This Is All My Fault

I don’t need someone to need me,
Instead I need to need someone finally.
I am tired of being the person they call on,
And I am exhausted by all they put on me,
I am tired of being so steady.
I want to be less reliable and the kind of friend,
They have learned not to count on in the end.
I want to be a disappointment so that I may live in peace,
From all of the demands and secrets they share with me.
I don’t want to hear another passing thought,
And I am tired of being the help that is sought.
I want to see that I hold value to them,
And have that be enough to satisfy in the end,
Because I am tired of the way they demand,
Every piece of me they can.
I am tired of being used and I wish they would pursue,
Another person in their time of need,
Someone who might harbor less greed,
When it comes to what I expect in return,
And what I feel that I have earned.
Because I have spent years giving myself to others,
And I selected a profession that only abuses this further.
I was trained to say Yes rather than confess,
That I am not currently at my best.
I want to share my troubles with others,
And I do not want to be viewed like a mother,
With the patience to understand and forgive,
And has so much more they are still willing to give.
I am tired of being relied upon,
And I no longer want to be someone who can be calm and carry on.
My patience is worn thin since I do not know when,
I gained the reputation of being reliable,
And I became the kind of person with an undeniable,
Drive to serve those who surround me,
Versus the kind of person who thinks selfishly.
I was born with natural hospitality,
But that is just a skill I keep,
In order to deter others from taking a closer look,
At the kind of person I once mistook,
To be made to serve the needs of others,
Destined to always be in debt with favors.
But I no longer know what I owe,
To the people who rely on me to know,
The answers to their struggles and solutions to their problems,
Since I never received help from them when I have fallen.
This was a one way need I sought in defeat,
After realizing the strength others see in me,
I wanted to believe that they would complete me.
I wanted it so badly that I forgot to see,
What it is their demands were doing.
I am distracted with these thoughts of what others seek,
Versus pondering what might satisfy me.
I wake up with the needs of others weighing down my mind,
And I go to sleep with worrying about the kind,
Of help I might be able to extend in the morning,
While I continue on ignoring,
The opportunity to think more about me,
And the solutions that I want to see.
I have given so much of myself that I’m not sure there is anything left,
To extend to the thoughts that race through my head.
I am too tired to consider what I need to get through,
And what solutions I could offer to,
The problems that I am only delaying with others’ distractions,
And the the way I have put off this reaction.
I am in a place of need,
And I’m not sure that is something anyone else sees.
But that blame can yet again be placed on me,
Because my needs were not something of which I was willing to speak.

A Story About A Boy

He would rewrite his past if he could,
To be a story of only the good.
Since he was once a boy who had to learn,
That respect was something to be earned.
He was once seen as such a mess,
That I was told to avoid him even at his best.
He was once such a force to be reckoned with,
That he could barely claim he had any friends left.
Since he seemed to destroy everything he touched,
And it was never with the intent of love.
But now he reaches for a future unknown,
And wants to prove what he has shown,
Is the side of him that will not rest,
Until he feels that he is doing his best.
He is sober and patient and willing to relate,
To the people who surround him,
Instead of be caught in the internal debate.
He believes that there is much more to be,
Than an intoxicated mess seeking sobirity.
He has always had the capacity to see,
That he is worth more than a good fuck with a bottle of whiskey.
His thoughts wage a war inside his captivating mind,
And his struggle is rooted deep on the inside,
Since he never seems to speak,
About the transgressions he has a habit to repeat.
“I’ll try anything twice,”
Were the words he spoke in plain advice,
To a girl who wanted more than just his body,
And saw strength amongst his folly.
“I’ll give everyone a chance,”
Were the words she shared in advance,
Of the trials they were about to ensue,
And the struggle that they would grow closer through.
He was a man who was seeking to take a stand,
Against the women who had wronged him.
She was a woman who had been longing,
For a man who would proudly hold her hand.
They were not meant for eachother,
But the circumstances would prove otherwise,
As they grew to know each other with time.
It was not the first moment they spoke when these feelings were evoked,
And it was not the first time they had encountered each other’s kind.
This was not love born naturally,
It was instead born out of necessity.
Since they both had an unquenchable need,
For the other person to believe,
That they could be more than the past they see.

