I stand in the Garden of Evil
Grinning in satisfaction
That you have to be with me
Though I hear your silent pleas
Staring in to those eyes
Soundless screams evokes
From within a place deep.
I watch the scars form
Visible remnants of my sin
But still I refuse to let go
And give you the peace I seek.
The blackness rising up
Inside us and around our bodies
I grin again, the malice in it
Reaching my eye
As you stare at me, gaping
Begging me to let this end.
I stop it all, give you breath
Deceit slowly filling my bone
Mysterious malignancy
I feel my internal grimace
Only to feel it rise again
My true evil reflecting in your eyes.
I could set you free, easily
But the darkness has taken me
Shivering in its clutches
I do its evil bidding
Not caring that it is you I hurt.
Lashing out with power,
The ability to destroy
Swirling ash envelops us
This time your screams are clear
Audible, and I sense fear.
We both fear who I am now
Too far gone to realize
The struggle has ended
Within my gleeful soul I dance
The darkness will commence.

We all come from broken homes.
In our own way we are each 
shattered pieces. 
Remember though,
mosaics are made 
from broken pieces
and they are still works of art. 
The key, I think,
is to find the artist
who can help you
fit your fragments together
into the masterpiece
you are meant to be.

I don't want someone I can't live without-to me, that's not what true love is about at all.  A state of being completely and fully dependent upon another is no good.  I'll tell you what I think love should be instead-not someone to move any mountains for you, but one who will stand by your side through it all, whether planned or not.  Don't fix it for me, but hold my hand and together we'll conquer our world.

What am I supposed to write when I feel nothing at all?  When the letters and words beat at me, begging to be let out, but no poetry falls from my pen? How do I express the feelings when I am quite simply exhausted from their very presence and my mind has become a jumbled numbness? I am unable to express myself and so am stuck with the yearning to create without the ability. I sigh, not liking this mindless haze that is becoming the home of my brain, wishing I could find my way back to my voice.

My biggest fear has nothing to do
     with monsters, the dark, death,
     or any of those usual frights.
No, my most intense scare comes
     from the anticipation that one day
     you may see me the same way
     I see myself.
For you see I'm not the girl that guys
     conjure up in their daydreams.
I could never hope to pass as one
     of those flitty girly-girls who know
     of quizzical things such as
               make-up
               cute hairstyles
               or fashion.
My blemishes show, and honestly
     I haven't a clue how to hide them
     anyway.
I look at braided hair, beachy waves,
     and effortless updos with envy
     My hair has two styles: up or down.
I've never in my life looked casually cute,
     and am obviously uncomfortable
     in a dress.  Please just pass me
     my jeans and t-shirt back,
     I'm much more myself in them.
     How does one even walk in heels?
I'd like to think I'm one of those
     "cool" girls that guys claim
     they love, the low-maintenance
     type chick, but I don't think
     I'm "cool" at all, really.
When guys describe those chicks,
     they do things like
               play video games
               quote Star Wars
               read comic books
     like some ideal gorgeous geek.
Well that's **** sure not me either.
     I **** at video games,
     love Star Wars, but
     I'm terrible with movie references,
     and have never read comics.
     Does manga count?
     I'm kind of starting to get into that...
I'm not the nerd's epitome of perfection
     either, the everyman's ideal.
So what am I? I'm just boring,
     little ole me.
I love to read, and would rather
     spend the night reading
     or watching something than go out.
I'm shy and self-conscious to a fault,
     so don't try bringing me around
     friends, I'll just bring you down.
Honestly, I'm basically a child. I love
               Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
               Gargoyles
               Tom & Jerry
               Animaniacs
     and cartoons in general.
I'm quiet and contemplative, often caught
     writing in my notebook,
     detailing my observations
     about the world around me.
I have a ***** mind and a messed-up
     sense of humor, giggling
     of the worst times occasionally.
But all in all, I think of myself
     as pretty boring.  Laidback,
     but with the most capricious of moods.
     I'm both low and high maintenance.
I don't know why you think positively
     of me, but I anticipate the day
     you realize I'm really nothing
     special at all.
The day you discover the truth
     I already know all too well.

Come closer to me, my dear,
I beckon to you gently…
advance without any fear
ever so very slowly…

A smile creeps onto my face
because I see the hesitation
with each step you place
closer to where I stand.

I shine brightly, seemingly sweet,
though I can tell you aren't fooled,
you can smell my deceit
coming through this façade.

My nefarious intent is
no longer hidden as you close in.
I laugh, my malevolence evident as
the sound wraps around you.

So come closer dear, and give me a kiss
Pay not any attention
to the poisonous taste of my lips.
You'll feel better soon, my dear.

