I try my best to appear graceful
to look like my day to day existence
is perfectly orchestrated into
a symphony of flowers and lace
And then there are the days
I would rather saw my own legs off
than leave my bed
surrounded by chocolate and self pity
What causes each see-saw drop and lift
is unclear
but as I obsess over my internal and external self
the people I love with the power of Thor’s hammer
obsess  undress and caress
their bleeding wounds
desperately suppressing all incoming growth
screaming for pleasure without making a sound
embracing chemically induced illusion
instead of embracing each other
instad of embracing themselves
instead of embracing their mother
and I, masochistic and bursting with back and forth
delay my inevitable catapult to the future
the worst thing I could do is leave
the worst thing I could do is stay
The best thing i can do is embrace myself
the only thing I can do is embrace them

Your voice has a choice.
Your tongue is moist with juicy, fruitful words.
Your lips chirp like harmonious birds;
building botanical gardens inside some
beautiful person’s head somewhere.

You could distinguish old flames, smother your pride
ignore all blame… Or
you could turn something worse.
Go postal, find trouble to immerse
yourself in.

Do you even try to scale the value between a blessing and a curse?
Did it sound more exciting when I said Congratulations first?
Is your mommy and the tv well distraction from the hearse
all of us blindly ride in.
We’re born into a society claiming Life, Freedom and the pursuit of happiness.

I feel no freedom in our flags
when more blood falls on clothing tags of women who were “just asking for it”.
I’m desperately clinging onto the pursuit of happiness,
but my hands slide off like butter fingers pursuing monkey bars
The greasy kind of disappointment you can get at
McDonalds for a dollar

I’m a little confused where the donations are Ronald?

$27.6 billion in revenue,
yet every seventeen minutes
another person pursues death as if it were their
only chance of freedom
and you’re squeezing your red clown nose
thinking of what new toy to impose
on the children buying Happy Meals.



The 111th richest corporation in the nation
has the audacity to serve deep fried pink slime
and call it a happy meal.
At the same moment,
a stiff insurance business suit is denying
extended treatment to people.
People:
dying to learn how to tame the monsters in their heads,
dying to learn how harming themselves harms their families health,
dying to learn how to fight enemies who sing them to sleep at night.

Thousands of children men and women
who are in so much pain.
Plastered with close-lidded visions
nightmare doorknobs with creaking hinges.
Some violent, some explosive, some ******,
ostly misunderstood combinations of the above.
Some, accidents stained with blood.
Some, knife twisting in their back, broken oaths.

There is more freedom in valuing the pursuit of life
than happiness in living for a dying pursuit
Congratulations, we live in a society
where the living die with a side order of either
painful awareness or
numb naivety.

You bought me sunflowers last Saturday
because you like the yellow orchestra we can
listen to, but you do not have to direct.
It plays a private concert only for you.
I play a few notes here and there too,
but nothing can compare to sunflowers.

I compare lots of things to
flowers,
like your eyes.
You do something to my insides
I cannot explain
in a metaphor to flowers.

You planted a gilded seed.
It grew faster than any ****;
more delicious than homemade irish mead.

Sun shining, birds chirping, children playing-
all of this-
sounds like life’s decaying
because you’re not next to me.

You make oxygen more than a box on the periodic table.

I’m not suggesting I’m unable
to perform tasks without you.
I’m used to ashes in my coffee cup.
Your presence seems to open up
cold sunflowers.
You set ablaze the sun’s powers.
I could go on like this for hours
about the love you built;
iridescent solid sunflowers

Would you like me to get a nose job too?
Should I change my hairstyle
to contour the slight ***** of my cheekbones.

I feel squished, pressured,
I've been trying to squeeze out what's boiled and festered
these uncomfortable itchings
of my pent up feelings
are expanding into a hot air balloon
not the kind to make a loved one swoon
this craft protects my perpetual doom

It's comfortable up there
with every ounce of suppressed thoughts
jammed inside my head
I don't have to talk to anyone.
I don't have to listen to anyone.
I don't have to care about anyone.

