I'm loved by a great man,
And he is mine and only mine.
I am very smart,
And I am aware of it.
Don't even think of crossing me.
My eyes burn holes
In those who won't
Give me what I want.
But I'll never be happy.
I'm a martyr,
And a patron saint.
I've been used and thrown away.
My first girlfriend tried to die,
And it was all my fault.
Everyone knew it.
My virginity was stolen
On a pool table at 1 am.
I lost the child I created
With the love of my life.
I knew every swear I know now
At the age of three.
I don't know who's hit me harder.
I'll never let go.
I'm a martyr.
I'll be a patron saint.
"Broken and lame.
I read the writing,
30 years old, or older.
My Grandmother wrote,
after a stroke.
it read just like
Now, what was written,
was a copy.
But 5 pages deep,
I was deeply
What a woman.
Pictures only show
me who you used to be.
Your husband used
to call me his girlfriend,
even on his deathbed.
I wanted to quit smoking,
in honor of you.
I cried a bit
at the library,
and just for an hour
I was taken away.
To touch the same paper
you put your pen to,
it truly was an honor.
your daughter is
here, to collect me.
Because that is all
it truly sucks me
And when I look at your
pretty pill bottle,
and try to make sense
of a cancer that made you
ill, how to glorify
a gust of sickly
pills, I am confused
by the nurse,
and the master.
I wish your subtle
be a bit more clear.
I'm confused by the
and saddened to see
myself to be just so
naive. Some tell me
that I'm 20,
a birthday tells me
Who bears the truth,
the truth within,
come out and say
hello, born to die,
don't you hide,
my hair is growing
old lengths once
it's a sign.
i killed a mosquito with legs like claws
i have stopped caring about the blood of bugs on my fingertips
slaughter them, my mind screams
slaughter slaughter gut their hunger
the evil inside of me is latent
evil, i admit it now
there is evil gnawing on my bones
crawling under my skin
it kills me
every night i scrub the fly larvae
out of each lung
my lips curling with the thought
of the stragglers i attract
sucking on my sadness
i am excrement, decayed vertebrate carcass
i am dinner, do not feed me
i will fatten, and they will find me
but they already know
what use is hiding?
they swarm around the holes i dig
they always find me
faulty jaw cracked
don't feed me it hurts
give me a heart attack
this can't get any worse
the fleshworms say i taste like home
they remind me i am
a walking infestation
a virus in people clothing
he will never love you
you are nothing more
than a dog with mange
a dying bitch
she is speaking so loudly
i can't hear my own soft voice
over the ache in my scalp
she pulls so hard on every hair
shaking me from side to side
winded, on the ground
i can't take another kick but
here it comes
i hold my breath and think about
what i used to be
before she found me
fine, eat me
drink my blood like wine
eat my skin like broken bread
and die from the infection
you spread to me
i will do anything to watch
you choke on my guts
i would love that
i imagine i hear you screaming
over the sound of the vacuum
when i wreak havoc on the corners of my room
i have never wanted to kill before
until you took my body from me
now i am blood thirsty and unforgiving
i will drown you in my last feeble vomit
taste my sickness bitch
taste your likeness
To my dear —,
It's so hard to breathe these days.
Being with you was living in excess
And when you've tasted excess,
Everything else tastes bland.
Yeah, I had everything to lose
But I still loved you as if I was about to die.
It's so hard trying to keep a straight face,
showing that I'm ok,
but I am so far from being ok.
I'm all alone with no one to talk to...
I think I miss that the most,
just having someone to talk to,
someone to share each day with.
I'm scared, I really am...
The thoughts of you not coming back
grow more real each day we're apart.
I don't know how to give you this space without you forgetting about me.
I wish each and every day you'd message me, someway,
just out of the blue and say
I'm coming back,
That you never left.
Most of all;
say the words
that would bring me right back,
that would bring us right back
"I" and "Love" and " You".
Those 4 words that you say
Every time I try to walk away
Hurt more than I can explain.
Its like a knife to my heart
To know I caused you that much pain.
Am I really so bad
That I make you want to die?
I can't help the way I feel.
You say those words
'I want to die'
Because you know what it does to me.
