You are so much more

didn’t appreciate you as much as one might
And maybe you might want to blame me
And I hope you do because it is my fault

It is not your fault that you let me in and I couldn’t keep my door open enough to let your light in

It is not your fault that you felt so deeply for someone who makes webs out of people and fights to weave through it when the person packs up and flees

It is not your fault that you are choosing happiness over heart ache, if anything, isn’t that more rewarding than going to bed wondering whether someone is going to leave or not?

You are a strong light, not just a strong shoulder for those who can’t always feel.

You are not a sponge even if it seems like you just keep soaking and your heart keeps growing

You are not the broken promises used to build you up and destroy you lower

You are not the pain you feel or the people who try to take your good things away

You are you, you are yourself, you are a good person

You are doing what’s best for you and you will get through

To you, CinFox.

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I see, or so I thought I saw
Something less but something more

I saw, or so I think I saw
Something more out of something less

And I saw what I see now and I see what I saw then
Out of something less came something more

Chaotic Technicality

Music I listened to while typing this poem out:

Without You – Oh Wonder

I didn’t want to push, rush the chaos                                                                     Oh good old chaos, destruction                                                                           reconstruction of this mind digging torture

You know, no one can drill in                                                                                 deep where there is only surface now                                                                       so get chipping away

Use your best tools and your latest techniques                                                 mine are so old and as concrete                                                                                     I don’t worship things anymore                                                                               but I like the idea that I’m already                                                                           creating a home for myself

After I leave this dreaded head space                                                                           I walk around so weak and I used to                                                                     appear quiet because I didn’t want                                                                     people to know about me

Now I trudge around dragging my demons                                                       along my skin for people to see but                                                                             I don’t bother with quick answers

Conversations, I love those. Intellectual                                                             spill your cries and what makes you cringe.

I live for what’s holding people back so                                                                     I can compare my pain I need out,                                                                             so maybe stop digging now and                                                                               just throw yourself ontop of me                                                                             while my body sleeps and                                                                                         soul drifts towards the bottom

Graved Truths

I’d be lying
If I didn’t try
To tell you the truth
About wanting to lay down
Inside and stew
In my own grave

I’d be lying
If I spilt but didn’t cry
Whenever I needed to escape
This headspace cave
Built from nothing

Hospital Corners

Like a hotel, our bodies are being rented out                                                   temporarily I squander around                                                                                       for rooms that aren’t occupied                                                                                       but every spot is no longer vacant.

As I round the corners, slightly folded                                                                   into eachother like a hospital bedsheet                                                                       I realize that I don’t have Schitzophrenia                                                                 but I have conversations with people who aren’t there

Are they? Maybe they’re all the versions of myself talking to people they used to know.

I was already missing you, but looking at your pictures made me feel.

They’re a bit outdated, a few months old, but tears started forming in the puches beside my eyes.

Not because you’re not good looking and your face makes me cry, don’t ever think that. It’s because I realized how much I actually want you in my life. I may not completely understand what you’re all about, what exactly triggers you all the time, but that’s okay. Maybe I’m never supposed to completely understand.

Many people have come and gone in my life, whether I pushed them away or not, but you are one of the few people left in my life who I can come to about anything.

Some of those people have made me feel what you make me feel, and I’ve met some people who I’ve said ” you are unlike any other “, but I truly feel as though you are different and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

You’ve told me things, some of them I may not remember until you bring it up, some I will never forget and some I’m glad you told me because I know how to treat you.

I love you, not because I can’t have you, not only that, not just because I am jealous of those who get to spend time with you in person, not because others may have pieces of yout hat I have never had or will never have, but because I just simply do. You have such a beautiful soul. A beautiful brain.

You scare me and don’t scare me at the same time and both of those frighten me.

I know that yout ake space, and maybe sometimes you ignore me, but I’d like to think you care about me still, and even if you told me one day that you no logner wanted me to exist in your life, I’d walk away, but I’d still be here for you if you needed something.

I write about you more than you probably know.

I don’t think about you 24/7, but sometimes I write about you to distract me from other people, sometimes I convince myself I care about you and force it because sometimes I can’t just be you know?

As complicated as I may be sometimes, and selfish and confusing and manipulating, you’re still fucking here and I thank you for that.

Bue.

B.C.

Induced preventions

Ranting, screaming through my fingers but for some reason there is a block

Where, when why are there so many things stopping me, i’m allowing them to stop me, prevent me from simply waking up from my zombie-induced body bag

Simply trudging, walking, running through the subway tracks, hoping they’ll cave in and I’ll fall off the brink, edge shattered, sharp.

Just finding my way through the slow dancing legs the trees are waving to me, at me.