you know, i told my therapist

about that time when we first kissed

you aimed for cheek and claimed to miss

she wonders why i think of this

she calls this a manic state

it isn't healthy to fixate

on broken love you grew to hate

she suggests i clean my slate

but i prefer to be obsessed

i know she thinks i'm such a mess

and i confess, i like me less

the me with you was at my best

so tell me, how'd we fall apart?

you know, i've made an awful art

of giving fragments of my heart

to stupid boys--where do i start

to let go of what i know

and give myself the space to grow

it was my own choice to go

so what's with this stupid fomo?

what am i afraid to miss

i cannot go on like this

i blame you and your stupid kiss

now i'm all fucked up

it's all your fault

i'm broken now

quit adding salt

to wounds when i'm down

so bad, i'm glad

to see you

how did you fuck me up

this much?

pay her

to tell me i'm insane

i'm hurt

you're my burden and pain

she blames

your inane mind games

oh, it's such a shame

but i blame myself

for this hell

i'm past help

i know

and she knows

what i chose

oh, the pain it only grows

gaslit karma

psycho drama

marijuana

play nirvana

rock star glory

different story

back alley gory

meth in the morning

hope on a vinyl

dope in a line

i'll make myself fine

i'll put you on trial

you were the worst of me

but you put a curse on me

city squalor

blood mixed water

for the love of God

get me out of here

what if you're a shadow

just a fragment of my mind

a vague idea of what i fear

some ghost i left behind

could i let go of your echo

on that pathway, could i find

the dreams and plans

i'd left abandoned

broken parts

of what was mine

is there a me

without you

let me see what i can do

maybe i

will be just fine

straighten up

this jagged spine

you pushed me away

took for granted i would stay

on a leash, your little pet

but i haven't broken yet

what if i'm a hostage

somewhere lost inside your game?

just a player to obey you

used and tossed into the flame

fire breather, i don't need you

by myself, i'll rise again

chains can't hold these wings of gold

i'm an immortal

free of man

the fallacy's

believing

that there ever was a choice.

you can shout

your whole heart out

but in the noise

where is your voice?

look to starless skies

and wonder

what to dream on

what a joke

what kind of place

gives some to grace

and leaves the rest to choke?

life is a game

prize of dreams

and I'm on the losing team

always on the losing team

wasting time

wishing on stars

that never shine

were never ours

to claim

the same night sky

brings luck and doom

the sun was once

loved by the moon

wait

have patience

they say good things

come to those who

carry forth

holding that lit torch

you will lead the way out

lucky that

your northern star

lead like a map

to who you are

that same night sky

is dark for some

the moon was once

loved by the sun

but what if stars

are just fucking balls

of burning gaslight

and that's all?

and they're bright for some

and a plight for others

and the moon and sun

are just jilted lovers

the fallacy's

believing

that there ever was a choice

Walking, pavement talking,

rundown sneakers on crumbled cement.

Knocking, raised hand shocking,

begging time for last month’s rent.

Shriveled streamers, once were dreamers

But they seeped into deep cracks

Torn up walls, we're born to fall

How much I long those bright days back

Everything we've given to this "noble" city living

Will not return, the verdict goes unread

No light, Holland tunnel

Stars that hide, I think I'm done, I'll

Burn these broken dreams

I think Bohemia is dead.

Toxic morality police

Assemble, all who lie

Armchair sleuths

Who solved the case

Convicting the wrong guy

Everyone's a winner

The most triggered

The most liked

Deep-scroll decades of twitter

To find the sin

To end a life

Then look me in the face

And say the world's a better place

Are you sure

It's better than before?

Seven second clips

To give kids ADHD

It must have happened like they said

Because they said it on TV

Kardashians

And fashion

Recycled from eras before

A tragedy

Imagine

Having nothing

To call yours

No dislikes on Youtube

The solution

We solved hate

But wait, look in the comments

Passive aggressive

Hate still rates

Let's have a competition

World's best victim

All apply

All opinions valid

Unless you're a straight white guy

Can't have an opinion

That's a sin

They'll light the flame

They'll sentence you

to witchcraft

If you wish things stayed the same

Brand new trend on Tik Tok

Find a bridge

And jump right off

Get a couple million clicks

Add on a soundtrack

Of sad girl pop

Trendy mental illness

Like brand new Fendi

Collect them all

Bipolar. Borderline. Depression

Like shopping at the mall

If unique's the new normal

That makes normal more unique

Idiocy. Irony.

