i spent my life trying to please
someone with a twisted disease
i broke myself down
and tucked my feelings away
to become the person
they wanted me to be
i let myself be watched
through the glass of a two sided mirror
of a sociopath
i wallowed my spirit away
and begged for acceptance
but there’s nothing in the world
that i could do
to let the narcissist know
that i am human too

cold autumn waters
rushing its way
underneath my feet
weaving through
             toe to toe
     slicing
          hacking its way
                   through the legs of my seat--
so naturally shining
the reflected beams
of sunlight
          knew how to pick
                which stream
        of which inch
                      of which hairline
               of the river
                            to show oh so clearly
            straight into my eyes--
this was exactly how
                                    i remembered
    the words flowing
                singing and dancing
         all so merrily in my mind.
                      and yet
                    --silence--
   i sit and stew
              in the comfort of my room--
          the fan spews nonesense
       whispering frigid sweet nothings
                      it distracts me
                  so i turn it off.
                      the light shone too brightly
                showing me far far too much
         it annoys me
                         so i turned it down.
                   the natural sounds
               the allure of the wild
                        the little chirps and peeps
                      and the babble of the brooks
i remember none of them
sounding like the clicks and clacks
        that i hear with every press of my finger
                             and every character i delete
                it discomforts me
                        i took a deep breath.
             and another.
                             closing my eyes
       i still saw a faint red through it's thin lid
                   i tried to picture
    the same magical world
                             i used to write in
               back when i was a bard
                     and everything
         the light touches
                                       would be my kingdom
                            my muse.
               and i smiled...
                     all my vivid recollections
       the people and worlds i breathed life to
                  the words that used to be so so alive
             it all felt empty
                    so i opened my eyes
    and tried to write again--

a feather, even
if anger was a boulder
i rather shoulder.

addicted to your lips
and the poetry it speaks
and every time we kiss
oh darling im in bliss