I'm tired of dreaming
I'm through with trying
Done with living, but scared of dying
How about you keep
And I'll keep hiding
Even though I'm dying, I'll still keep trying
In till I can take no more
I'll always keep trying to restore
The buildings I have broken
All the people I've knocked down
It's just bringing me down...
tell me that you love it
when i talk about the things i love
for my eyes would scintillate
brighter than the stars
that shows up every night
along with their friend
tell me that i make you
want to buy flowers for me
because i remind you of white roses
every time your eyes lay on me
for i am worthy of you
tell me that your mother adores me
because i bring back the oldies
and i remind you of
the first time your parent fell in love
at a coffee shop
tell me that you fall in love in poems
and how you have been dying
to start a hand written letter to me
but got cursed with the matter of
not being good enough
tell me that i don't love you
because i kiss you every time you joked
that i interlock our fingers together because it fit;
buying your favorite white coffee and your mother's latte
on every sunday morning when you have to mowed the lawn for her
tell me that you don't know me
because this was all in my head
and tell me that this is all a lie
because i was dreaming
my childhood was taken away at such a young age. the girls in my class would talk about how they needed to go on a “diet” because they think they are too fat. “you have to be skinny to get boys to like you,” they said. i knew about sex at when at a young age because the boys and girls at the playground would laugh at how they caught their mommy and daddy doing it. i learned from the girls in my middle school class what the marks on their arms meant, and my mind was opened up to a whole new world of darkness and hatred. i learned that no one would love you if you were not pretty, injured, or dying. i ended up in hospitals. people thought i was just a little kid who was in love with life, but they were wrong. i saw everything.
You'd want to be remembered as
Someone who always appeared happy,
Because then your efforts would not be in vain.
Want people to know
How you're crumbling in your own skin,
You're dying from the inside out
You don't even really want to be remembered
But if you are,
You hope its not for something
Because everything you are
I want you to take as long as you need to decide what you really really want.
I want you to make your decisions without pressure from me .
I want you to know that you don't have to fit in your size zero anymore.
You will always be special to me and I will love you unconditionally.
I will love you to my dying day and I've never cared what others thought of me.
I know you know that but I wanted the one who wrote a nasty poem to know.
Not a poet and know it and know what's in your pure and unprejudiced heart.
You are sweetest and the most interesting and fun lady I've ever met and you
still are the only one I want to read to, have snowball fights with and sit by a
warm fire to to stop the chills, spend endless hours talking to, the one with the
gorgeous smile that brightens my day, the one who I love seeing walking in
without an appointment, the one I always put calls on hold for, the one who's voice
makes my heart race when I always answer your calls, the one with the musical laugh
that I can't get enough of. You are the one I want to be in my life even if we are
just friends. You gorgeous one are worth waiting for and growing old waiting for.
All I want for Christmas is your happiness now and forever Betty Ponder.
Never ever forget this, you are the only one I'd eat tofu with and for AND
you are the only one I will ever call a beautiful storm that blew me away.
She saw the kids on the slide,
each with their own
burden to bear:
counting the last days
on their thin fingers,
a kid with an eye gone,
And she, Anne,
12 year old,
fine of remaining limb,
scanning the rest,
in the wheel chair,
Skinny Kid behind,
hands on the handles,
on her neck.
She was bored,
sun too bright,
kids too noisy,
to see eye to eye,
get a peek at that,
indicating the thighs
and stocking tops
The Kid, thin arms
and legs, short hair,
11 year old, stared,
took in stocking legs,
Don't get to see
that every day,
you're their old man
or fond lover,
grinning ear to ear.
want me to push you
to the beach?
from these wounded ones,
these dying doomed,
let me smell
the salt and sea,
let me hear
the sea's song.
So the Kid, pushed
the chair, arms
her one remaining leg
to the chairs' move,
the stump, showing
where her skirt ended,
shook and rocked.
Out the back gate,
onto the path
by the beach,
out of the nurse's sight,
or sound of voice's reach.
of the Kid's
his heaving her
from chair to bed,
the night before,
his thin arms
in case she fell,
the warm bed
holding her down,
he standing there,
gazing at her
with that innocent
as he pushed along,
her stump was
the night before,
how the thigh
of her other leg
was white as snow
as he stared.
Going inside and out
Compression to stretching
Something like breathing
Who's playing this squeezebox?
Can I make a request?
Play something lively, loud, and fast
My heart's tied in knots
My brain's hanging on
By the skin of my teeth
For the length of one song
Dance like you're dying
And dance like you're dead
Life is little more
Than a song in your head
Break down the walls and let it all in
Dance as if this moment will never end
Move to the rhythm and jump towards your soul
Suspended stringless puppet under no one's control
Fall down to yourself right on top of the beat
Spinning in the center of where all the lines meet
Slow it down for the break and take a deep breath
Potential energy buildup for what's coming next
Those chills in the moment right before it all hits
Soul body and mind caught up in the mix
Hear it; explode
Supernovate the senses
The death of a star amid a galaxy of faces
To be born again
In a jet stream of limbs
I find enlightenment
At 150 bpm
Have you ever had really high hopes for a thing,
And then, when it happened, you didn't know what it means ??
And you find your mind running to every extreme
But somewhere on the way, you just left the scene.
All these delusions, I call self-identity
And something that's lost, in the path, right ahead of me
Terrible nightmares, my own mediocrity,
Fighting for air, as I'm losing my sanity.
Hoping for hope, or for something forgiven
Losing my faith, or having it driven
There's only so much, one mind can envision,
And mine's all but full with the fucks I have given.
This terrible feeling called dying inside,
The sweet, sweet release of losing your mind,
These sharp, broken bits are the dreams that you find,
And sometimes I wonder, which one was mine ??
black boy, black boy,
we shot you --
in your small, shiny black shoes;
your tidy school uniform
white boy, white boy,
we will not shoot you --
in your big, broken black shoes;
your untidy school-form
instead, we will not teach you
white boy, we will not teach you:
English is for black schools --
the jacarandas of Pretoria are dying;
the mimosas in the bushveld
have taken the Acacia tree's name
and beneath the soil,
the roots of South Africa are still
growing, exactly the same?
Years of bingeing, purging,
Thinking about dying,
Yield more than sorrow:
They teach many important lessons.
You never wear mascara
Or eye liner
Because it shows the black pain
Flowing out of your mind
That you'd rather bottle up.
Turn the shower on
Before you purge;
No one wants to hear
Your half-digested meal
Splatter into the toilet bowl.
And they will never understand
No matter what pictures you draw,
Words you write,
Or science you explain.
No one will be there with you
When you decline your favorite meal
Or at 2 am when the knives are calling your name.
Yet, at the same time,
I want to be there for everyone else
Because I get it,
Because misery likes company,
But I couldn't tell you how to stop.
Because I know how it is.
I don't want to stop.
I cant quit.