I'm sorry that I have nothing to give you other than another unwanted, long-winded message. I realize I am not at all the voice you want to hear today but I want to write this message because there is an infinitesimally small chance that this could make things at least a little bit better. And if my words can still somehow make you feel better then maybe I will feel a little bit less guilt. If not, things can only get so much worse. I digress.

All I have to say is that I hope you are good. I can only hope that this message doesn't ruin that. I hope you're where you want to be, doing what you want to do, surrounded by people you want to be with. I still want that for you. After over a year of knowing you, my feelings haven’t changed. I don’t know if they ever will. I guess anything I have to say doesn’t really matter much now, but I want you to know that you’ll always have people who care about you and think about you. Maybe you already know that or are tired of hearing it but it is true. And because of that I’m certain you’ll have a good day today. I hope you’ll remember good days like this when you’re feeling down. Hopefully those days are now few and far between.

Early one morning, I saw the dark.

In a mirror, my glance tells us:

Sleepless, deteriorating soul.

One day someone noticed my coffee-stained tee.

I began to copy what I wanted to be,

A light beaming with energy.

I am to imitate until I can become

One who talks about nothing and everything –

Infinitely growing.

drinking the sun through petal straws

     I climb the steps to the sun

     standing proud, leading the way

     turning my back on obscurity

     bobbing to dance of the clouds

drinking the sun through petal straws

     hanging on to wisps of dreams

     vibrant in rich June earth

     an unfinished sketch

     of pure vanilla delight

drinking the sun through petal straws

     a candle in my hands

     sunlight coursing through veins

     dripping my bouquets

     bees dancing tangos

drinking the sun through petal straws

     my luminous brown eyes

     wink in delight

     leaving scattered trails

     of seed progeny as I go

drinking the sun through petal straws

     nectar orgy of hummingbirds

     in cheerful sunshine emotions

     exposed roots of my strength

     transparent smiles of my soul

drinking the sun through petal straws

     a hundred smiles along the way

     sky sheeted with pillow clouds

     my spirit opens its petals

     knowing the sun always rises.

i'm here because I deserve it

because I shouldnt have yelled 

because no apology is ever enough

because now you're gone 

I watch tiles fade into the distance 

pull the trigger

fingers wet

vision blurred 

shots hurt

but never as much as the acid 

coming back up to remind me

everything I want to forget

if you rip my head open,

you will see:

whimpers of uncertainty,

moans of fear,

screams of emptiness.

but not here.

not when i look around and 

the calm would ebb through me,

like a prayer

wishing and wanting 

for flowers to grow from my stomach

and bubble out of my mouth.

not here,

not when i can finally, finally, close my eyes

and the depth of my thoughts

would soak my feet,

wet my limbs,

drown my lungs with ash.

not here.

not when i can sigh

and my tongue will not

twist

and pull

and burn from blasphemy.

no.

this is peace.

it is

surprisingly painful

                              (like being stabbed 

                                   in the heart 

                              with shards of pasta)

to be compared

with someone

you know

you can never catch up to

                                        (a person with innate ability,

                                  better parents who are more invested,

                                                  and dedication)

and every time

it makes me hate myself 

                                     (for being jealous, 

                              and for not being enough)

more, and more

I was young and stupid.

Everyday I awoke with a fresh palate of colors, 

One day I saw they had blended into a muddy brown.

My paintings didn't have the beauty I once thought they did.

I stopped painting.

I was young and stupid, but at least I was alive.