Im feeling lost and hopeless
In the place I grew up, but homeless.
Invisible — everyone seeing past me, but not in depth.
All along I’ve been at home and I left.
Now I’m homeless, heartless, only thing I understand is death.
I left to come back to closed minds, closed eyes, deaf ears and little to no time.
To see that look in my Grandmothers eyes when I tell her I’m in Love.
Tell her that since I’ve been gone, I’ve done some growing up.
To cut the leash and puppet strings.
To close the open books, in my libraries of knowledge.
To handle responsibilities.
So that when I return, WE may continue to be top priority.
I’m trying to surpress the thoughts, but the stage I’m in, I think they call that a relapse.
Thoughts of pressing the pen to my temple or the pencil in my chest.
He gave me all of him, and I left now he feels as though he has nothing left.
But what I don’t think he’s feeling is my heart pressed against his chest.
My bodys presence in his bed.
My soul in his eyes
My mind in his hands…
There’s been several sleepless nights because of it.
Everyone wants to turn their back
When I’m screaming at the top of my lungs
“I dont want to be here!“
Everyone shuts their eyes when I tell them
“Look! I gotta plan“
And now everyone is stressing, thinking, they’re never gone see me again.
EVERYBODY IS BEING SELFISH.
That’s all the problems and the reasons.
I’ve outgrown my shell, and now I’m feeling homeless.
Time is moving too slow for me and now I’m feeling hopeless.
Everything is changing, but I’m still motivated.
No laugh is genuine.
Text message “I love you’s” don’t seem as intimate.
Staring into his eyes through pictures, brings tears to mine because now their just memories.
Sleepless because I know when I wake up he won’t be right next to me.
Dreamless, because being with him is all I envision.
There’s always a catch 22.
I regret it, but I know it’ll be right when I come back.
It’s hard being apart because it shouldn’t be like this.
My love for him is greater than the miles we’re apart.
I never felt love like this before, but that’s cause he’s always had my heart.
Everyone wants to talk to me.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy.
I don’t want to talk to the people I know, or to someone I don’t.
All I need is him, and a pen, with sheets, and sheets, and sheets, and sheets of paper.
I write because I can’t speak.
Everyone thinks it’s Puppy Love, but I don’t give a fuck what people think.
Shit a dog is 7 times older than humans so our love is way above infancy.
I’m ending this shit.
I hope some of y’all deaf mofos hear me.