Don’t forget to breathe,

There’s a lot of things I want to say.

You had me so high.

I minded my own business.

Was it too much to ask?

Liquid serotonin,

Becomes my only melatonin,

Seeping through these two windows

of my, in remembrance of you, weeping soul.

I’m out of touch,

Shadows know who you are,

I’m left in the dark

Or am I left in you?

The side of you, only rays of white can undo.

Cheers to your bejeweled identity

May the glasses break as they’re clanged.

You’d appreciate the rose red stains.

As my world burned,

I looked at the match I lit.

Twisted moon, twisted ’T’.

Twirling curls, tired fingers.

A frost bitten perusal,

Of its own accord.

The solstice of summer,

A memory of war and gore.

Grim I am for the grey.

Color does not touch these cheeks

Brains smooth as,

Grapes.

I begun to write when I was in High School. I found solace in poetry. It was the way the words unapologetically expressed themselves on the page before me, that made me feel heard and safe.

Writing gave me a healing heart and a new perspective of the overthinking mind.

I believe my ultimate goal in writing is to create something that breaks through the misunderstandings of our origin and not put humanity in a box of social constructs.

That empty mind.

That heavy heart.

I can’t lose myself.

Urgent.

I write things that just don’t make any sense. I carefully write words as if I’m painting the thinnest line of hair on a human’s head. Why so careful? Why not daring? Try it. Make those words speak. Take them on that journey you’re so scared to go on by yourself. Take them. Bring them along with your empty, busy, crazy, lonely, filled-up mind. Tackle it. Own it. You got it.

Knowledge is power.

Ban the books!

Knowledge is power.

Sitting on my bed,

Catching up on my forbidden words.

I overthink.

I am overthinking.

I pause for a second, only for it to press play again.

I overthink.

I am overthinking.

All the good, the bad, the ugly.

Is it a choice?

Is it an escape?

Is it a plan to create and disassociate?

Tell me.

Do you know the pain?

Do you know of the agony that wreaks havoc into my brain?

It’s more than a prison.

More than shackles and bars.

The chokehold of knowledge, dreams, and the imaginary.

It’s sweet.

I overthink.

I am overthinking.

I need more.

I always need more.

I keep looking for someone to take care of it.

Take care of me.

Of all the things I can do myself.

Why can’t I handle myself?

“She’s all over the place!”

“She’ll never make it!”

“She’s forgettable!”

“Ha Ha Ha! She’s all alone!”

They say, they say, they say.

Yet there’s no response.

I keep as silent as the grave.

Maybe they’ll go away if I don’t retaliate.

Disgusting.

So disgusting.

Putrid.

I’m rotting.

My thoughts, overcooked.

Burnt through and through.

I pause.

For a second,

I pause.

The stillness,

the quiet I so desperately long for.

I crave silence.

A life without words.

They form, and form, and form.

I fold, and fold, and fold, and fold.

Take it away.

The desire to drive a sword through it.

Take it away.

Am I done?

No.

Will I ever be?

Hopefully.

God,

Help me.

Hello? Hello? Anybody in there? I noticed the lights were on, but I have yet heard any sound. Are you okay? It’s happening again isn’t it? The way you cave in your own home and sink so far deep that all you feel is alone. I’m sorry for being your prison, the bars you bang and clang against. I know when your scared and I know that anger. I always feel the tremors. Why do you shake this time? It’s never happiness. It hasn’t been since that incident.. I know, I know, we don’t talk about it. Looks like your monster is full. You fed it today? It’s claws are sharper, have you filed them too? I know it’s hard, lest you forget, I have scars too. I bleed and can feel very weak. There’s no need to hide your secrets with me. After all, it leaks into me. On the outside people can see. Don’t forget that. Let’s deal with it before it gets to that. We both can agree on one thing, we both hate it when they all start questioning.

When I think of her it’s like rain.

Falling, pouring,

Thunder, lightning.

The beauty, the power.

She’s all I want,

All I need.

My only desire.

The air I breathe

This distinct melody.

I hear her all around me.

She smells like flowers.

I see her in my dreams.

Eyes closed,

Yet,

I can picture every inch

Of that beautiful, lovely face

Oh, so clearly.

This girl,

She, is my everything.

Tell me I’m wrong when I say, the world isn’t fair. People only know how to write their stories backwards. They build from the top down. That’s how they built this societal construct.

I know there are better ways to describe what mankind has built, but in all honesty it doesn’t deserve the title of an “Empire”.

I’m speaking personally, of course. Everyone around me has this grand illusion in their hands that seems to be the only thing they think is worth holding onto. I’m an outsider. No, they didn’t “cast me away”. No, I didn’t rebel or stand up for myself. I actually have just kept all my resistance in my head. I could never stand up to them. It’ll hurt. Won’t it?

I think and think and think. My heart rate increasing. The fire in me building. I feel like it’s cracking, the shell surrounding me. You could never tell if you looked straight at me. Never. They all meet my eyes and smile at me. I smile back. Hell, I do everything they do back to them. I disgust myself because that’s not who I really am. In reality, I just want to rip that very anchor out of their hands, but, is that selfish? Counteracting my thought pattern again. Won’t they drown? Should I just save myself and let them all walk blindly towards hell? I can’t do either. I’m only one person. Let’s get this straight. The mind is strong. I have thought my way out of the “Grand Illusion” on my own. One thought led to another, which led to questions that I thought myself over. It hurts to think, but that’s what saved me. The overflow of who we are meant to be. That’s the cure. I have the cure in my hands but I’m too afraid to stand.

Who else is like me? That’s the second thought I think. Who else knows the truth. Why are they all acting like me if they do. Why are we scared to free the people from the illusion. Why? Damn it. Tears are falling down my face, I didn’t even notice my fists clenching at my sides. Damn it. I just want to live in a world where we all know and all have an actual choice.

Choose, people. Damn it! Choose-

“Thalia! Dinner’s ready!”

“Coming Mom!” I can never speak up, my thoughts won’t ever let me, so all I can do is hide the truth and wait for someone braver than me to spew.

Let me attempt to write with my eyes closed.

Feeling each and every stroke.

Take me down letters, prose.

It never feels the same.

There's always a different story.

There's always a different melody.

I hear the music within every sentence.

I'm a muscian.

Tear me down poetry.

Teach me how to be a softy.

Build me up poems.

Teach me how to open.

I always have you on my mind.

You're in everything.

Everything.

Without you as my surrounding

I don't know who I'd be.

I rise and rise.

I close these tired and forsaken eyes.