Thank you, for the harsh reminder that I am undeniably imperfect, that I cannot meet your expectations, and that others are exponentially better than I.

Thank you for the anger and pain that bubbles over from my chest to my head, filling every pocket of my being with resent for myself and those you praise after shutting me down.

Thank you for showing me what it feels like to be at my lowest point, so distressed that I can't paint, or draw, or read, or write because I am so distraught by the paralyzing realization that I and nothing I do will ever be enough.

I know you love me.

I know you're proud of me.

But I don't know why you choose to point out the things you don't love or aren't proud of.

If there was one single thing I could change about our relationship, I would take each of the prickling, withered exchanges of ours and replant them in a garden that is watered by love and fed by encouragement. I would tend to them and nurture them as they transformed from ugly, twisting encounters to tendrils of beauty and adoration.

I could rattle off all the things I admire about you with ease.

I hope one day you will be able to do the same for me.

Though she didn't have a perfectly straight nose

And she didn't have stick-thin limbs

And her teeth weren't all lined up.

Her beauty was still admired by all.

When did our definition of beauty mold with that of vanity and shallowness?

Perhaps her beauty was instead in the way she walked.

Or maybe it was in her smile.

Maybe it twinkled in her eyes.

But it definitely came from within.

She loved people

more than she loved herself

(even if she sometimes said otherwise)

And kept her pain inside

For fear that it would hurt another.

Her beauty came from the way she held a crying body against her,

Trying to keep their shattered pieces

Together.

It came from the way she looked at a person, as if she could love them forever.

And, as it turns out, his beauty was the same.

  Let me live free,

let me fly over seas.

Let me climb the highest mountain,

and soar above trees.

Let me search the world

for my heart bound

ease.

  Let me live free.

Let me live without greed,

or dreams not

set free.

Let me see without seeing,

’cause seeing I won’t need.

  Let me live free.

Let my wings see

unseen mystery.

Let my mind

wander

from blue skies

to starry seas.

  Let me live free.

Let my love be,

as infinite

as

star

fueled

prophecies. .

  Please give me

the freedom to be,

the person I see.

’Cause the person I see,

you don’t believe

is me.

There’s passionate light

blazed in my eyes,

and creative magic

deep in disguise.

The darkness has

lit my way home

and befriended

my soul.

For in the darkness

I see,

what doesn’t

appear

to be.

The space isn’t empty;

different worlds visualize

themselves

in front

of me.

  Please give me

the freedom to be,

forever indulged

in my own

reality.

Because

reality to me,

isn’t what

you see.

Don't come to me if you're going to joke about your stress with the phrase

God I'm totally just going to hang myself.

Don't come to me if you're going to joke about your mistakes with the words

I should just kill myself.

Clearly, you don't know the feeling of choking on too little air.

Clearly, you have no clue what tears taste like after they've been rolling past your parted lips and onto your parched tongue every night.

Clearly, you don't know the meaning of those words.

It's not funny.

It's not cute.

You'll get no sympathy from me.

Because let me be the first to tell you,

To many, those thoughts come with each breath.

And to many, the only way to stop those thoughts,

Is to stop the breath.

I think it's ironic how I'm more comfortable writing something that strangers read than I am conversing with someone I've known my whole life.

I can put pen to paper without a second thought, well aware of the pairs of strange eyes that will read into my deepest thoughts and fears.

But when I try to speak to familiar pairs of eyes, my heart pounds and my mind jumbles and I freeze.

I'm suddenly very aware of my shaking hands and my darting eyes and my stilted breathing.

I can picture that blemish on my chin that I couldn't cover with makeup and the fact that I haven't spoken in so long that my mouth feels stuck to itself and my tongue feels swollen.

But why?

Maybe it's just easier to open up to someone who has no idea who I am.

They can't judge me because they don't know me, right?

Or maybe I'm really just talking to myself.

But then again, I'm not even comfortable with myself.

I cling to You with a tear-streaked face

And I can't help but think

What the hell is wrong with me.

I'm not the kind of person that can look at a cup and see it as half full.

I'm more of the type that simply says

There is water in that cup.

I, of all people, know full well that

I am different.

But You see that cup and You look even further.

You see the molecules crashing against each other.

You see the little building blocks of the atoms.

You see tangible magic.

I just see a freaking cup of water.

You do the same with me, you know.

Somehow You see pieces of me that I didn't even know I had.

I don't see myself as brave.

I don't see myself as strong.

I'm not put together or in control.

I only see myself as mundane.

At least I did anyways,

Till You came along.

Teardrops whimper down my face dampening

my hope and sinking my spirit with sobbing waves

the sponge of my existence has absorbed all it can

can’t wipe up streaming floods caused by your deluge

the tide of you has inundated my life force

drenched hopes and visions of sunny tomorrow

When will your torrential rains cease their submerging?

Only when I discharge your effusion and grab my mop

and swab and whisk your windstorm right out of my life.

Am I too ambitious to think,

I could take a knife to my heart,

and still thrive,

then this cluster fuck called "life"

would be seen in a different light...

Peel back the layers,

It's suicide from the inside ...

beneath the surface I vanished

so long into silence 

I lost my voice ...

Observation tells me,

Sainthood is only achieved with gasoline....

Slay the past!

Begin again!

The fog forms quickly and despondency casts

Visibility is minimal, its density overwhelming

With a mist so thick, devils of steam explode

And the looming frigidity envelops my fading warmth

Shadows appear and begin their evocative dance

And morbidity skates on the atmosphere's icy presence

Perspective suffocating, I choke on shallow air

And the grayness of the day looks dirty and used

Trapped, clouds latch to me like diseased vulgarity

I keep my head down but my spines aches from the vile weight

Gazing upward for light, I feel a knife on my neck

Threats surface by evil motives in the eyes of Judas

Hope dissipating, I feel so alone in a forest of sinkholes

Smells of death and abandonment burn my throat like acid

Frantic for an exit, I am prepared to give sacrifice

So, in exchange for more time, my pulse begins to race