You don't mean it.
I know you don't.
If you really truly meant it
You would have done it already.
And you wouldn't come running to me.
I'm not a part of your little game,
So please, oh please,
Stop putting my name to shame.
I teaspoon teardrops into a glass vase
Magnifying my soft whimpers
These flowers wilt and die
For nothing can flourish on sadness
As the vase fills up with emptiness
Reaching the breaking point
It begins to bubble on the brim
Catching your eye
Moments before my tears
Flood the tabletop
I feel your hands grip firmly
Around the base, holding tight
Straining to keep the pieces together
As you watch your vase shatter
Into a million pieces
Teardrops falling at your feet
You let go,
And leave the broken pieces of me
For someone else to clean up
I like to think that I tried.
But at the same time
they used to like to think that the world was flat
and that green eyes meant that you were cursed.
I also like to think that I would go to the end of the galaxy for you,
just so that I could fetch a few stars and bring them back
to show you that not every light is burnt out yet.
I like to think that the scars on both of our wrists
will fade with time and will heal with care.
But so far, the redness has not subsided.
Your voice is still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure what you are saying, but you’re there.
And you’re here.
For the most part, you are everywhere.
And if I could spend one more restless night
curled in your arms so that I could kiss the inside of your wrist
and hope for magic to appear, I could die tomorrow
and be okay with that.
My tombstone could be painted yellow
and my corpse could grow flowers.
All because I hoped for a little magic
while the howling wind touched the windowpane
and your breath quickened on my shoulder.
I would let the coolness of your eyes
take my memory back to the Bahamian sea.
I would let the flutter of your eyelashes remind me
of the rainbow parrotfish and the fire coral.
I would let the salty softness of your skin sink into mine
so that maybe I won’t be so sharp anymore.
I would let myself drown in you
and this time
I wouldn’t call for help.
I would save my last gasping breath
to let you know how beautiful you are.
Then I would succumb to your sea
and I would sink to the bottom
to let my corpse plant flowers in you.
Best known for writing such words it scrawled in many languages inked out of hearts of
Poet’s politician’s clergy investment of mind and soul glided over parchment it would open
Doors of wood hinges were heard to creak when wise words were spoken and angry kings could
No longer hold freedom back after words of truth shined forth with wisdom and would not
Be denied by personnel greed and cruelty the very breath of man was infused in such
Documents that had veracity that was uncommon in nature the heights were noted the
Indignity and stupidity and rigidness that would in slave people was forever snapped no bonds
Could hold after the quill responded to such ignorance pleasantries were subscribed to by
Mortal hand that reached beyond uncertainty and touched divine sensibility it wrote on
Personnel levels in the case of widowhood when the dark curtains of loss were drawn and no
Light shined into the soul of the bereaved in the darkness a sister friend’s face slowly emerged
From the murky dark waters that sorrows flood brought in her embrace and understanding the
Quill wrote of a slow growing power a bridge was constructed over the river of nerve and
Exhausting pangs longing for the beloved that was departed but through this single individual
The stitching of healing began its most needed work through another the sharing of faith and
Trust would create a heart that no longer was held in gloom but pierced the heavenly blue
Where the fair one stood in garments of gleaming white of mist and tranquil portions no longer
Was fate alone in play but joyous music the flute the horn the violin drew a picture of a country
Lane there love was once again completed harmony over arched death itself and it was all
Viewed under the greatest banner men ever knew and it is friendship the telling and knowing of
Tears and a shoulder to cry on it gives way to building blocks that create a different life
Widowhood made agreeable while the wound still remains it is a course changer the injured
Now arises a heroine of quiet silent grace a source of strength a viable counter weight to grief’s
Unbearable character the quill surmounts the littleness in people stories are in abundance that
Show both sides of the issue the abyss that selfishness brings but what heights can be reached
By serving others instead of self weights the quill lifts effortlessly weighty matters the line we
Have come through many slings and arrows fits twists and turns the quill runs before as a lion
Tamer it cracks a whip trouble is quickly vanquished there is writing everywhere the quill will
Guide to so many existing ideas that create formidable answers but with this in play the
Intangible restless pull of something beyond reason that must be recognized and dealt with all
Success and pleasure will melt away as the pull of importance that will not give way most of us
Know the undeniable truth that over all that is said above a greater quill writes in perfect
Accord without error not of fleshly hand but spirit that moved on men to state His wishes and
Commands without this writing no one can know true happiness or fulfillment outside of this
Most extraordinary compelling truth but what record there is of such sadness because of failure
To listen to a love story of tremendous drama all pertaining to the highest highs and the lowest
Lows and of one by love just won’t give up on the ones He holds so dear it comes down to this
Reality it still stands true there is a Hell to shun and a heaven to win through all the swirling
Down through time this great weight rests on us all what we decide will be flames or bliss abide
With him who hates you completely or the one who loved you to the point of dying in agony
You are the only one who can complete the story the quill writes love and mercy sadly so many
Show it has little effect the quill writes on sin is death those who practice it will surely die this is
The second death the lake of fire
I am afraid.