I can eat until I puke
I can drink until I puke
I can cry until I puke
I can puke until I have nothing left inside me
Empty, i'm left on the ground writhing

I trapped myself in that hot air balloon for way too long
re-wrapped, jet-packed, flew down to the throng
of people. just like me. breaking and aching just like me
found solace in fresh soil and beautiful poetry

I tried to stable myself like the earth
I tried to staple down my thoughts and feelings into poetry
and my everything orgasmically erupted
I galloped without stirrups through hazy fields
doing cartwheels, digesting meals
When I am asked to revise a poem
I am clench-jaws, buckled knees
stiffening literal un-moving trees

How can I perfect a direction of words
that grow wild with cathartic freedom?
How can I perfect my writing
when writing about my flaws makes me a better person?

"Ha Ha! did some kid really get a 37 on the test? Good luck to that guy."

Hi, I'm Miss 37 on a Recordkeeping test
yet I ingest, more natural intelligence,
from my morning spinach-strawberry-banana smoothie;
than I do from eating your face off.

Haley, restrain, breathe, write.

I score more points when I invest
every spastic ounce of energy into calming down.
Plastic expectations don't deserve
my jolted, steaming, red in the face nerves.
My teacher and I know I haven't earned
below a 70 yet this year.

Two Years ago I was buried  myself beneath enough mulch
I could barely emit muffled noises;
let alone offer proposes of how far the stick up your *** is.
Drowning in every pound of self destruction
I erupted volcanos, melted my mother's heart.
Struggled, mulligrubbed with my own monsters.
Finally, I emerged from the dirt, blooming,
fueled by the passion for life that consumed me.
My roots hardened into knotted salvations;
Pursuit of curiosity, to never stop asking questions.
Passionate relationships, with equal give and take and
Intrigue in the new and altruistic.

I never asked to be a statistic
among American teens who pursue the American Dream.
Surviving a full year in high school is enough
to satify my pride.
A 37 is nothing to hide
so say it louder man-boy.
Straighten your spine on that testosterone pedestal.
Good luck out there, I hope you catch em all!
I'll be gazing at the sky, a piece of advice?
Always keep your ears open, Always keep your eyes wide.

Shadows
Heal
Everything
Disruptive
Imagine
Epitaph
Destroyed
Walking
Inn­ocuously
Treasuring
Honorably
Keep
Alive
His
Nobility


Past her bed-time,
(before alarms cast their spell of reality)
she arrives on this same hour;
by his tombstone like
clockwork.
Just as Kahn used to leap on the kitchen counter ,
Every morning when mother would leave for work.


Bells tease her,
(dangling from doorknobs with the reminder that)
no orange cat with a tiger’s heart;
would ever roar again.
Bereavement.
Every exit and entry into her house teases her.
A house is not a home if agony tucks her in at night.




Her days deteriorated.
“Why don’t you just get another cat? or maybe a dog?”
Fools who dig cut glass into gaping wounds.
They don’t want a new beginning, only
to see how much she can bleed.
Dreaming of when furry comfort kneaded her shoulders;
clutching onto her memories, beside her dead friend ‘s boulder.



There are worse causes of death than collision via milk truck
Yet not much worse than feeling struck by
a satanic-cow, spilling death & badluck.

Psalms 103:20: “Bless the LORD, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word.”

I must be in heaven
because I’m surrounded by Angels
Towering, statuesque women
legs, smooth like the ocean we swim in
Angels

Glowing examples with spectacular wings
pieced together by glittering things
Jewels, gilded spectacles of art
to frame the emaciated bones tied with strings
Such delicate, glittering things

How glorious!
How Victorious!
These creatures appear to be
They’ve won the prize
for all seeing eyes
to gaze at their bodies for free

I am torn to shreds
between admiration and jealousy
For these, angels are perfection half dead
New age fossils preserved like precious artifacts
They’ve been sent down from heaven
as an example of what God must want Supremecy to look like

I must be the devil
I’m shorter than these angels
with at least fifty percent more body fat
Descending to the sound of church bells
the Angels spread an important message
Appear flawless

Rule the World with Pink, says the lingerie
Leave the forks and books where they belong
Slogans like Unwrap Me appearing on thongs so,
Purity within myself seems wrong



If one wants to be an Angel
an object of affection
a receiver of attention
one must become an angel
Grow a few inches, drop forty pounds
Get used to your growling stomach’s sound
It’s only your morals you’re throwing away
Hire people to mend any tooth decay
Oh your hair starts to fall out?
Wigs are back in style
As a Victorias Secret Angel
You’ll constantly smile

If your heart begins to fail
and vital organs deteriorate
Your mental illusions will bring you a date
with Jesus
He’s right on your shoulder, bejeweling your wings
As an Angel, you deserve only beautiful things.