Poems of a mended artist.

Idea.

Honestly thought I was getting better but ima be honest I'm feeling worse. 

I don't know how to get off this horse I've been riding since I could see, there is no point trying to be me. That person died so many years ago its hard to tell what did her in. 

Its totally not like they locked her in, sealed the doors, locked the barricades and made it impossible to escape. No air to breathe, suffocating on the words trust and family. 

Its like the word respect, the one that grabs your neck every time you try to fight for yourself. That damn word is used so much, its just nonsense. I want to rip it up, throw it away, kill it. 

Kill it? Yea kill it, be a murderer and bring it to my justice, i hate this world and love it, there's no place for me but I wanna beat it. 

I wanted to fit in, you know be just like the other kids, but I learned real friends come from the crazy. The nut-zo's.   the boring ones, the fake ones were normal.

Being normal doesn't suit me, whether I like that or not I don't know. I don't seem to know many things lately, feels like everyone's falling apart but better than me at the same time. 

With others making it through they're lives I find that I'm not alone but I'm behind. I'm falling past when I used to be the first in class. 

My grades are dead, but no need to dread I've found different ways, mostly through the idea of community college and the military. 

If I make it which, whether curse or not, I probably will. I'll keep this in mind as my therapy. My salvation. Because finally someone knows my mind, whether they care about what's mine. 

I've found people, helped them too, wanted to keep doing what I do. So, my idea, dream if you will but not really, will be to use it to help. 

Even if people thing I'm not ready. 

have a wonderful day.