The future's looking bleak

The true lost generation

Future nation

Planet blown

#WorldIsEnding

Hashtag trending

But no one looks up

from their phone

Wish I could

cancel

this culture

Cancer

Vultures

Fanning at the flames

Burning down the world

Yes, you the walking cancer

Who has all the fucking answers

Remember,

When you're standing in the ash

That you're the fucking one

That lit the match

I wasn't a kid who dreamed. I'd love to play pretend, I'd be a dinosaur (due to an unhealthy obsession with the Land Before Time) or whatever Disney princess was in vogue that year. Mostly, I just did everything that my sister did, because she was two years older than me, and therefore knew what was cool.

We'd put on little skits for our parents along with our cousins, on those rare occasions when we all scraped together enough free time to see each other. I enjoyed it well enough, but I mostly took a back seat to my sister, the director or to my baby brother who could steal any show with his irritating cuteness.

I had only one passion--to be remarkable.

I just hadn't quite figured out what I was remarkable at.

I'm not sure if my passion for writing really began as such. I don't recall feeling some desperate need to put my words on paper. I didn't have a strong urge to pen the great American novel. The true story is quite boring, and actually quite vain. We did a unit of poetry in my sixth grade English class. And I was good at it. So good, in fact, that they hung one of my poems up in a frame--a forever relic of some faint talent I might have once thought I had.

That's all I needed. That was my ticket. My way to be remarkable.

Except, eventually the poetry unit ended. And the world moved on and I was left with writings that no one would ever read. But I never stopped.

I wrote my way through middle school, though I lost the confidence to believe that I had a talent for it. As childish optimism shifted into preteen moodiness, I felt a compelling urge to make everything dark, dour and depressive. I saturated myself in the Smiths and the Cure and considered the darkness to be a deep well that only I could understand.

I was a twat in middle school.

But it was also the place that I developed my second love, for music. My poems suddenly became songs, and as I fumbled an attempted accompaniment on a Cassio keyboard, I crooned lyrics that I thought would make Morrissey proud. I enjoyed crafting rhymes, and singing though I'm mediocre at best at the latter. But it wasn't enough. The lyrics were empty to me, they needed more context, more world building.

Enter Jonathan Larson. I watched the musical Rent and it changed my perspective on everything. One song glory became my mantra and I developed a fascination and reverence--not to the story of Rent, exactly--but to the story of its creator a thirty five year old who worked at a diner and then penned one of the greatest musicals of all time, only to die before he could truly see his dream achieved.

It's a tragedy that I took as a strange life purpose. I wanted to be Jonathan Larson. I wanted to pen the next great American musical. There was only one problem: I couldn't write music. I also couldn't play any instruments or sing very well, so this dream was always unattainable. But I came away with a singular sensation which was the dream to leave a legacy of art behind me when I die.

My focus shifted once again in high school, when I got my hands on a camcorder and began to fancy myself an amateur filmmaker. I spent my time watching obscure indie films and questioning the meaning of life within them. I annoyed my family by filming every waking moment of our family vacations. I really thought that this was the winner. I even talked about going to film school. This was my new ticket out.

But I let my parents beat reality into my head, and instead of going to film school at Northwestern or NYU, I followed my sister, like I had always done, to study nursing at Ball State.

It was the worst year of my life.

And more than a decade later, staring down my life as a college dropout, professional slacker, would-be writer, musician, and film connoisseur, I realize--admittedly a bit too late that my true dream was to be a prodigal.

I wanted to be some child miracle who rose above their lot in life, and through passion and determination, achieved impossible things.

I'm thirty now, far too old to be a prodigal. And the truth is I failed at everything I attempted to do. But now, looking back, in all that failure I found my true voice. Because when I was younger, everything I did was a show, for an audience. I was never truly driven, because I was only doing what I thought would make me remarkable to everybody else.

And the truth is, I'm not remarkable. I'll probably never be noteworthy. But I love the art of crafting words. I love the feeling of finding new music. I love to get lost in the worlds of musicals in the surprise of great cinema. I can do all of these things, just for me. And sure, I'll never be Jonathan Larson. He'd already achieved more in thirty-five years than I'd ever hope to in my life. But I can take his life-changing message to heart--there's no day like today.

