link here"I look deeply back into your darkened pools,
the things that you call eyes.
I can't read them as I usually can,
because you see,
my eyes are blurred.
My eyes filling with tears,
tears that you put there.
And as I continue to stare into your eyes all I hear is the shaking in my own conscious voice.
I hear the anger in your voice,
the bitter spite,
the razor blade that hits against your lips - I'm amazed it doesn't cause blood to run...And then you say,
"I don't say this to hurt you,
I'm wise,
I know what will happen."
And then I say to myself,
'what?'
Your words,
they sting,
but you have no idea how far your words cut.
Or maybe you do,
and that is why you choose them for your weapon.
You choose to speak now,
when I am trapped.
I'm closed in this car without an escape.
Your words absorbing into the recesses of my mind.
So without a place to turn,
without a way to drown this out,
I soak it up.
I open everything, but my heart - because you see,
that has been bleeding forever r already,
it can't suffer one more blow.
I heard so much,
but I understood so little.
"Fight it!" You say,
"I understand this is you."
"I have to face myself too, can't you do the same?!"
"If I have ever done anything to you,
you know that I never meant it,
know that I have tried to be the best that I can be."
You demand it of me,
you demand me to accept your words!
Well,
to you,
I say,
'rewind'.
Rewind back to step one,
"I don't say this to hurt you,"
you say,
"I am wise,
I know what will happen."
Then damn you,
you know what you say hurts me,
you just deny it and lie about it,
and give it a name -wisdom.
I don't want your wisdom if your wisdom is only whispered lies of what you want me to become.
You seem to know everything that you've ever done right and nothing that you've ever done wrong.
And you seem to know everything to make it hurt,
but nothing that can make it better.
You only know how to communicate when you want to,
and unfortunately never when I am able to.
You refuse me when I come to you,
and you push me away when I reach out.
And yet,
you'll be quick to judge in times when you feel righteous.
Damn your judgment.
Damn you.
Damn your lies.
That's all they are,
and if this page is a mirror of my denial,
SO BE IT.
I'll love my denial more than I'll ever love you.
I'll love my conscious lies to myself more than I'll ever love your condemnations. I'll love the lies they tell me,
those who think I'm something better than what you think I am.
Those who think that I am able to amount to something that isn't cold.
AND maybe they know better.
Maybe they know better because I didn't come from them and their blood,
and maybe they know better because I can forge better relationships with those who don't hurt me outright,
those who don't confuse me,
those who don't fuck with my identity,
my sexuality,
my future,
my self concept,
and my soul.
"And I know you won't return,
because you're afraid that if you come back,
you'll realize what you h ave missed,
you'll realize how bad you want this back,
and you'll be afraid that you'll have to leave what you have established for yourself,
to come back here,
to come back home."
That is what you say to me.
And to this do you know what I say?
DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE.
But I won't be afraid to come back because I'll realize what I have missed,
I'll be afraid to come back to the position of mediator,
to the position of scapegoat,
and black-sheep.
To the position of clay,
a game piece,
a voodoo doll.
I won't come back to be punished,
hated,
discriminated,
played,
mediated,
monopolized,
misunderstood,
or mislead.
I won't come back to be wounded,
beaten,
or abused.
I won't come back to have my newly healed wings clipped.
I won't come back to have my established identity ruined.
I won't come back.
I won't come back out of "Fear of Lost Love" because if the love really was there,
you know I wouldn't leave.
You know it.
You know I wouldn't leave love because I feared it.
You know I thri ve in love.
You know I would drown gladly in love.
You know it,
because you see what happens when those that I love betray me.
And who could see this better than you - my mother?
Your eyes are fine tuned to such pain,
especially my own.
Perhaps you have reflected your own issues on me again.
Look deep into your troubled past and grapple with it yourself.
Stop pushing it onto me,
stop trying to meld it and myself together.
SEPERATE US."
Nov 17 7:41 AM MST 
