Somewhere in the space between where my right mind lingers and my wrong mind dives,
there’s a place that is nothing other than a daze of blank pages.
And it is there where everything is empty.
And sometimes that’s worse than the dark when everything slopes down into the lowest of lows
sometimes it’s worse than when everything is spinning into the highest of highs.
Because it’s just nothing.
And even though it’s nothing,
it hurts like the sky fell down.
It hurts like I carry it always.
It hurts like I do not know how to put it down.
And trust me when I say…. it hurts like it’s only me who can save me, knowing I cannot save me.
Somewhere between my right mind and my wrong mind.. there’s a space that is so empty,
it’s the heaviest thing in the world.
But I carry it.. because there’s no other choice.
And more often than not, this world weighs so fucking much.
Sometimes I pretend it’s light and sometimes I smile
I have this way about me…
I take everything painful, let it linger inside as long as I need it to,
and then I turn it into something more.
Art, poetry, whatever you want to call it.
That’s what I have to do to make sense of it.
Some people just let it roll away,
ome people hold it until it hardens them.
Some people let it turn them cold.
I do all of the above and write about it too.
I write about it until the lesson is clear.
Until I find the reason why it had to hurt like that.
And so… I write you, so it’s not just a wasted moment of some asshole who didn’t know what he really wanted until someone was ripped open.
I write you so it’s not just some stupid mistake I made that meant nothing
but I’m still picking up the pieces asking why years later.
I write you, not to give you more power than you deserve in my story,
If that were the case, you wouldn’t even exist in my story.
But I write you to understand why you crossed my path.
And I know now who I’m not, who you are, and mostly that not everyone is good.
Even when they pretend to have good intentions,
when their heart seems as though it’s pure gold.
I learned to stop believing in everyone so much that I didn’t believe in me.
I learned that people will say anything to keep you until they no longer need you and then they just leave.
And I leaned to be okay with that.
So sometimes I still write about some careless boy who almost broke me,
Because he didn’t know who he was yet.
grasping pieces from anyone who seemed whole, and walking away as though he never touched me at all.
Took me a long time to get over that.
I gave you more credit than you deserved,
I wanted you to still be good.
That was easier than admitting you never were at all.
We are very different people.
I learned that the hard way.
You were quick to throw me under the bus,
Point your finger my way, as if I had a hand in ruining you.
Isn’t it funny how time reveals patterns and lessons and truth and lies.
So I write about it sometimes just to remind myself that I am good and worthy and so much more than the way you reduced me.
I write about it to show how anyone can rise from the hardest fall.
I’m living proof that anyone can survive a hell and come back stronger, wiser, and still burn beautiful
He Showes me the beauty still left in these pieces,
He shows me the proof that I have a purpose here.
He Holds the sky a little longer, while I stand under it, searching for my name that I swore was written there once.
Perhaps the last storm that blew through grabbed my name, took it into the night, tried to pocket my thunder, used my light to show the stars how to shine.
Or maybe it’s all in my mind and my name was never there anyway.
I try to piece together the skyline,
take note of how the sun burns so gracefully and it’s really brave the way she’s at peace with being unseen
and I afraid handing the whole sky over to the moon.
I’ve always been close with the night.
I’ve been having conversations with the moon since I started talking and one thing I know for sure is our secrets are safe up there.
I can’t speak for the stars though,
I threw so many wishes to them,
they never made their way back to me,
but still they twinkle and shine,
hold pieces of wishes and time.
The night doesn’t hold the answers anymore,
no proof or message to show me the way.
But sometimes I chase the light the fireflies carry,
the flames go out before I can see where they hide,
I stay with the dark, listen for clues, and the trees say nothing at night.
I go there sometimes and pick them for myself.
I want to hold the blooms while I’m alive,
not be covered with them after I die.
I never did let my roots stay anywhere long enough to call it home,
but sometimes I borrow the light from the wings of those fireflies,
make believe they’re candles, sit with the trees and say it’s my birthday.
The cake is always good here,
maybe this is the year they shed light like proof,
when I close my eyes, make a wish, and blow out these candles.
Hold the sky a little longer.
I can almost see my name again