I'm tired of feeling pulled 
in ten different directions 
by all these expectations 
and never knowing just
who I'm supposed to listen to. 
I want to live for myself
and make my own decisions,
but I've never really risen
to the occasion when it counted. 
What I am good at, though,
is letting myself be controlled
by the wishes of others. 
I guess I'm just inadequate,
my efforts never suffice
when I'm left to my own devices.

The first was a neighbor
I fell fast into friendship with
Until he betrayed my innocent trust.

The second was a cousin,
Someone admired and adored
Until he twisted my adoration
Into something I didn't recognize
Or ask for.

The third was an uncle,
A partner in crime
Kept close to my heart
Until he bent the rules
And my will.

My view of the world
Was shaped
Changed
Shattered
By these three men.

Men I knew. Cared for.
Looked up to in awe.
And they used that
Toddler fascination
To their sick advantage.

Until I learned that
Love is shown in funny ways.
A secret meeting
Shh, don't tell your parents
Threats only barely veiled
Or something bad might happen
To your little sister.
And bruises left as reminders
You asked for it.

They showed me the love I was worth.

How do people do this every night?
Go to bed all alone,
knowing there isn't anyone
to fill that side of the bed?
Curling up into myself,
I try to ignore the fact
that I'm completely alone,
no one here to wrap around.
But ****, is it lonely
and sad, so ******* sad.
Sunlight brings welcome respite,
because during the day I'm able
to pretend all is well.
But night, oh god, the night.
I dread having to lie in bed
knowing too **** well it's me
and me alone to fill that space.
And no matter how tightly
I wrap my arms around myself,
they're no substitute for yours.

The most dangerous place
in the world
is alone with my thoughts.
Inside every person
is a completely unique
universe, of which they
are the sole ruler,
                       dictator,
                                 GOD.
Are you a benevolent leader?

                Me, I am a tortuous murderer,
                                     laying waste to all
                           good thoughts that dare
                                        try to enter here.
                          You cannot run from the
                                  voices in your head,
                          can't escape the monster
                         once it's wormed its way
                              inside your very flesh.

Old habits are hard to break,
this timeless wisdom holds true.
Unfortunately I've always had
an addictive personality, and
                                                               it's
never been more true
than now, when I'm trying
to break myself of you. And
maybe you can't decipher
my inconsistent actions, but
                                                              you
see it's hard to change my
reactions to your movements.
So when you lean in close and
turn your head towards mine,
instinct takes over, and
                                                              I
can't help but go for the kiss
I seem to constantly
                                                              crave.

It's one of those days
where I just can't fake my smiles.
I abhor everyone around me
and the very air against my skin
causes a friction that makes me flinch.
I can't ******* handle today.
Can we rewind,
start over,
so the sounds of their voices
don't grate on my brain?
Because it's one of those days
I simply can't take anymore of.
Please help me, I'm about to break.

My being aches for the rhythmic caress of your chest pressing solidly against mine in that most intimate of dances.

I had lost sight of myself,
probably more than a little,
and now I'm having to fight
to get myself back again.

It's not easy finding out
which aspects are extraneous,
and it's a terribly sad process,
cutting out parts of yourself.

But the process is necessary
to pare it down to the
true individual within.

So it's been a mad method
of drunken nights and
evenings brimming with tears
that have propelled me along.

But with each drop
of alcohol down my throat
my mind clears up a bit.
And with each drop
of a tear down my cheek
my vision is a little less blurred.

I had lost sight of myself a little,
but I'm gaining ground every day
on who I'm really meant to be.

Tonight is a drinking night,
a need-to-not-think night,
because I need a break
from constant over contemplation.
Someone else take the wheel,
I'm going to take the bottle.
My brain is fried anyway,
perpetually assessing
every possible action
and the ensuing consequences.
**** it, I'm tired of this lie,
someone else drive for a while,
and let me sit to the side
while the road is chosen.
I'll be over there, drinking.

Attempts to look ahead bring nothing but
       indecision.
Glances back into the past hurt with their
       nostalgia,
tinted by the loneliness and confusion of
       now.

So I walk around with my head down,
trying to find the path that will get me
to contentment the fastest.
But walking amongst rubble
isn't the easiest course
to pick your way through.
Head lowered, eyes intent,
I stumble my way through,
tripped up so much that I begin to think
there's no trail here after all.

