last parent. I had to respect him. I had to love him. And he needed to know why it was I hated him so much. I needed to know why I hated him so much.

After those months, we figured out that I hated him because I blamed him for what happened to my mother. For how it happened and how we were told about it. He was the easiest target for all of that. And he understood.

Things never really got better though. I never really obtained a fulfilling relationship with him. And last year, when we relapsed on the violence between us, I felt like I had buried my dad. He became a ghost to me. And I tried my hardest to believe that.

This year, I'm back in his household. And he has done nothing but support me since we reconciled. Nothing. He hasn't shoved me into any huge decisions, he's let me heal on my own terms and my own time and he's been there for me to confide in and talk to. He doesn't even judge me anymore for my slip ups. So for Fathers Day, I asked him if he wanted to go golfing. Just him and me. And of course, he jumped on the opportunity. We had a good time, had some good conversations and played some pretty sloppy golf but all in all, it was time well spent. But even to this day, there is this underlying, eye dropping context to our relationship that reminds me that I dont think my dad understands how much I love him.

I've never really apologized to my dad the way I want to. I've never been able to tell my dad how much I truly appreciate him. Maybe thats just how our relationship is structured. Maybe we wont ever fully meet eye to eye. But he is a good man. Probably one of the strongest people I know. He's dealt with almost everything. On top of that, he's dealt with me. And I've been a shitty son. So shitty.

If there was a way to go back in time, I'd change a lot of things. But primarily, I would have tried my hardest to love my dad the way he deserves to be loved.

Weekly unimportance

I've been shy on inspiration lately. Don't really know why, maybe I've just been busy. Maybe its just a dry spell. Not sure. Regardless, I've done a lot of thinking these past few days and I've come to the conclusion that I have really high standards. This isn't a new enlightenment though; I've been well aware for a long time that I hold a pretty high bar in certain areas of my life. So this isn't anything new. I just recently started to understand how these standards play out in my day to day.


This week was the finale for this juvenile home that I was invited into. The students have been working this semester on very personal pieces of poetry and this week was their performance. So, my job was to just help with the final edits and delivery/ oration of their work. It was kind of draining. I felt like I came into a class that I wanted to do 100 things for but only had the ability to do 2 or 3. I found myself wanting to strip all of their writing out of their hands and go home and reconstruct every last line. Some of them I did. I couldn't help but think that these kids had amazing, tumultuous, empowering stories that needed to be told but we didn't give them proper tools to do so. Simply writing is one thing. Getting your words on to paper is the first step. But some of the kids just left it there it seemed. Like they wrote their first draft and married that shit right then and there.

I can't really blame anyone. There was a fuck load of kids and only 3 of us, 2 during most the semester. In order to give adequate attention to each student, we would have needed at least 5 more people. And by adequate, I mean in order to get them up to my standards of stage ready students, we would have needed that many. Mind you, some of these little people wrote AWESOME pieces. I was amazed by some of the talent that was hiding out behind those white bricks and their tucked in shirts. So I'm not necessarily saying they sucked; to get up and say anything these kids did is a huge step in the right direction and deserves respect. However, I can say that I was pretty disappointed with the end result.

There are cardinal rules to getting on stage. That is how I was raised in this art. You abide by them or you suffer the consequence from the audience.

1.) Don't fucking disclaim your poem. If you walk up there and say,

'Hi, my name is Clyde and my poem is about bunnies and cake and my little sister,'

well then I dont need to hear your damn poem. You just straight up told me what to expect. If you walk up there and say,

'Hi, my name is Clyde and my poem is about when I lost my dog and how I felt afterwards and the new dog that I have now,'

again, I dont need to hear you poem. Disclaimers show that you think your poem doesn't speak for itself. Its showing that your unsure of your work. And also, its kind of slapping the audience because you think their not smart enough to pick up on the message.

2.) Dont fucking stop or back track if you mess up.

