Found

You don't always look for happy 'things are alright' poems. You want something to tell you that you're not alone in what you've thought and felt, both taking and giving from the idea that you're the only person in your life that's living. Maybe you've been labelled as the weird one from the start. Every family has the artist, and it feels like you're it's only heart. You're beating your tissues against walls of unthinking. You're the only damn person that doesn't resort to drinking to make clocks go faster or blur as you're plastered like magazine sheets on a girls wall or following pastors words like they sprang from your own mind. You're making a new path, but slowly, and that's fine. You'll know your body, your thoughts, your patterns. Wait from someone to know them or fix them or light lanterns down where foresight meets what could or could not have been, as the compass of security and new things won't spin.

Live everyone else, you doubt where you are. You don't trust your head, and you've never met your heart. I'm scared I can't do anything, because we're all chained to a bed, and for me that comes with panicking over what might happen when I'm dead. But I can't be the only one who sees that clock read the same time every day by coincidence, or doubt that love exists despite my parents being evidence. I'm terrified to be silent, but no more confident to talk. Our lives are children down the street scraping asphalt with chalk. The girl always draws in pink, the boys in green and blue. We're the kid who always draws a circle regardless of if he wants to.