What Was The Point Of It All?

Is this what I wanted? Is this the life that I sought?
What is the meaning of all of this? And what am I still missing?
Because I no longer seem to know what to do,
And I am lost and confused despite my drive to pursue.
I ache and crave for progress previously unknown,
And yet I have no vision of what I am shooting for on my own.
I am unknown and struggling to find a reason to care,
And I have nothing left that I am willing to share with people who don’t deserve,
This mind and the point of view I share that is unlike any other kind.
I am exhausted by the bullshit and I just want to quit.
I don’t seem to care anymore and I want to revert back to what I’ve been through before.
I almost crave the time when I could not be bothered to do anything,
When I felt like my world was caving in.
I want to have no more motivation because the pressure of it is creating desperation.
I am desperate for another answer and a new way to live,
And yet I am tired of giving everything I have to give.
I want to be selfish since I am tired of all of this,
And I want to scream FUCK YOU despite the things you have helped me do.
I want to break something and everything and proclaim that I am done listening,
To the advice that could get me somewhere and living a life with care.
I want to give up because I am exhausted by this tough love.
I am ready to surrender to the person that I once knew better –
The kind of person who is weak and submits to defeat,
The type of person who regrets most of the words they speak.
I want to be disappointed in myself because I am tired of the disappointment I can’t help.
I don’t want to try because the only event this is all leading to is when I die.
I see no hope in the words I previously spoke because they were just a means to cope,
With that which is out of my control and the fact that I am incredibly bored,
With all that I’ve committed myself to and all that I thought I wanted to pursue.
I am tired and I don’t want to try anymore.
I just want to ignore all that I said I would do.
I want to submit to a version of myself that is not true,
To the highs I hit when I am achieving progress and the way that I can inspire the best,
To be shown in the people I’ve known.
I want to be inspired by me and I want to never know defeat.
I somehow want to achieve all the impossibilities.
Because I will never be satisfied until I can say I’ve tried,
To be everything I can and more rather than I drunken mess on someone else’s floor.
But I grow tired even as I write this and I wonder what I might miss,
Most about the person I currently know myself to be and the disappoint I’ve grown used to seeing.
My mind is distracted and I have no more tactics,
For focusing this unrestrained energy and not pouring it into my own version of defeat.
Because I am so focused on what I don’t want to see,
That I have stopped dreaming about everything I once hoped to be.

Was That Me?

I caught a glimpse of a girl walking down the street.
She was tall and lanky and undeniably incomplete,
With a sense of style that was borrowed,
And a sense of sorrow that was burned into her furrowed brow,
Alongside the concern she was attempting to not show somehow.
She held a sense of defeat with her back hunched closer to her feet,
Attempting to be smaller than the naked eye could see.
She shrunk from my view and did not seem to know what to do,
The closer our encounter became and the closer I got to asking her name.
She seemed to shrink from the words others speak,
And appeared to doubt that she had anything to talk about.
She attempted to hide behind nothing and prayed that I would not continue hunting,
For her so that she could continue being ignored.
She seemed to hide from the limelight that surrounded her in a kind of spite,
Against the person she knew herself to be and the flaws she did not want others to see.
But this girl was beautiful and intriguing and I sought to know the secrets she was keeping.
Since she seemed to hold knowledge that I do not possess,
And her words were something at which I could only guess,
Since she did not speak to me or allow me the opportunity,
To hear the thoughts that she naturally breathed.
She did not seem to know how to show,
The world what she might be if she believed in the person I knew her to be.
Since I once knew this girl and the all the secrets she holds.
She was the type to watch and plot silently,
She observed and considered all of the possibilities.
She grew painfully but she was determined to learn how to speak.
She was the type of girl who had yet to realize the kind of mind she was attempting to hide,
And the obvious fact of that being a crime,
Against those who knew her and the person she wanted to know,
Unwilling to think that there was more she had to show.
She was the type of girl who would go anywhere,
Despite a mounting terror that she would fail.
She was the type to give anything a try,
But would cover her failures with an all too natural lie.
She was the type to want to grow,
But had secret reasons for hitting new lows.
She wanted so much more from this life and yet she also wanted to die,
So that she might be released from the pressure I keep,
Applying to her as she attempts to hide everything that she has always kept inside.
I did not allow her to shrink from the light and I demanded that she learn how to fly,
Up and away from the lows she harbored and the character traits over which she falters.
I demanded that she look and see that she was once a different version of me.
And I shared with her the belief that I can help her see she was the stronger version of me.
Since I did not recognize her walking down the street,
And I knew that she did not recognize me,
Since we were approaching from different versions of reality.