I can't tell you how many times I've messed up. I'll estimate once every performance I've done. It happens. What matters though is how you respond to your fuck up. Are you going to make it obvious? Or are you gonna keep going and try not to lose the audience? The sign of a good stage poet is someone who can mess up and not make a big deal out of it. This is really the sign of good stage presence in general. You mess up dancing, singing, or anything on stage, you pick up right where you left off and dont give up.

What will fuck you is if you have a partner on stage. Their mistake becomes your mistake and if they dont know how to recover, well -you two are done. In EVERY duo piece I've ever done, which has been two (for this reason), the other person has massacred our performance. The first time, the kid looked over at me as we were on stage in front of a few hundred people, put the mic up to his mouth and said

'Thats not how we practiced it.'

... meaning he didn't know what to say next so he decided to take time out from our piece and fucking tell me he didn't know what to do. Ass hat decison. And the last time I tried doing a duo piece, the girl skipped a hole chunk of my lines and then realized she didn't know where she was in the poem so she turned to me, jumped up and down emphatically and apologized to me... on stage... for forgetting what her line was....

Dont do that shit. You'll look like an idiot.


and 3.) The last thing you want to do is distract your audience.

One of the first things you figure out when you perform is what exactly your nervous twitch is, right? You perform enough to boil down what you do with your hands and feet when you get nervous. For some, its rubbing their ear. Others shift their weight. Me on the other hand, I play with whatever jewelry I have on. Rings, wrist bands, etc. So about 2 years ago, when I figured out thats what I do, I began taking off my rings and stuff before I went on stage. I still play with my hands when I'm nervous but I'm working on it. Ultimately, I want the least amount of distractions so you can focus on my words.

You dont invite people up on stage with you. You dont talk to people in the audience while your on stage. You dont use podiums if you dont need to. These are all just basics for me.

After the performance, I voiced how sloppy I thought it ended up. My brother responded by saying, 'Yeah, well that wasn't really our expectation out of them. This is most of these kids first time doing this at all. Its enough they got up there and did it.'

Maybe he's right. Maybe my standards are a little ridiculous. Maybe it gives me a jaded perspective on a lot of things. But I can't help but think that I can give kids the same amount of preparation and guidance as I had for my first time on stage. Before I got up there when I was 15, I got coached in everything. Had slam poets from around the nation come in on Saturdays and instruct me. I knew the do's and dont's. And because of that, I got up there and got a standing ovation. That was my first time doing anything like that. With the bar set low for us, I didn't set it low for myself. I knew my story. I knew it mattered. And I told it.

I believe I can instill that confidence in anyone who's willing to try. I dont want to settle for 'good enough for where they are'. I dont want to settle at all. I know that I can pay forward the same thing that I received back in high school. I wasn't a straight A student. I wasn't good at public speaking. I didn't even know I could write. But the second someone started molding me and shaping me and force feeding me literature was the second I realized I could do this shit. I can turn my life around. I can make people understand me when I feel like I'm alone. I can open eyes and inspire. There was nothing printed out and posted on my shirt that said 'Focus on me, I'm going to be awesome'. There was plenty of people who thought I should be expected to do 'only what I can'. But all it takes is one person to believe your better than that, one person to shove you face first into Shakespeare and say 'read this mother fucker, analyze this and enjoy it' and believe me, you can move mountains with enough support and faith.

I wasn't allowed to be sold short of 'always improving'. Thats where I was born and where I will be. I will give you that same push if you let me. I promise you, you are better than where you are. And I expect you to live up to that.

I've been seeing so many people post statements as facts lately. Definite and universal. I dont really believe in universals. Theres too many loop holes and exceptions. But I have thought to myself about what I can say about anything and have it be some what true. This is all I've really found. And theres definite exceptions to all of these.

Definition of Death:
the action or fact of a person dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

My definition of Death:
Death reassures us that there really isn't a right way to say goodbye.

Definition of Love:
the strong affection for another rising out of kinship or personal ties.

My definition of Love:
Love isn't black and white. It isn't colored within the lines or anywhere near them. Love is when our hearts go rogue from our instincts and decide to take a very costly, stupid chance. I hate love.

