Beginning At The End, Maybe

maybe i'll start in the middle of this story but maybe it doesn't have a structure at all. maybe my name is Chance, maybe you have to put yourself in my shoes for once to understand. maybe i don't want you to understand that all all my life i've been sailing with a boat with holes. pretend you already know me. pretend you know i have lazy doleful eyes and skinny legs. pretend we're about to watch a black and white film about me. 
maybe i am full of riddles and you just have to figure out what i mean exactly. maybe i've spent half of my life trying to jigsaw a future i didn't even think i'd live to see. maybe i live in a city that seems to be getting smaller and smaller or maybe it's just me who is suffocating. maybe i am now 18 and i never thought i'd make it till this age. maybe there is something wrong with me or it's just one of those days. i've been having "one of those days" for three years now. maybe i've lost count. maybe each night i google things like how to stop feeling like shit or something like how to kill yourself without really killing yourself. maybe google refers me to a site that can help me deal with my depression. no, this isn't what i'm looking for. black boys can't be depressed, so i shut off my phone and start trembling. maybe i don't know why half the things happen to me but maybe it's how god has always planned out my life. maybe i am a drawer full of snow and any minute now, i might burst open. maybe i am made up of things i cannot say but damaged by the things i said that i shouldn't have. maybe i read the perks of being a wallflower and can't help but feel like a clown version of Charlie or Craig from it's kind of a funny story. maybe i've had a series of dreams where my teeth are too big for my mouth and my saliva pours involuntarily and have thick piano keys fingers that can barely hold a pen. maybe in my dreams Erin offers me a glass of lemonade and smiles her ever beautiful smile at me. maybe even in my dreams, i can tell she doesn't love me like that anymore. maybe it hurts having these dreams so i avoid sleeping now, maybe i count sheep but for some reason, the very same flock stagger on my chest. maybe i don't mute my hysterical cries with a pillow and maybe that invites my landlord to knock on my door and threaten to call the police on me. maybe i make things interesting by telling him it's my boyfriend doing some kinky stuff on me and i can't help but yell out, just to make things interesting. maybe he says this is a last warning and i laugh thinking about all the times i've been kicked out before. maybe i'm slowly losing my mind.