We arrive home
and I see you look over there.
I've been so happy
just spending time with you.
It's been just the two of us,
a welcome escape.
It's not often this happens,
when we get time alone
without interruption
from texts or a phone call.
But tonight we are free
and we have the most
mundanely grand plans.
And I look forward to them
with utmost glee.
But then it happens.
We pull in and you say
you're going there
"just for a minute."
I'm not fooled,
it's never just a minute.
Our plans are derailed,
I'm left to bring in the groceries
alone.
And do the dishes,
alone.
We said we'd tackle them
together,
tag-team the massive pile.
Yet here I am,
alone.
And I get left feeling like
a complete and utter *****
because I'm upset at the fact
that you want to go home
to tell your parents good night.
I just want this to be your home.
And I'm afraid
it never will be.
You'll always have to go there
and we'll always have some
sort of interruption.
And I'll never have you
all to myself, never,
and sometimes I'll be left
feeling completely *******
alone.

I got a text today with news that was
     a long time coming.
But that fact didn't make receiving it
     a single bit easier.
Working in pharmacy is
     high stress
     low thanks,
Gotta develop quite the
     thick skin.
But some patients are different.
They become favorites,
     your smiles to them are genuine,
     you share hugs with them,
     your heart twists at their struggles,
     and you rejoice in their triumphs.
You come to love them.
The problem with that connection is,
     when they die,
     they take a piece of you with them.
You'll no longer
     see their name on your computer screen,
     pour their medication into a vial,
     have them brighten your day.
Working in pharmacy is
     high stress
     low thanks
But the worst part is when a patient is gone
     and you don't get to tell them goodbye
     or how much they meant to you.

I've given pieces of myself away
     over the years.  
I meet people and I love deeply,
     so I break off a piece of my heart
     and offer it up, my gift to them.
I've found my presents oft returned,
     unwanted, unused
     after their purpose had served.
So when we first met, sir,
     I had no intention
     of breaking myself further
     for you, only to be scorned.
But intentions be ******,
     for you didn't wait.
No, you sewed my pieces
     back together for me,
     without me even having to ask.
And so it is you, sir,
     who shall have the gift
     of the rest of my heart.
One little piece will never be adequate,
     and so I give to you,
     more and more every day.

You call me your princess,
     but I'm not worthy of a title
     filled with such nobility.
I'm far from regal, you see,
     and I wish you wouldn't give
     me so much to live up to.
For I'm destined only to disappoint
     when you hold hopes so high.
I'm nothing more than a child
     playing dress-up
     in her grandmother's old clothes,
     pretending to be royalty.
What you think you see,
     is nothing more
     than make-believe

If I were to place you gently in my pocket,
would you mind very much staying there
and remaining always near?
So that in my moments of greatest need
you could pop your head up above the edge
and whisper tiny encouragements into my ear?

I slip,
and suddenly I'm underwater
gasping for air,
but my lungs are filled
with the spirits
I can't seem to exhale,
and there's no room
for the oxygen
I so desperately need.

I've fallen,
my brittle bones
cracked from the pressure
of trying to hold up
the demons on my back,
laughing as they press down.
I'll never be able
to stagger back up.

I'm dying,
torn from the inside,
my own voices
driving me to madness
from which there is no
possible escape.
help me, help me,
I don't want this fate.

Putting on my face
The world's so topsy-turvy
Hold tight! The ride's tough

Your preference for her
     is all too clear
and becomes more obvious
     each time you turn
     away from me
     to seek her out.
I'm left behind, reeling
     from your silent insults,
breaths stuttering as I try
     to comprehend
     when I stopped
     being good enough.

I'm not sure if you realize
just how many of my smiles
are a direct result of you.
In fact, most mornings
you're the sole reason
I bother removing myself
from the safe confines of my bed.

.                       Hello there old friend,
                        how I've missed you.
No, don't try to talk sense
into me at this moment.
I know your advice is sound,
and you have good intentions,
but right now I don't need
to know the moral path.
I'm in need of a little more
soul sacrificing pleasure.
                       Hello there old friend,
                       how I've missed you.
                       Welcome back, I'm sure
                       we'll get reacquainted quickly.

All
            my old scars have faded away, requiring a prolonged glance
            to distinguish the results of my past anguishes.
            My weapon of choice unavailable, I sidle into the kitchen
            and looked for a suitable substitute.
I
            sit on the floor, tracing over the places I
know
            they hide with the tip of a knife held gently in my hands.
            My mind sputters along slowly, trying to engage my heart.
            But once I’ve reached the point of seeking
pain
            directed outward, my emotions have dissipated,
            and my personality flat-lines.

I'm sad,
and no, I don't want to talk it out
because there's nothing you can do about it.
It's a sad sad,
the kind that permeates,
stays and repeats things in my mind
until it confiscates every vestige of peace.
I'm sad,
and no, I'd rather not discuss it,
because there's nothing you can do to fix it.