Definition of a Story:
an account of imaginary or real people and events told for entertainment.

My definition of a Story:
A story is born inside tragedies and victories. Its made up of every part of our being, who we are and who we want to be. Its not easy to find real stories. Its easy to look past them. But if you take a step back from thinking your life is the only story that matters, you will find epics stapled to the roofs of strangers mouths.


Definition of Happiness:
a state of well being and contentment.

My definition of Happiness:
Happiness isn't what you would expect. It isn't in a rush to find you or have you find it. Its patient. A sleeping giant in the field of our despair. Just waiting for you to come into it, to see it resting between pain and learning. And hoping that some day, you wont have to keep trying to define it.


Definition of Writing: ( i love this one)
meaningful letters and characters that constitute readable matter.

My definition of Writing:
Writing is when we give our soul a chance to breath. Its airing out our dirty laundry. Its purging our minds onto paper like a band aid.


Definition of Honesty:
the quality or fact of being... honest. (thank you mr. webster.)

My definition of Honesty:
Honesty is letting go of who you think you are. Its when you decide that nothing is worth hiding and anything is worth sharing. Its cracking open your rib cage so I can see your scars, your wounds and everything thats brought you here today. Its beautiful.

You oxymoron

The starving artist can write whatever the fuck they want to. Its true. You dont have anything to abide by. No rules, regulations, grading curves or children to watch out for. The rule of thumb is that you should just write. Whatever it may be. How ever that may be. Just write.

If the artist wants to make a living doing what they love, that all changes. Theres shit you gotta watch out for. Things you gotta be careful of. And my technique on the page is to charge full speed ahead at all the barriers and inhibitions and just knock everything over on my way to the period. Relentless and reckless the hole way there. But the second money becomes involved, the second you gotta watch out for parents and students and other peoples integrity for the sake of a meal and some gas, well- there automatically becomes a very important boundary you can't cross. You can't run at it. You can't bulldoze your way through your art anymore. You have to tie down that little rebellious beast and make sure he doesn't fuck anything up. Your art has become a responsibility.

Today, a writer makes close to 6 thousand dollars a year (thank you, hammy down facts). Thats not shit. Thats enough to live off the paper you write on and some ramen noodles. Fortunately, I have some amazing people in my life who have seen my super natural powers to teach little minds and be good at it. I'm 23. I dont have a degree. I dont have anything more than hundreds of hours of , I guess what you would call, community service mixed in with thousands of hours performing, writing, competing, and work shopping. So to have an opportunity to do what I love doing is pretty damn intense. Not many people have that chance. Its a little overwhelming. But as much as I love writing, I love eating. I love being comfortable and not having watch my bank account like a bathtub.

As paradoxical as it may seem, if you want to make a living being an artist, you have to put on a mask. I never really understood that. I always felt that masks are for pussies who can't be who they are because they're scared and they need tampons. But thats not the case. They just want to have lunch. And I could really go for some subway right now, so looks like

I'll be tightening my lips a little.

Some day, I'll look back on these past couple of years and hug myself. They've been rough. More rough than I could have predicted. More than I thought I would be able to handle. But I have. And I appreciate those who let me know that there truly is a light at the end of this tunnel. Whether I can see it now or not, its there. I just have to be patient.

Last year around this time, there was a lot of things going on in my world but mainly, I remember being terrified. Day in and day out, I would wake up shaking and fall asleep escaping from all the truths and realities in my life. It wasn't until my father and I got into a fight that resulted in my incarceration that I realized

I had to do something different. I couldn't keep sitting around waiting for my life to fall into place and settle. I couldn't keep satisfied with just being. I had to move on.

I didn't talk to my dad once I got out of jail. There wasn't much to say. The fight combined with a day and a half of being locked up severed every line of communication we had. I took that time to come up with a plan to get away from everything.

Finally, without telling anyone, I packed up all my belongings, cashed out a money market fund, and drove for the beach. My family has a condo up in Ludington that rarely gets used and its beautiful and secluded and it was everything I needed at the time.

