I've thought of records and audio files,
Where my voice trails on awkwardly enough,
For me to flinch hard as I listen to
All the silly problems that I wish to
Address in my teenage years, because soon
I'll forget myself, I'll forget my youth
And frankly? I ain't ready for those sad,
Sad twenties and the lonely apartments -
If only I had that audio file -
I'd pour my feelings out, let them go like
Water from a beat down dam heading for
The ocean, that water calls me now and
Its soft hum brings me down to Earth, but my
Stupid feelings are still screaming they're still
Deeply buried in the sand and the ground
It shakes with each unspoken thought I've yet
To let out, but if someone doesn't bring
A shovel, I might as well keep shaking
'Til I stop hating the sound of my own **** voice.

If only I knew
How your laughter sounds like
How your hands fit in mine
How your kiss lingers on
Then maybe I'd know
If I'm really in love.

An idiot's insides deserve a checkup
The doctor's baffled, the patients rise up
They huddle close and gasp quite loud
Inside his head there's a little cloud
A puff of smoke dances around
And quickly sinks to the white tiled ground
Is it escaping? But God, where to?
Should we be chasing? Oh God, what do?
The doctor shouts, the patients cry
The idiot can't help but release a sigh
His happy thoughts and simple dreams
Have gone up with smoke so it sadly seems
Just God forbid they give him a brain
Everyone knows that it causes so much pain
Just let him rest, just let him think
Of happy clouds and candy that's pink

"I'm sick of poems about love
How many times do I have to see
Another titled 'Him' or 'Her'?
Why does everything have to be about  that one and only 'You'?"

It's a public statement then:

"Love is overrated, everyone go home
And stop writing those sad letters to forgotten lovers"

-  a Tired Girl From Under Her Bed Who Never Experienced What Love Is

Bitter about the whole world
And fed up with her own poetry

Co u    n          
                t
                             y        o
                                                u r
   p  

              a          r
                      
                                 t                         i
      
  
                                           c                      l


                                                              e
                                                                   s

                                   .

Racing steps
Racing heart,
Racing eyes
Racing body

Fast-paced, Step by step
Bursting through

Out the ribs
Out the cage
Out the door
Out the room

Calm down, Bathroom sink
Makes no sound

Stop the noise
Stop the mind
Stop the fear
Stop the sweat

Too hot, for those clothes
It's confirmed

Panic in
Panic out
Panic then
Panic now

I carved a hole at the side of my head

With nubby fingernails

Now all my thoughts trickle out

Slowly but surely

And my head is getting lighter

With each passing second

Funny thing is

I can't seem to remember

The title of this poem

I've been thinking a lot these days
         I've been thinking about a button
                  In my head
That would stop all the thinking
Until there is nothing
But the silent hum of the night

Because the more I think
The closer I am to the truth
That sends bullets through my head
         That sends daggers to my heart

If only the pain left with the sound
    Of noisy cars passing by
          I press the button
                                     I press it - now

                      
                     The noise stops -

Immediately

Suddenly

Brutally








                                   But for how long?

Someone painted the altar green

The culprit remains unseen
But I swear, sisters, brothers;
I'll cease the weeping of your mothers
And slice that villain clean and quick
On our wall his corpse will stick

For the Lord gave me the power
To protect those who cower
Away from Satan's servants and friends
Don't worry, they are too late to make amends
We can't help that vandal abandon his evil ways
Next thing you know he'll set our church ablaze

So what do you say, sisters, brothers?
He made our altar unlike the others
Now it's our turn to make it clean
And rid the world of all paint that's green

You cry in my home.
Lonely tears drop on your clasped hands
Ever so quietly.

It’s the garden of Gethsemane
All over again.

And you feel selfish
For you weep not at my sorrow
But your own.

And you feel guilty
For you never want to listen
The way I do.

And you feel sad
For you are blind to the happiness
That I have bestowed upon you.

But fear not;
I forgive you.
Now forgive yourself.