I am afraid because I am here
And I want to walk away
But instead I am right here.
I sit here.
Do I sit here?
I think I'm doing it
Just to see how long I can.
It's like holding your fingers over a burning candle
To see how long you can stand the heat
Before your skin blisters
And you pull away, defeated.
I sit still.
I always sit still when it hurts.
I think stillness
Started a few years ago.
When I first hit the ground
I was afraid to breathe.
It was like I had been dropped from a high bridge onto a concrete sidewalk
And I knew
Knew beyond any doubt
That things were broken.
Things inside were very very broken.
Things were splintered and punctured,
And if I moved, even to draw a breath,
I would bleed out right there.
I think that's when the stillness started.
And now whenever I am hurt
Whenever something hits me
I go still as stone
Except for shaking hands
That flutter, fragile and white, until I clasp them tight together.
The world moves around me
But I stay still as death
Not even daring to breathe
As if I will be found
As if I will tear apart into a million shreds of wasted paper
And drift to the floor.
I stay so still my muscles ache.
I never cry.
I can't cry.
I just sit there and feel how peculiar the sense of damage is.
How odd it is to be full of explosions and debris whipping around inside
An utterly motionless body.
And part of me, even as I feel
With how much I know I'd die if my body betrayed my anguish in real injury
Part of me looks on from above,
With a detached analysis
Of this and that
Of just where I feel this blow
And this stabbing pain,
Of just how each moment changes me.
I freeze like ice outside
And burn like hell inside.
It is the most curious sensation in the world
And I hate it so much I would die to escape it.
And yet when it comes upon me
I do nothing
Nothing at all.
I say nothing.
I turn to stone, part by part,
Like I'm being submerged in drying cement
And finally my lungs
The top of my head
Until all that is left
Are my eyes
I am paralyzed
And I look out on a world in motion
Moments before I was a part of the rhythm like a heartbeat
But that was moments ago,
And we all know how much can change in just a moment.
When I am stone
You can come at me with a chisel
And I will say nothing.
Bang bang bang
And little chunks come off
A shard of my cheek
A finger at the joint
The swell of my collarbone,
They crumble when struck
But I can't move an inch.
I sit still.
I always sit still.
My stillness is the waiting.
It is the wish
It is the craving
Hot and metallic
To do something
To slice away how much I hate my own helplessness.
It is knowing that there is a relief
Besides just being saved.
There is a way to save myself
From this chaos inside
A way to feel better
My stillness is the resistance
The longing and the "No, I can't."
The firm denial
Cold as ice
Hard as granite.
Is it strong to let the world dismantle you by the inch
When you know you could get there first?
Is it strong to sit and take take take
And do nothing whatsoever?
Is a statue strong
Or is it just
We are mad as birds, in love in a dark home.
I wished I could be you.
In the drunken daze of submission with aggression,
in the Nicaraguan touch that has turned blue.
Touched by the cold trained tongue that you have become.
Both of us not right in the head.
Both of us not quite ready for bed.
You sit high on your thrown these days.
I weep for apologies at your feet and
I wish for months for your gilded heart
To take some time and remember me.
I remember in the beginning you were not so mean.
Both of us have made our bed
Both of us will die in it.