The second I got on the highway, I began to cry. I wasn't sad. I wasn't worried. I wasn't angry or homesick or hoping that I had done anything else. I was simply... scared. More scared than I had ever been in my life. This was the first time I had made a life changing decision on my own and by myself and I had no one to catch me anymore, and I had nothing else by my own will and need to be anywhere but here.

The reason I was afraid was because I knew where I was going... but I didn't know where I was going to end up. I didn't know what this new chapter was going to entail. Would I just live on the beach for the next year? Should I check out colleges up there? Should I look for a job? Or should I just unpack all my shit and buy a one way ticket to India and never come back?

I contemplated all of those things but ultimately, I ended up drinking alot of imported beer and writing the hole time. I couldn't have asked for anything more. Had it not been for some negative forces in my life at the time, I would have stayed up there. Watching sunsets with my dog by my side. Running along the shoreline. Hiking through foothills and attending beach weddings for people I dont know.

The reason this feeling is relevant is because this is exactly how life goes. Always. Even in your most convicted, devoted and dedicated decisions in life, you will always be jumping in head first. With no clue where your going or where you will end up. Its scary. Its trusting the universe to make things right. However, losing a feeling of control is difficult to accept as being right. But, there is always something to learn. There is always something to take away from those moments and that fear and that impulse.

No one ever knows whats on the next page. The universe doesn't give us foot notes or hints. It doesn't let us read the last page to see if we like the ending or if we want to keep reading. Its all in our hands. Waiting for us to take that first step, that first leap, to pack up everything we know and just drive

for whatever is next. Hope you swim good.

In time, we would have ruined each other.
I'm glad we can't be closer.
Its safer.

Thorns

I was talking with a friend the other day. The conversation was about nothing in particular or about anything that necessarily mattered; just simple conversation. Towards the end though, she turned to me and said,

"You know, thats what I love about you. You actually feel where I'm coming from. You listen to where I'm at and whats going on with me and thats it. You've opened up to me and I've opened up to you and I appreciate that I can come to you and know you wont judge me."

Well, she was wrong about one thing: I will judge you. I'm not gonna lie. I will sum up all of your actions and your words, like anyone would, and come up with some generalized assumption of who you are and what your doing with your life and yourself. I am not impervious to that aspect of relationships. Judgment is natural. However, the difference between how others might 'judge' and how I 'judge' is that I really dont give a fuck what your doing. At all. Yeah, I will listen and I will be your shoulder or a body to keep you company but unless you ask me for guidance, I dont have the energy to literally care about what your doing. In the end, after you've told me all of your issues and your worries and your drama, I am still far too busy judging myself to even come close to voicing my opinion of you. Who am I to tell you what to do with yourself if I dont have a god damn clue what to do with myself?

Depression is a son of a bitch. Its really nothing that you can shake yourself out of or coax yourself into believing differently. Its a thorn in your side. Truly annoying and frustrating. Believe me, depressed folks dont walk around going- 'oh, how I love feeling this way! I think I'm just going to continue feeling like this because its just so damn awesome and fun.'... no. We don't wake up hoping today sucks... it just does. So anyone who tries to do the hole 'put myself in their shoes' gimmick when it comes to someone who's fucked up is making a very vain mistake. Unless you've been depressed, literally and not just 'down in the dumps', you can't empathize for this space. You can't say 'well, I would just go out and do more shit.' or ' well, I would just try smiling' because thats fucking naive. If it was that easy to jump out of, millions would be out doing more shit and smiling to try to conquer this issue but were not... because its not that simple. I dont really know what the answer is to depression or what happens when it ends, but I do know that I just have to stay afloat until I make it out of this.

