i admit i am a bit broken i dont fit quite right and i am doing my best to write but i do not belong to the poems i pen my punctuation is wrong and when i correct it, it is wronger, still. do you see?
not even that is a word but yet, i pen it as if i have permission to give letters their purpose but i'll be damned if i do not try. i love you a lot like my writing i give you everything and nothing i leave you with hollows and scream at your emptiness and drown you with an abundance of my suffering as if agony was something i had any right to share. i share it anyways, i write anyways i make messes, i make mistakes i break and i take without any consequence and when death comes to tuck me in he asks me to repent and i bare my teeth i loved you with everything i had in me unapologetically i gave to you my poetry and won't even write myself home again so to hell with my penance condemn me, condemn me, condemn me
