She may be ******.
And she may check my fingers-
Slam her hard metal pole down on them-
Each time we practice lacrosse.
And she may roll her eyes
At
Me.

But I don't hate her.
I feel sorry for her.
Because I think I'm the only one
Who pays attention
Through the laughter and fun
That
He touches her.

And she makes a joke out of it
So her minions snap out of their dazed state and
Chuckle a little bit.
But his crawling fingers are greedy
And her words are scarce.

All of the brain-dead minions
Laugh when she jokingly screams,
"****!"

Except me.

I think that
They believe
They can hide me
In a box
Forever.

They
"Only
Want
To
Protect
Me."

But it isn't
Protection
When
The surface
Isn't
Permeable.

Nothing gets in
And
Nothing gets out.

And
There isn't
Air to
Breathe.

I hate that you're depressed
because
you are so
beautiful.

I do love you,
even if
we just met.

You are perfect.
Those scars on your
thighs
are
destroying
you.

I hate how it
Poisons your
Bloodstream,
Making you cut open
your skin
in ribbons.

Stop

Please stop.

And I
Was so stuck
On my own
Little
Problems
That I totally
Missed
That you were
Suicidal
Too.

You said you're "okay"
But I know
You're not.
I could tell by
The way you
Took a little breath before
You spoke,
Like I could hear the words.
"Should I lie to her, too?"

It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first:
To offer you now at last my least and my worst:
Minor, absurd preserves,
The shell's end-curves,
A document kept at the back of a drawer,
A tin hidden under the floor,
Recalcitrant prides and hesitations:
To pile them carefully in a desparate oblation
And say to you "quickly! turn them
Once over and burn them".

Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...

See, entry's yours;
Here, the last door!

Never, never again?
Not on nights filled with quivering stars,
or during dawn's maiden brightness
or afternoons of sacrifice?

Or at the edge of a pale path
that encircles the farmlands,
or upon the rim of a trembling fountain,
whitened by a shimmering moon?

Or beneath the forest's
luxuriant, raveled tresses
where, calling his name,
I was overtaken by the night?
Not in the grotto that returns
the echo of my cry?

Oh no. To see him again --
it would not matter where --
in heaven's deadwater
or inside the boiling vortex,
under serene moons or in bloodless fright!

To be with him...
every springtime and winter,
united in one anguished knot
around his ****** neck!

Headaches, again
Time for another desperate attempt to suppress the need
Block out the noise, drink more water
You are full.

Itching, under my skin
One piece won’t hurt, right?
One leads to many, drink more water
You are content

Jitters, distracted
The sweet aromas surround me, as if they can satisfy
Then I hear the soft grumble, drink more water
You are determined

Smoke, filling my mind
Replacing all that’s been lost in this fight
Another cigarette, drink more *****
You are forgetting

Concentrate, use your tongue
Pleasing him has become more important than bread
A little longer, drink more water
You are empty

Bliss, almost free
I feel like a kite that’s been let loose on a windy day
Eat everything in sight, drink a coke!
You are guilty

Shameful, but act happy
Holding his hand, no thanks, I ate already
Change the topic, drink more water
You are hiding

Pressure, stubborn
He knows my lies, pushing some carrots my way
Chew nervously, drink more water
You are weary

Laughing, releasing
No dessert in this world could compare to how he makes me feel
Bring me closer, drink me in
I am full.

if you've felt sad for a long time,
that sadness that gnaws at you,
and sometimes throws self-loathing in there,
don't think for a single second,
that not talking about will help anything.
because it won't.
if you face it alone, it's like fighting
a whole army with nothing but a
toothpick.
and that's not very useful, isn't it?
so think-- should you deal with this alone?
or tell someone?
talking doesn't make you weak,
it's not talking that does.
so if you open up about your feelings
you'll feel a weight pull off your chest.
sure, the misery will still be there,
but at least someone knows.
at least someone will help you.
at least you will face an army
with allies.