I'm in survival mode right now. And if you're with me, then I wish you luck because this is not an enjoyable time in life. I have mad respect and love for anyone who deals with me now or in the past few months because I am not a pleasant person. I am not who I usually am. And I know this. I am fully aware of my offset behavior. However, I expect that same amount of respect when it comes to judging me as I give to you. Dont think you would do anything different. Dont act like things can all be made better with a smile and an activity. They can't. I've realized that there are times in life when you just have to do what you can to get by. You want to know what got me out of last year alive? Heroin and oxycontin. You want to know what got me out of high school? Poetry and ecstasy. You want to know what kept me going after my mom passed? Video games. And to be honest, I am very thankful for all of those things. They got me through some very troubling times in my life and with out them, I would have killed myself. Maybe those aren't the things you would have done. Maybe those aren't the things your doing right now. But you are not me. And I am not you. And comparing our coping skills on a moral level of right and wrong is meaningless. Sometimes, I just want to know that someone understands where I'm at. That its not an over night thing and that tomorrow might be identically the same, if not worse, for me but I will not give up. I will continue to wake up and take steps. I just dont need anyone shoving me anywhere.

When people ask me how I'm doing, I always respond with 'Well, I'm alive'. And right now, thats all the fucking matters.

The world owes me care bears.

Another attempt at this: Begining to Poem #2

(Alright, that last piece only got one bit of advice ( which I appreciate, THANK YOU STRANGE!!) and I'm assuming its because it was a sappy 'love' poem. Or because you're all scurd. I will mess with it later I suppose...

Anyway, that genre of poetry becomes a broken record after a while. So this is something I was playing with in my head earlier, and I know theres transitions/metaphors/ alot of shit I need HELP with so dont leave me hanging on this one! I want this polished up!! WORKSHOP MY PIECE FOR ME!! be my class room.)


-No title yet-

When I was younger,
my parents had to leave lights on when I slept.
I had night lights and closet lights and hall lights
to keep me from believing that dreaded
oh so perverted monster was going to pop out of his
tiny concealed hiding spot and eat
my
fucking head off.
Somehow the lights kept him away,
kept me hiding under a lit safe zone so that when my eyes shut
I would be able to go off into my imagination and fight him off.

See I thought I was a super hero. I wore
the Flash and Batman onesie pajamas to bed and refused
to take them off the next day because
who else was going to take care of all the bad guys.
I thought I had super powers. Thought I could save
my GI Joes from my stuffed animals and could battle
off any other enemy.
But when monsters became cancer
and night lights turned to hospital florescence
there was no place for me to feel safe.
To feel guarded from the evils that
I was too young to understand or believe in.

I started to fall into that darkness.
began sleeping under my blankets and hiding behind
scowls hoping that no one would be able
to see all the damage
that enemy had done to me.
But I was wrong. I had
taken off my cape and replaced it with
the face of a bad guy.
My stare told the story of war victims
of video taped Christmas mornings and
chemotherapy.
A wound that bled through my 9 year old life
and no one expected me to be able
cope with it.

But I blamed myself. Thought that
maybe I wasn't smart enough or maybe I wasn't
funny enough or I wasn't
enough of a super hero to fight off any real enemies.
I felt my insides roll over on themselves,
felt them twist my perception of my reflection into
hatred and self destruction.
I became
a monster.
I wore bad attempts with razor blades and thought
I deserved to try harder.
Thought that no one would treat me better than I treat myself
so I let go of my dreams
escaped into ideas that
I was nothing and I wouldn't amount to anything and
I should do everything I can
to let people see me
the way I see myself.

So I robbed my friends of a real friendship,
stole their parents belongings and sold them for drugs
when they trusted me.
When they thought that I would fight with them and
not against them
I became
what I was afraid of all along.
And when I realized who I had become,
and what I had really done,

there was no place for me to hide.
No safe zone to go back to
and no super powers to fight back with


See I am a monster.
I am swelling with self destruction and
razor blades.
I've fucked up alot of friendships,
I have shattered my own potential
for the sake of feeling bad for myself and
I've given up on who I am but

god damnit I am beautiful.
Even if I have hated myself for things I cant control,
even if I can't see myself the way others see me,
even if I still sleep with the lights on
and hope that tomorrow I will wake up and be able to put up
a real fight

I am
a beautiful
monster.