This Life

And I am thankful

For all

For all of the relationships gone awry

All of the fuckboys

Who brought hate

Into my life

For the confusion

Over every single multitude

Of my identity

For all the nights I laid

Awake and cried

And wondered why

For the fact that I

Was afforded the small luxuries

Of paper and pen

Of a home and of Zen

Of a path with enough cracks

To reflect

Something so magical and twisted

Of a life

Filled with heartache and bizarre

Happiness in the most accidental places

Of new beginnings everyday

Of something I am

Always longing for

Yet never reaching

For without my words

For without poetry

My story would not have been told

And without this life

There would have been nothing to tell.



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