Hello God,
I'm hoping you are well today,
I've just read something rather beautiful
that has inspired me to say:

Thank you Thank you Thank you
Lord, I've never felt this grateful
for every single thing in my life,
even ones-at times-angry and hateful.

Starting with the biggest first,
thank you for my parents,
for even when I'm scared of them
I know that they'll be present
at certain times of need
in life,
and perhaps someday
they will meet a wife.

Next thank you so Lord
for my sister,
angry and annoying,
just like a blister
She knows every inside joke
and we can laugh together,
quoting, singing, dancing, mocking,
truly two birds of a feather.

Thank you so much for
all my friends
Lord knows without them
I'd be at wits end. :) <3

Thank you for everything
I take for granted
like loving parents
who actually wanted
a little baby,
a little me
when they didn't know
what I'd turn out to be.

Running water plentiful,
Safe healthy food till I feel full
Not living everyday in fear
that I'd have to face
a gang rape scare,
a solid roof above my head,
a box of pads beneath my bed.
A plethora of coloured pencils,
notebooks, sketchbooks,
don't need stencils.

Thank you for the hands
I got,
that learned to draw before
they were taught
to even write the alphabet,
did you know of the attention
that I would get.

People notice me and my creations,
ask me to do a transformation
of a screwed up line, out of place,
they joy I get from their face
when they hold up
something I've done
and shout to their friends
'lookit what kim's drawn!!'

Thanks for my perfect
precious dogs,
and you kept Sara safe
when she fell off that log,
Were you there when we pulled
that tick right out of Puck,
so many tries,
but got it out with some luck. :D

Of course thanks for
all those boys,
the ones with beards that
still play with toys.

For my linkin Park buddy,
and Ed of course,
who hasn't been here
(having been sick as a horse)

Thank you for Beatles,
Green Day and for KISS
thank you so much Oh Lord
for giving me this.

I'll no longer roll my eyes at mass
when we say we praise you, each lad and lass.
Instead I'll throw my hands in the air
Shout Halleluiah! for the presence that's there.

i just want some sort of sign from you
that you want me to still love you
in two years.

i will sit here and wait for you to come home to me,
i will.

i will wait two long fucking years.


if you wanted me to.


i swear i would;
if you could only swear that you would forgive me

for the hearts that i will have broken while you were away


and i would kiss you
                                             r
                                                    mind and your
                         heart

for being so understanding


it's funny
my hair has stopped falling out

and it feels thicker

                   i want to shave it all off in the bathroom

(with the same razor i used to drag across this wrist)
and put it in a wooden box, and send it to you.

it would just be yours to keep

(sometimes, when i am feeling insane
i take a box cutter at work
and cut my fingertips, just a little bit.
or i take the blood that naturally flows from between my legs
and smear it on the walls of the shower
and on my legs and arms

i lay down under the stream of water
in the same shower where you once made love to me
i let it cover me
and i cry
i cry out for you)




and then maybe months later, i would buy a plane ticket to see you


and it would make you so angry

(because you told me to leave you alone.
you told me to leave you alone
and then you kissed me
and you told me you loved me.
you just don't want to talk to me anymore.
i'm trying so hard to figure out where your words and your actions match up.)

you would of course just send me home
and the plane might  crash down
and in death i would be happy
that you might finally care about me



i wish i could explain to you,
how much i love you.

and how fucked up i am without you here.

and how strong i am without you.

but how weak i feel

and how i want to scream until you hear my voice, miles and miles away

and i cough up blood

and lose my voice

you hear it
and you get in your car,
and you drive into the sunset
and you see the city skyline

just a few minutes from my house

but don't even bother to call

you sit on the side of the road
staring at the cars driving by

concentrating on this decision
then, turn around and drive the two hours back home

didn't even bother to tell me you were here


and i can't even think about our home
the bed we slept in together

because in that little town
in that little room
you were the only thing that made any fucking sense,

and i am a mess now


and so is this p
o
e
m

an afternoon on the fringe:
hot, hot.
there is water
in my ears.
there is a gentle flow
of relief.
there is a shower head.
I stare at it,
study the tiny holes as they
continue to produce -
knowing that while nothing is free,
there is a chance at freedom
for all things.
I cut the faucet
just because I can,
submerge myself in the ice,
watch as my skin tightens
from the sudden shock.
everything is mine in here,
I am almost godlike.
someone could murder me through
the curtain and get away
before the steam clears
and still I'd die in control.
this brush with inner peace,
it's worth teetering on the edge
of one's sanity.
yes, it's moments
like this
that keep you going
long enough to clean
your feet.




