The Posture of an Ex-Rainforest Tree

I haven't been fine since I thought life had something to find. Someone to hold hands and ressurect all the time I killed with silent cries. I haven't been alright since I lost faith in a fate forces into my heart through my face. An ideology purporting hypocrisy that stands around like a built bill board, bored devoid of attention, easily ignored, too many mishaps to mention when speaking about its apprehension. I haven't really felt good since the first time I discovered feeling. No one has, no matter how many times they tell you how good the embrace of a person of the opposite sex who says 'love' now and then feels. No one has met a better feeling of stimulation since they first felt. Since they first had a signal sent from their left cheek to their brain to soften their infantile cry. I haven't felt alive, ever. Most of the time its a feeling of longing to die that I feel. I know, it means nothing, its just a whimper put together into words. At least its true. I haven't seen life as enjoyable since I defined too many things to ignore the meaning of. Since I began realizing who I have the opportunity to see most and who I hate...then I realized they were the same people. I haven't felt like a poet since I started writing this piece. I get that feeling every time I write. These poems, they're all just prolonged cries. WOrded well enough to gain a gaze and crave a reader's craze...taken from the crazy part of me, typically hidden, and pushed into a pad until I get tired of talking about my self for a few pages. I haven't really been a human. All this time has been spent lying to myself. Lying about penis size, lying about who cares, lying about what I'll become. Just lies. Lies that I punch with musical notes until they sound hopeful.