A Type Of Love

I’m not the jealous type,
But we can try and see,
What your commitment might do to me.
I’m not the patient type,
But I take a pause and breathe,
When you test me.
I’m not the romantic type,
But that might be in spite,
Of the love I feel I should deny.
I’m not the woman you wanted,
Since I am the one who faltered,
When you tried to be the man I wanted.
I’m not the person you thought,
I once was when we fought,
Before I ever considered the possibility of love.
I’m not the type to love desperately but I am the type who will come,
To reside by your side for an undetermined amount of time,
And to sympathize with the conflict that rages inside,
Both of us as we attempt to love,
People who we previously had not heard of.
Since you have changed in so many ways,
That I cannot count the days and experiences that have passed,
And the number of times I wished I was in your grasp.
Since I have changed in the same number of days,
And I am finally willing to listen to the words you say,
When you share that I am worth the stay.
Because you are worth listening to,
Despite the trials that you have put me through.
Since you are not the type to walk away from a fight,
And I am not the type to settle for spite.
You are more likely to try again,
And I am more likely to pick up this pen,
To sort through the feelings that I have for you,
And the actions that you make me pursue.
You are the type who is bold and brave,
And I am the kind of person who is constantly lost in debate,
Over the judgement of others and what I desire,
Conflicting with this time that will quickly expire,
If I do not admit that this might be what I needed,
And that you hold the influence I seek.
Since I am the type who thinks too much,
And you are the type who desperately needs love.
I am still learning how to be with you,
And you are still learning what I can do,
When I truly care about someone,
And you take the time to help me rise above,
The thoughts that muddle my brain,
And my constant return to familiar pain.
Since I am the type who will deny,
The fact that I might crave more on the inside,
Over the attraction that first drew me in,
And the way that we continue wrestling,
In bed over the two strong wills we hold,
And the disaster between us that was foretold,
By the people who once knew different versions of us,
And the actions in which they once knew to trust.
But we are the type who can change,
And admit that the words we say,
Can have the influence of creating better days.
We are the type who can learn,
And feel the love is something to be earned.
We are the type who might succeed,
If I am willing to be the type who might believe.

I Need To Quit This

This used to be fun.
I used to know what to do.
This life used to be something I had confidence I would grow into.
This used to be exciting.
I used to know what it is like to live.
My breath used to be something I did not struggle to give.
This used to be a release.
I used to use this to find peace.
This used to be a habit through which I could unleash.
But if I am being honest,
This was never what I wanted.
I never considered myself to be a smoker.
And I never thought that I would be stoned for,
Days on end without stopping to open,
My mind and body to something more healthy,
Changing the course of this detrimental fallacy.
I never considered that this might become a staple,
Of all the actions of which I think I am able.
It was never meant to go this far,
And I wonder if I ever had the intention of stopping at all.
Since I have told myself for years that I can do better,
But I have done nothing to deter,
The habits that I know are absurd.
I don’t need to smoke as much as I do,
And I never intended to,
Become so dependant that I am now reluctant,
To change my course of the worst,
To be something I want to put first.
I never wanted to identify as unhealthy,
And I never wanted this to be,
Something that continues to kill me slowly.
This was meant to pass,
Until I was resistant to react,
To the signs that I have gone too far,
And that I am destroying it all.
This was meant to be an escape,
But now it is the only thing through which I relate,
To the world around me and the thoughts I contemplate.
This was supposed to end years ago,
And I was supposed to be willing to show,
That I have a desire to live,
And that I am willing to give,
Myself a second chance at living,
And be less forgiving,
Of the habits that I know are destructive,
And move on to something more productive.
But I am reluctant.
Since this has become a piece of me and I am hesitant to see,
What I could do if I committed to saving me,
Versus attempting to ruin everything I could be.