I'm not the best, but I'm getting better the more I write. And I find ideas surge through me like electricity. I'm more alive and free now then I ever was as a child. It's not a profound passion. It's not a torch I can carry through a darkened tunnel. But it's at least a candle. And though the road is dark, I can just see it, enough to stumble my way into the light.

I don't expect anyone to follow me there. Why follow the girl holding only a candle? The torch burns bright with charisma and passion, it only makes sense to follow that brilliant light.

I never know where my dark road will take me. It's exciting within the unknown. I'm a jack of all trades and a master of none. But I finally figured out that the point is, I'll never be done.

Haunted by a shadow from the past

By a love I thought would last

By you, who took all he could need

Wasn’t I too young to be left broken?

My heart was so open

Why’d you let it bleed?

Was I ever enough?

Did I want you too much?

When will this love be done with me?

I’ve taken it all in my stride

Excused the way you stole my pride

I can’t count the times I’ve cried

I’ve got to get

clean

That fix of you runs through my veins

I crave the way you cause me pain

I’m begging for a fall of rain

I’m ready to come clean

Our memories, now painted black

There’s only darkness looking back

But there’s a lighthouse on this map

Up ahead

And maybe if I chase that light

Everything might be alright

There’s only one task left tonight

Leave what’s dead

Was I ever enough?

Did I want you too much?

When will this love be done with me?

I gave you all of my best parts

Paint your black walls red with hearts

In the ruins now the healing starts

I’ve got to get clean

These track marks bruising fragile arms

Reminders of your wicked charms

I will not let you in to harm

I’m ready to get clean

Will you wash away with the water

Or will it all just be another

Scar beneath my skin?

I was never enough

I just need you too much

You told me love

You’re done with me

You took a girl so pure and true

And twisted her to fit with you

Don’t act as if you never knew

Now that I’m here clean

Don’t lure me back with tempting love

As if that’s even what this was

Can’t love a man I couldn’t trust

We’re done. I’m finally clean.

i just saw a face

that left me displaced

in time

still hasn't been erased

i still know

every page and line

your face, a map

to all i thought

i'd left behind

a technicolor memory

i've built up like a shrine

everytime i picture you

you're dancing in my mind

in a blue suit

just grooving

moving in time

i know it's not real

but somehow i always find

i dream you at seventeen

a time

when you were mine

this song takes me back

to the year of you and me

no separation in between

one entity

how'd we fall apart?

we were like atoms

so in sync

you held my heart

and i was every song

you'd sing

still every time i picture you

you're dancing in my mind

beneath the streamers

dreaming

and keeping

in time

i know it's not real

but somehow i always find

i dream you at seventeen

the last time

that you were mine

toss this dead love in the water

let desire burn in flames

either way

think we could say

this city knows our names

i think we've been kicked out

of every single bar uptown

park strolls at midnight

damn boy, we sure got around

i'm not ready to go home yet

so why don't we go back

to the place where we first met

i think that roller rink has shut down

it's probably boards and dust now

but that place is holy ground

it is

i remember

i remember everything

we may not last forever

some love starts to fray

i'm not worried for tomorrow

if we still have today

i'll wear that plastic ring

that you won at the arcade

it won't mean anything

but the pictures never fade

i don't want to fall asleep yet

so why don't we sneak back

to the place where we first kissed

hiding underneath the bleachers

from those nosy teachers

man, that place is holy ground

it is

and i remember

i remember everything

lightning bolts

light up the sky

wonder if i should try

maybe speaking my mind

would the words come out right?

you look like a dream

tangled up in the sheets

drying off by the heat

of the fire light

your hand in my hand

we're too close

i just can't

so i stand to leave

you say i should stay the night

i might

it's just right

i should go

i know

but i don't

i won't tonight

i can't go home now

it's pouring

i don't want to come off

boring

so i will stay 'til morning

we'll ride this summer storm

and we'll face this thing together

i hope love's not like the weather

i like this rain much better

i hope it rains forever

cause once the sun is shining

you are no longer mine and

one night's not enough timing

to say all i've been trying

i love you

there, i said it

so could you just forget it?

cause you'll regret it

once the storm has ended