I am unworthy of your warmth.
I deserve the solitude and loneliness that lives inside me, not the comfort of being between your arms.
I am not meant for contentment, I am meant for failure.
I am perpetually reckless, selfish, and stubborn.
I have damned and doomed myself.
Category: My Poetry
Actress
I've been the actress
for other's acts of desperation,
depressed and unhinged
I fit the narrative's direction.
I was the female protagonist
I assume as last resort,
I was reckless, damaged,
and easy to abort.
The antagonists were always
who everyone hates the most,
using smiles and manipulation
to draw others close.
Yet in each story
the endings were the same,
they took all they could
but refused to take the blame.
I never should have auditioned
to play a single part,
but to become my own heroine
I needed to break my own heart.
Childhood
It's funny what insignificant details stick out from my childhood.
I can remember the neighbor kid's laugh,
the entirety of a book minus the title, and the foul flavor of the Flintstones vitamins that were force fed to me.
Yet the details I want to remember have been lost throughout the years.
I can no longer recall the exact model of my parent's gray car, when I lost my slightly yellow front tooth, or the address of the blue house that I spent my first years in.
It seems that I have lost those details.
It seems that I have forgotten everything except what I had expected to forget.
Home
You didn't give me shelter.
You gave me a cage.
You gave me whitewashed walls and
called it a home as I walked warily
on eggshells.
Yet I learned to crave the quiet.
I preferred to live in silence versus
hearing one of them crack.
The sound of them shattering
was somehow as loud as your palm
against my face.
Found
There are thousands of variations to each situation I've placed myself within.
Each moment I've experienced could have been changed and every encounter slightly altered. Yet, I do believe that each and every outcome would have inevitably led me to you.
Somehow I still would have found you.
Imprinted
My earliest memory in life means nothing.
It involves a woman I don't talk to anymore,
a place I've never gone to again,
and a food that I've never really liked.
Yet, there it has stayed.
Imprinted into my brain with a pointless and uninspiring permanence.
Smelling like stagnant lake water and
tasting like warm Kraft singles.
The Hedge
It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car.
It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom.
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left.
Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did.
It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.
Picture
One of the best pictures I've ever taken is one I struggle to look at.
At one point I even framed it, but I had to take it down.
It was more than just an image.
It was a melancholy memory that I mistakingly forced between wood and glass.
It was a moment in time that should always remain just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
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Raised
My environment made me this way.
It has made me volatile, self-destructive, and deeply despondent.
Yet I wasn't abused nor neglected.
Society's standards have tried to suffocate me into a state of submission that I struggle to silence.
I was never raised to be resentful and restless, but I have grown into these grievances.
AO Poetry 
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