An Alternate Reality

I’ve spent ten years trying to heal myself,
Versus ten years trying to be myself.
I saw that there was something wrong with me,
And I dedicated myself to creating relief from this reality.
I tried to change with the words I said,
And what I allowed to linger in my head.
I tried to change the habits I kept,
And sought new ones instead.
I tried to change everything about me,
Because I thought all of this could me blamed on me.
I was too broken to function,
And I was defensively turning numb.
I was too weak to realize what I need,
And I was scared to share these words I speak.
I was too young to understand,
But now I can.
I see that this will take time,
And I know that it is worth the time.
I see that I had no need to heal,
I needed time to discover how I feel.
I see that I have changed,
Although it’s in a different kind of way.
I thought that the key to life was once enlightenment,
And I knew there was much in my life to repent.
I thought that I had to be free,
In order to see what I could truly be.
I thought that I had to be whole,
In order to find what I was looking for.
But it’s the journey that holds the key,
To the person who I am meant to be.
It is the struggle that provides me with hope,
That I can have more thoughts provoked,
Through which I can discover the possibility,
That I do not need to change my reality,
I just need to see me.
I have to admit that I have faults,
And that there are lessons I have yet been taught.
I have to see that I was always me,
And that I was worth seeing.
Since I have to embrace the person that I embody,
And be thankful for this body,
That is a vessel for my contemplations,
And not the causation,
Of this debate that rages deep inside me.
I want to see that I am the best version of me,
But the pressure of that pursuit is killing,
The person who I have already proved to be.
This is me.
This is who I can be.
This is my best version of reality.

What Am I Sacrificing?

What am I sacrificing when I pick up this pen?
What could I be doing with my time instead?
I could be thinking and never creating,
I could be stuck in a loop of debating,
I could be less thankful for the words,
That have guided me to where my mind refused to go first.

What am I sacrificing when I pick up this smoke?
Is it the words that I previously spoke?
Can I still speak them when I choke,
On the very breath that I rely on,
And struggle to carry on?
I could be exercising my ability to speak,
I could be moving my body to keep,
The tool that I have been handed healthy,
And learn to discover a better version of me.

What am I sacrificing when I pick up this yoga practice?
Is it that ability to be more accurate?
Or am I seeking that ability to attack,
All that I am disappointed to see,
In this version of my unhealthy body?
What could I be practicing instead?
I could just submit to going to bed,
Burying my disappointment in lethargy and regret,
Wishing that these were words I never said.
I could refuse to move and see what I can do,
And allow the lack of momentum to choose,
A life in which I am lazy and complacent,
Feeling that my time is always wasted.

What am I sacrificing when I pick up these bad habits?
Am I choosing a lack of reaction?
Or are this part of a plan to destroy every opportunity I can?
I could choose to react differently,
I could choose a path that makes sense to me,
I could choose to say fuck everything I once believed,
And in the end I could choose to sacrifice me.

What am I choosing when I refuse to speak?
What am I choosing when I have secrets I keep?
What could I choose to no longer feel used?
What could I do that would be true?
What am I sacrificing when I choose not to believe?
What am I searching for when I choose to leave?
What am I doing besides putting off what I want to pursue?
What am I choosing to do when I feel unglued?

