You cut through my feelings
like scissors cut through paper
and with every false promise
I feel my blood getting thinner
as my heart grows weaker
can't you see through my smile?
the anguish in my sunken eyes
or the way I lose control of
my inner thoughts
as soon as you go

my heart can beat without you
but it can't feel love
it can only feel pain
because you left it broken
as you can clearly see
I am Human.

Why must they beg, make me want to kill them?
Down on their knees, and I am the villian?
They are weak, scum, shit beneath my boot.
A .45 from my backside, I point. Shoot.

My inner demon cackles, her eery whisper no more.
And I cry out, dropping to the blood covered floor.
Eyes wide, twinkling with wetness, I look at what I have done.
Did I... did I really just have fun?

I want to scoop the poor girl up, go outside and run.
I want save your life, but it was my gun.
I still have yet to move a muscle, my mind is reeling.
Tell me what is real, what the fuck am I feeling?

Someone else is in control as I pick myself up,
Is that you? yup.
I'm tripping over my own feet
As I run like I've been beat.

Fucking never ending hallway
I scream for my NIGHTMARE  TO  GO  AWAY
But she has me in her arms, alive or not
I remove my .45, point it at my brain..
                                                             ­              take  one  last  shot.

It was June 1967
Dad come to visit
Bought us a beach ball
A beach ball in El Paso?
Maybe try seeing how long
We can bounce it in the desert
Before it gets punctured by a cactus

Then we took it out and
The wind grabbed it
Just like it does tumbleweeds
We chased after it
Then got in his rental
And went driving around looking for it
Until finally we gave up
And Dad caught his flight

We wouldn’t see him
Until six years later
During the summer of the Watergate hearings
And he said
You remember that beach ball
We remembered the beach ball

Well when I was going to the airport
I saw it pressed against
A chain link fence
But I just drove on

Found someone new and I lost the old me.

I miss that little girl that's locked up screaming to be free.

Find that little girl and hug her tight.

She's weeping, trying to keep her head up high.

HA HA HA. HAHA.

Those laughter rang in her ears since she was five,
when the kids in kindergarten called her ugly.

Until now, it still haunts her.

Those words slowly became the monsters that she have came to love.

Because they become her shield.
How can she love herself when she loves the monsters in her head more?

When she can't bring herself to run away from them.

When she listens to them and shut out the ones she holds dear to.

And these people who actually LOVES. HER. BACK.

And before she can love another, she needs to love herself. FIRST.

She. Is me. I, am her.

I have been mourning for these monsters for a while now.

I realized I need to kill them before they kill me.

Before they make me kill that little girl that is crying but is trying to fight her way back.

These monsters have been a part of me that I have been holding on.

I used to hide behind them whenever I feel insecure.

They helped me build a wall to cower and cry behind.

They helped me disconnect myself from the world.
So that the rest of the world can feel comfortable.

Being disconnected gives you time to think.

Loneliness breeds thoughts.

Guess the fuck what?
No more of that bullshit.

My impression is here so stay.

My footprints will forever be marked behind me,
whether I like it or not.
And I think that I need a small spot for my footprints.

For me.

ME.

I crave for understanding and support.

I crave for genuine embraces.

I will explore.

Anywhere, everywhere.

Anything, everything.
And maybe you,
someday, one day.
My thirst for genuine affections
are driving me insane
but is inhibited my angst.

Because…
How do I explain to my mother that her only daughter,
her only child is one confused mess.

I like girls.
I like boys.

I might not like girls.
I might not like boys.

Maybe I like both.

Maybe I am just blind…to gender.
One way or another,
I have come to accept that it doesn't really matter.
Whichever way, I go, it's okay.
I want to stop apologizing for cussin’ around.

Because to me they are motherfucking appropriate.
I am fucking tired of having to be sorry for being me.

I am fucking tired of having to be censored.
Just because some people think that
my orientation is an abomination to the population,
blaming people like me for the demoralization of the institution just because they are the ones without proper education.
But fuck that, this is my identification.

I will never know when the time is right,
so I'm putting the hourglass into someone else’s hand.
I guess I will let time do its job.
For now, I am happy with our
awkward little conversations.
You deserve to know that I am just flattered of your existence.
And y’know what?
I think you do a fucking good job at that.
I want you to exist beside me.
To hold my hand in public
and not care about offending anyone by doing so because it shouldn't.

For now, I am holding on to the hope
that maybe you will accept me one day.
I feel things that I don’t understand when I’m with you.
Fucking kiss me out in the streets.
When our eyes met,
fireworks lit up in my chest but at night
those monsters put them out like rain
I trip over these feelings but hold them back because
of my fear of rejection.
Because I want to be good at being good to you.
Taking out these monsters may all need a lot work but I got time.

Well, I like preposterous and cirrocumulus,
curmudgeonly and humungous,
audacious and bodacious, scripturient,
irradiance, iridescence and magnificence,  
flamboyant, fandango and flibbertigibbet,
(but this is difficult to say when you’re drunk),
voluptuous and vertiginous,
sumptuous, salacious, slithery, sexy and glistening,
crepuscular, strumpet and strawberry.
And I may as well include whipped cream
here as well, because this can be laid on in dollops,
and dollops is really an excellent word.
I also like anthimeria to mix up grammar
and make things all the merrier.
Drooling is highly evocative, too,
and I don't need to be provocative to observe
that even weapons can drool
when they're in the wrong hands.
However, I'm really very flexible about words,
because in my lexicon,  low moaning noises are OK, too.
These sounds are part of the chord of creation
and reverberation from the time of
primordial ooze, which would be great between my toes.
Then there's protozoa, spermatozoa and also
wriggling flagella everywhere. So there.
And fecund is my second favorite word after love.
I also like ejaculation, and
I think we should celebrate salivate,
along with onomatopoeia that helps choose some words here.
And really, orgasm is good too,
particularly if you try to defer and prolong this.
Words I don’t like include don’t, can’t, never,
stop and mustn’t. Also, irascible, indescribable,
unmentionable and ineffable, incoherent,
impotent, incontinence, leaking colostomy bags,
importune and misfortune,
gawping, cavernous and cretinous,
circumambulatory, circuitous, and pursed lips.
These words should get the heave-ho.
And I definitely don't like parsimonious and mendicant,
which are miserable words.
Shut the fuck up and piss off should be taboo, too.
But the word I really dislike is cunt,
because this is an insulting word, and
to be taxonomical,
the negative score of this word would be astronomical.
Hate is also right up there on this list. Hate is abominable
because it tries to destroy love,
and love is indomitable.
Indomitable
is the
mightiest
word
of them all.

Mike T Minehan