Animal.

I want to rip and claw until it bleeds into ruined shreds. I want to ravage and tear, foam and spit, snarl like the animal I am in my head.

Start fires right in front of everyone’s eyes, burn down their houses and bask in the sweet demise. I don’t rage with the heat, I crack a window and hope the glass will keep. It’s a prison filled with smoke and only the scratches on the paper know. 

Scream into the night and tear open my vocal chords calling. Rabid with fevers it doesn’t matter who hears. Claw my way tonight grounds to keep from falling. Burn down forests just to watch destruction near. 

I want to be an animal like I am in my head. I want to get it off the paper and rip it into shreds. 

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Words.

All the words always stay. That’s the beauty and that’s the catch. When they’re said they can’t be taken back.

Once they are said they can’t disappear. Once they are planted, they always grow. We learn early on what will ravage our minds and what seeds will make us kind.

I know that apologies can always be said. They can be meant, they can be true, they can lay in bed and whisper to you. 

But those words that are echoes still scream loudly all the time, somehow quiet enough to stay in the back of my mind. Somehow they still manage to grow, even in the dark. They overtake the walls, the gutters, they overgrow the door frames. They keep surfacing in my brain. 

That’s the beauty of wisdom, when to speak and what words to choose. I’d die of thirst without silky spun verses or an imperfect muse.

I honed my craft long before you could speak. I don’t think I have it in me to teach. If you don’t know the weapons words can be, you must not know the power they have over me. 

Compromise.

I hate the word compromise. There isn’t a promise like the word makes it sound. You won’t compromise and I can’t stay on the ground. 

I don’t make you happy, like you say. I can’t stay in the dark and try not to move, I make too much sound and I know you hate that I do. I can’t fade away into you. It’s not fair that you tell me it’s not love unless I do. 

I didn’t have a career on my horizon and I wasn’t good enough…now that I do and the tables have turned, you still want perfection and I still get burned. 

You use what makes me happy against me like a firey cross. Like I choose to make my brain fire off neurons to purposefully hurt you. How can you love me but want to singe my wings into flightless, limp, things? Can you see me in the same place? Can you see me here, doing the same thing, year after year? Can you truly see yourself wanting me when I’m half of what you know? 

You always find fault with me. You say you love me but don’t want to have to speak. I must live on the outside and wait patiently. I’m not patient anymore. I’m hurt and tired of licking at my wounds, tired of never being quite good enough for you. 

I will make it work, things don’t stay hard forever. I will fight for times to be easy again…You don’t want to work because I’m not worth the compromise. I hate that word. It’s not a promise it just feels like a shitty goodbye.

Found.

The wisdom that comes with age was a thirst I had at 22. It was a craving to know all of the answers and where to go…what to do. 

As wisdom weaves fine little threads inside my brain, I am hurt, I stay lost, but I’m unafraid. 

It didn’t come with every answer I had hoped for when I was young. It doesn’t calm or settle me with some soothing song. It just is. It just exists and sometimes I feel like I do, too. 

It just is…I suppose that’s all wisdom can possibly do. I’m still hoping it will all unfold one day, all the misdirections will all of a sudden just make a way. 

Wisdom isn’t what I hoped it would be. It isn’t the flare in the sky that would indefinitely guide me. I still must read the stars and turn the map. I was hoping wisdom would do all of that. 

I’m a lost little bird but I’m finally in the skies after so long lost on the ground. I suppose wisdom is not something that will make you found.

Knight.

Sometimes only you will fight for you. Through the fray and screams and shattering bits, only you can save you. Sometimes it’s the last thing you want to have to do.

It isn’t a movie where he comes sweeping in when all is lost. It isn’t a song that is fixed after three verses and a bridge…real life will leave you to decide what is worth the cost. It’s having to save yourself because there’s not much left to do.

Just fight for yourself, sometimes, someone else might want to, too. 

I am dragging myself onto that white horse because I don’t want to be drug through the dirt. This isn’t a movie and no one will fight for me but me. Sometimes it’s a movie screen.

Sometimes, no one will fight for me but me. 

Sidewalks.

There are cracks in the sidewalks I might fall in to. I might disappear completely into those dark little lines. I’ve fallen through smaller holes and don’t always remember those times. 

There are shadows under trees that seem less friendly than I’ve ever been. Darknesses I almost crave, change, and destruction I am familiar with.

The thing about the darkness is that you sometimes fade in and out of light. You become hazy and flit from sun worshipping to inky night.

The sidewalk is safe away from the street. Away from the riders and drivers, but not safe from my very own feet. Don’t stumble into cracks, darling, don’t stutter at the cross. Don’t forget to look up, darling, don’t forget all you’ve lost. 

Implode.

A lone pillar while everything is crumbling down. Shaking and cracking but keeps the roof from shattering on the ground.

The dust falls thickly and muffles the shoulder shakes and dirties the floors. A lone column trying not to strain by holding up everything and more.

White slabs shatter on the marble. If I fall, they fall. If I break, they break. Crumbling slowly trying to stop this earthquake. 

If a pillar starts to cave, if she starts to leak and let the tears creep down…that pillar will surely have an entire arena burry her under the ruined ground.

I don’t have a pillar. You always get to be the quake. I don’t get to crumble and I’m finding it harder to hold this each and every day. 

I’m cracking up the strongest parts of me. They keep unloading. Unraveling. Selfishly. 

A lone pillar can’t hold back the cave in. I’m don’t have pillars to unload, keep placing pressure and you will see your home implode. 

Itchy.

Back seat on this island. Driving through the rain. I realize, again, I need to get away. 

Churning waves and riptides pulls, the solitudes make me feel more whole. I don’t know when I got to solo beaches and tiring of the company of others. But I know I don’t belong in back seats where I can’t steer. I know I don’t belong in that town, I don’t belong here.

There is a coast line where I aim my run. Run away and find new suns, run away and just be done. I don’t need that lighthouse, please don’t guide my way; I want the choas and I want the drivers seat. I feel to contained to stay. 

Lost.

Row your boat, lost man. Row your boat and flail the oars. Flock to me to find deeper shores.

I ebb with the waves and don’t fight the currents. I’m made from this salt, from these depths. 

But they flock in droves to waters unknown, they want something but they don’t quite know. 

They hunt like novices with paddles and poles. They aren’t pirates but fishermen who are used to fishing in prestocked holes. 

I was never the answer you hoped for. I know you want me to fit the mold. You don’t want to learn to sail alone. 

But sirens don’t get caught. They swim in and out of your dreams. They are myths, they are lies, they are only meant to be unobtainable things.