from Slinking Under The Electric Bulb (2012)

It rains and rains.
Day after day.
Night after night.
Water falling from the sky.
Soaking the floor below.
Washing up the dirt.
Confining people to their shelters,
Giving them time to think.
Are there thoughts meaningful or not?
They are in fact theirs to own,
But do they bore themselves?
And the rain suggests this meditation.
As the sky leaks,
Covering the plants,
Giving them life,
While the birds bathe,
And the mushrooms flourish.
Yet, people still think only of themselves.
They dont wonder abnout the birds,
Or the mushrooms.
They worry about vanity.
They worry about relationships,
Retirement, family, health, sports.
They do nothing but worry.
But few can appreciate the rain
Few can let their mind at ease
Listen to the droplets,
And not worry.

I look at one of these machines today and it sends chills down my body..
I can remember being lost.. I just wondered off as a kid chasing butterflies and fireflies in the deep woods of Alaska..
I was gone for days.. I was parched and so hungry.. My little body could not muster enough strength to scream for help anymore..

I could see and hear animals about.. I was to young to realise that the animals wanted me to eat.. They were just waiting for me to die..

It wasn't until the night came on the 4th day.. My parents called Shineday inc and requested a (Recovery unit) ST-anthony be flown in..

I was falling asleep under some brush and trees.. Not really falling asleep more like crying to sleep.. The I saw these blue eyes glowing over me.. The robot moved the brush very gently and picked me up.. I can remember him being so warm as he held me.. His steps were very silent.. We then stopped and he gave me a small metal box with my drawings on it.. It made me smile! I opened it and there were some pop tarts and water in it.. I ate them up!!! He then took me back to the cabin where my mom ran screaming to me! Even my dad was crying! He went to the (Recovery unit) ST-anthony and thank him over and over..

I am looking at one of these machines now.. I wonder if it was the one who found me that night..

The snuggled smoke that flourished through the wrapped trees of distress,
Surpassed the frenzied flowers that my lover had once possessed.
Neither rain, nor comforting words nestled the neglect of those tears,
Who hid behind the books and the consumption of countless, crazed fears.

Amazed and awed what lies through the window of those memorable drives,
Only to end up with the inevitable filth that dripped from her eyes.
I constantly searched for things to drown out the waves of misery,
To keep her head above the washing water and vicious visionary.

Perhaps, myself, to acclaim her sensible wants and needs,
And to lay the pebbles on top of the dusty path of weeds.
Certain that this was the becoming of a new beginning,
To love a person more than myself, discovering a silver lining.

Time became our fearless friend, yet our worst enemy,
Through the constant battles of her past memory.
Becoming unstitched from each other’s blanket that was once sewn,
Left I to cherish the warmth spent and loaned.

I don’t think I love you anymore.
I give up on trying
I can’t bring myself down enough for you
I am already nothing

My heart is a piece of paper, crumpled again and again
There are only so many times you can look passed the wear and tear
The water stains from the words you say
The small rips, with no intentions of destroying me completely..
but doing it ever so slowly..

What was once written upon it is no longer legible
No longer easily seen
Maybe the words have already faded
Maybe I can’t get them back

And I have already forgotten what was once written there

I am pretty sure my love will be leaving me soon
for a woman whose skirt does not lift in the zephyr of her sadness:
we kiss and we tie
maraschino cherry stems with our tongues. The
same labyrinth puts rosy skin in our teeth, here is his pubic hair
knotted with saliva. When I think I have everything,
it just means that we are stuck together –
I realize it does not mean that we are happy together. I think
someone poisoned the water
with glue, and it is I who dispenses more to let my love escape me.
He is as happy as a child who has finished a puzzle
except for a single missing piece, repeating the movements
again and again. That has got to bring it back.
For seven months, we have been handed the gift of pretending I
can feel the inner-workings of who he is and why he is
and I am pretty sure he knows he never has
to pretend again. It is there in the silences: across the room,
across the ocean where hundreds of babies have died,
babes with mothers and fathers and parents who weren’t divorced.
All I hear is my love toying with a Rubik’s cube
he never learned to complete. I have a Magic 8 ball saying
I should let him go. I mostly worry about telling my mom, who will
tell my therapist and then we will have to
close too many doors. As long as I am sad, they are locked. A
key is stuck in the mud or in someone’s molars –
my room is empty, the air is quiet, and he has not even left me yet.