This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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I drive around town searching aimlessly For a light that will blind me. Make me swerve off the road and into a ditch, Where I can sleep peacefully. I sit outside on my porch for two and inhale The smoke my mother gave me. Hoping I can curb the urges for just A little longer. I host get togethers with people I love, And attend them at my parents' home. Each pair of eyes touches me at some point, And I know they see a ruin. Yet when I plant my garden, it's already fallen apart. The soil dirties my hands, and the flowers Don't want to grow in the presence of me. I am not the light I search for, or even a sleepy ditch. I am not made of smoke and hunger. I am not a glass of wine or a pair of eyes. And I am not a garden. I am a broken headlamp in a dark hole. I am a shattered ashtray and a dud lighter. I am spilled milk to cry over. I am the mold that stunts all growth. And I cannot stop spreading.
