when I first started writing,
I thought about you.
i thought about what you liked
about the way that you wrote
about how I could make myself
as good as you were.
but then I realized
that I shouldn't have to write for anyone else
i write for myself.
and I'll be damned
if there's a time in which that isn't true.
I used to love you.
used to look up at you
and think to myself that I would aspire
to be everything you would want me to be
but I am not yours.
if I want to let my hair out
and allow the earth-colored locks out,
I will. I don't give a crap what you think about it.
i write to keep myself from exploding,
and what you did was take my brain
and hardwire impact patterns into it
and plant IEDs into my soul
and gunpowder into my heart.
and to the end of my days,
i will let my doubt and wish to be what you wanted me to be,
I will allow that to sink to the bottom of my mind,
down and down and down.
until it remains
deep as a secret that nobody knows.