Can I marry me to the idea that I am strong?
Can I see that I have the will to carry on?
Can I be the force that sets me free?
Can I change the confines of my reality?
Can I do this?

Yes I can –
Because I have no other answer to my questions in the end.

A Childlike Concern

There was a joy as a child that I embraced,
And yet at different delight than other children.
I was happy when someone would actually listen.
Since I had difficulty with the ability to relate,
To the lightness that I was missing.
I thought too much as a child,
And instead of being wild,
I was subdued to the point of silence,
Too terrified to say what scared me,
And too quiet to raise concern.
I knew that I had to learn to speak,
And I was determined to do so without help,
Since I was the only one who was affected with what I felt.
But there is something that I was always missing,
As I sit here reminiscing,
On the childhood that should bring a smile to my face,
And yet I know that is not the way I saw it those days.
I was incredibly aware of my struggle as I child,
And that is putting it mild,
Since my childhood was ridden with anxiety,
Before I even knew what was happening to me.
I grew up under tables and lost in fables,
Of words that another wrote pulling me away from the reality that I know.
I learned from the transgressions of others,
Watching from behind the leg of my mother,
Filing away the ways in which I should not falter.
I mastered that ability to blend in,
Decreasing concern from anyone I interacted with,
Since I appeared to be normal and happy,
Yet this is the last thing I see.
I remember the constant pressure to do better,
And the concern that I was forgettable,
Since I barely spoke and blended into the background with skill,
Raising no cause for me to have a need to heal.
I normalized this state for myself,
And I recall the exact day when I decided to challenge my self-made hell.
I was just ten years old when I changed everything about myself,
And there was no regret felt.
I knew I was doing what I had to do,
And knew that anxiety was not what I would choose,
As the defining factor that controlled me,
And everything I dreamed I once could be.
I recognized that I was strange at a very young age,
But this knowledge only progressed me further,
Along to be the person I wanted to nurture.
I knew that I was different from the moment I witnessed,
Life in its full capacity and decided to ditch this,
Weak and fearful child that I once knew myself to be,
And force myself to become a bolder version of me.

You Embrace The Unimaginable

I could have never made the prediction,
That you would become such a vision,
Of motherly ways and a beautiful wife.
I could have never imagined that ours years of youth,
Would be cut off and yet reborn in you.
Since I never thought that we would split paths,
And I never considered that you could pass,
Me in the understanding of what it is to truly love,
And how you have risen above,
The pressures of what a mother must be,
And the reality that you can see.
You could have seen this as a burden,
And I would have noticed you hurting,
If this is not what you were truly meant to do.
But you have proven that this is you.
You could have never told me that this is what you wanted,
Since I was always the last supporter of what I doubted,
Would bring you so much happiness,
And allow you to move past,
The youth that I shared with you,
And what we dreamed we could do.
You could have never told me that I was wrong,
And that you were moving on,
To live a life that you always wanted,
Instead of one in which you are desponded.
Since I never listened to your truths,
And I always denied that you could be someone who I could relate to.
Since I never saw that we came from the same background,
But  I am thankful you are a friend I’ve found,
Since you taught me how to accept,
That this life is best lived without the regret,
Of the mistakes we made while young,
And the things I said when I hadn’t learned to hold my tongue.
I was always able to speak the truth with you,
Since you always understood,
That despite having different goals,
The path we each followed would hold,
Exactly what we were searching for.
I would never exchange those nights spent,
Eating Doritos and getting inside of your head,
Talking about everything and nothing,
While not realizing that you were already mothering,
The full grown child that I once was.
You listened and cared about cause,
Of what I thought was the root of it all,
When the source of my issues did not matter,
Since I could resolve my troubles with our idle chatter.
You were always there to listen,
And although that is something I am now missing,
Due to time and space and living in a different place.
It makes me smile to know,
That the love and patience that you once showed,
Me will be passed on to the child who has made you complete.