explication

some people write beautiful trickling delicate poetry, a rain shower of words that trip down pages like butterscotch down the back of your throat, bending love into rhyme and inserting soul or spirituality but i

am somewhat more lost than that, something too lonely and tired to see that words can express delicacy even, my words stick to backs of throats and minds when they are angry and incensed and i am burning

to find a way to express my dissatisfaction, i am not satisfied, i am raging and trying to put it onto paper so that when i am alone with you i will not find another way to get out, to get it out of my chest

where it thumps like rap, crashes like thunder, trashes my mental space and leaves garbage strewn all over my tongue, i am trying to get it out so it doesn't eat me up but how many years can i coexist with

this much anger and still retain potential humanity, but if love is what makes us real then i am incredibly tangible, my heart is in pieces all over this world in other people who, mostly men, have found fit to

take a chunk and leave, and some of the beautiful places i have been where i left a little of my adolescence, the dimly lit rooms where i gave up my modesty and immaturity exist so forcefully in my mind but are

completely gone in reality, there is nothing left of childhood or innocence or sweet or pretty in my face and i am not even seeking for a way to curl my eyelashes with sugar again, just hoping to find the way to put

happiness back into hopeless hands, i am looking for a rhythm that will take my hate and make it useful, a body that i can love and not wreck, a person that i can trust and not break, i am looking for some type of

solution for this convoluted mess that i embody more and more each passing year, how can i escape this dual threat of unlimited promise and stunted self-love when it is confidence that makes men love

and beauty that keeps women at bay and i am blessed with both and neither at the same just an unbearable need to fight, to prove that i am more than open-mouthed and porous in spirit, i do not take on

your battles in the ways that i used to and maybe that's why you don't love me any more but it just isn't possible these days for me to take on one single additional ounce of emotion and still be real

instead of some free-floating gentle alcoholism that isn't discovered till years later, how do i find solutions for problems that are only now sprouting on their many-yeared roots deep in my heart and my mouth?