You found me as a frozen-over winter
     water infused into my veins
     slowly spreading through my limbs.
Me, turning to ice from within
     and you, you saw the icicles
     growing in my eyes.
You thawed me, a spring warmth
     steadily cracking the glaciers
     until they broke free
     from my arteries.
And I, I felt myself melt
     in your presence.

Most of the time you say
silly, fun, loveable things
in a sing-song voice
meant to convey whimsy.
But sometimes,
when we're just lying there
under the covers
or riding along in your car,
you get more serious.
You'll speak words that carry
heavier meanings,
and your voice deepens
so that I know I'm hearing
things meant only for me.
In those moments,
****, I can't break my gaze
away from your eyes.
You capture my full attention
with that special tone,
your own secret
communication straight
through to my heart.

Your blithesome nature
overwhelms my aching soul.
If I am honest
I must tell you that you are
simply extraordinary.

'
                      I asked
you
                       to make love to me last night,
                      desperate for meaning
                      and searching for more
                      than just another ****.
                      You turned me down
                      and my mood instantly
crumpled
                      though I tried not
                      to let you see.
                      I swallowed the pain,
                      buried it down deep
                      until I could turn my back to you.
                      And though we fell asleep
                      as we always do,
                      you with your arms wrapped around
me,
                      with my face turned away
                      you couldn't see
                      the line of tears dancing their way
                      down my cheeks,
utterly
                      destroyed by being turned away by you.

I think there are parts of our
lives that we can't possibly know
the meaning of until we are
months or even years removed.
                                                                    I'm
talking inconsequential moments
that snowball, gathering up value
over time. Then you look back,
and suddenly you are just
                                                                    so
surprised at how many actions
interacted perfectly, the necessary
amalgamation of happenings to
bring about one exact minute. I'm
                                                                    glad
to have had this experience the
second you walked up. At that time
I could never have possibly known I
would be here today. Never guess
                                                                    you
would have such an impact on my
life, knocking an avalanche into my
world, leaving me gasping for breath,
showing me what it means to
                                                                    exist.

Some days
in the middle of getting ready
I'll have to stop and
go lie down for a few,
utterly exhausted
by the mere act of getting up.
These are the days
I know, I know,
****.
I'm depressed.

I have no strength
to face the day.
I want to call into work,
sorry, I just can't.
Go back to my bed,
let my blanket swallow me up.
Make a black hole of myself,
cease existing,
if only for a day,
just to recover myself again.

Tiny buds push up
Popping their heads out to ask,
"May we come to play?"

Louisiana
Distinction between seasons
Almost unnoticed

Perfection now, but
mosquitoes will swarm us soon.
Spring is oh too short

The world is melting
Shuddering off her top coat
To display her skin

Spring-so colorful
But you want to know the truth?
Winter's more my style.

Sometimes while sitting next to you
I feel as if we are actually galaxies away from one another
and I'll try my damnedest to gather up all the stars in the vicinity
and spell you out a message among the constellations.
But for some reason you can't read my signs.
Maybe we're not speaking the same language,
or I simply haven't gathered enough stars to adequately display what I'm attempting to say.
Whatever the cause, our miscommunication turns the inches between our bodies
into unconquerable territory
that spans light years.

People ask me why am so quiet,
and I say it's because I have nothing
worth saying aloud at the moment.

I watch, observing others waste
their words, and I don't see the point.
When I speak, it shall have worth.

And yet, when I make attempts,
often I am interrupted by others
who value their own words above mine.

My words are no more important than another's,
but if I take the time to speak them,
I feel I should be given the chance.

So why am I so quiet? Honestly,
part of the reason is because
even when I bother to speak,
                                                    no one hears me.

My sweetest dreams
are created from
the remnants of your kisses
lingering on my lips
as I slip into
the land of slumber.

                        I catch wisps of them
                        in the exquisiteness
                        of your eyes
                        upon my waking
                        when you press your lips
                        to mine once again.

Most words get casually tossed into the air,
gently carried away by their impermanence,
lack of true depth or meaning.
This is the majority of conversation.

Some words stumble out unwillingly,
forced out over tongue and through teeth.
These words are harder to coerce into being,
yet too heavy to be kept inside.  

And then there are words flung out innocently,
born of a benevolent background
or intending no substantial meaning at all.
But the implied connotation is hurtful nonetheless.

Or the words haphazardly spit out
in a weakened moment of anger,
and the regret runs deeper than the thought
put behind the decision to hurl them around

These are the words that settle into minds,
the ones that flop out and lie there,
panting from the exertion of the pain caused,  
intentional or not.

Be wary of the words you bring into existence.