Where to begin?
How to tell a well structured story of a,b,c order
when life reigns in chaos?
I wait for moment to strike
for glorious inspiration to dawn in lightened euphoria,
but I fear it will not come.
How sure am I to be of this moment?
When I can feel the clock drain.
It ticks and ticks       i  n  s  i  s  t  e  n  t  l  y,
counting over the hours and draining of sand.
And while I sit here
watching the arrow round the clock,
what of the billboard plastered behind?
In my fixation for alarm's ring
the flash of neon glow is dull to my senses.
I read not the words.
My moment of finding never goes, never comes.
I       w  a  i  t
and time passed by.
And what now?
Should it all be over?
I have watched the tick of clock,
waited for my time to run bare
with little I can show.
What have I amounted to in my search for meaning?
What have I left plastered, unread to that now pealing board?

Gnarled beast looks back at me.
Its soulless eyes beading down,
my palms slick with anxious, heart-wrenched sweat.
I reach my finger up to meet the squishy, blackened holes.
They sit where eyes should be,
Soully ******* holes in the middle
Flaked, skin flinches at contact,
the action reverberating through my callous finger tips.
I push harder, blood rushes over tawny wrenched flesh,
cracking beneath my nail beds
and thickly seeping to my fingerprints.
Slowly I retract my hand,
moving it to my own snow pale skin.
The blood stains and my wrinkled soul emerges.
      -This Is My Truth

The arrow pierces my heart in abhorrent glow.
It stings against my flesh and cuts me raw.
The arrow of love is one that does me no justice;
It flies hand in hand with that of heartbreak
from which pain pours from me like a sapped tree.
I am but an immobile lump of little intellect
and I have all to blame in that arrow t
hat pierced me with such malicious intent
and softened my heart, now beating much in my chest.
The arrow in its self appears of fluff and excellence;
it is the prize above all men,
but at second snap of bow the hand strikes,
coarse against my being.
That second arrow beats me black and blue
till I can carry on no more
and then it presents the audacity to say "but I love you."
And with that I break
I go flying mad by all accounts.
My heart now drips down my open chest
and tears down my face,
but with eyes of love beading down my soul
the words echo out my own lips.
I say it back, that "I love you"
and I move to gentle, callous embrace
of those love and heartbreak
who stitch me up with arrow and thread
and wrap me secure.
     - I've Never Been One For Love

Boys will be Boys
Boys will chase those twirl skirts
Better Pull Yours Down
Before they rip you to the concrete mattress
Boys have no self control
Being but mindless humans of ill decency
Boys will spew with slugged catcalls and woos
But your skirt wasn't modest was it?
Boys have no self control
Better you know that now
Rather than when they excuse themselves from all their actions
      -I'm Sorry We Can't Control (Own-up to) It

My Birthday Came Again this Year
Shocking I know
but this time there weren't
any parties or happy wishes
A year had gone and
Nothing to show
this year I spent in tears
And I pray to god it was for
          t  h  i  n  g  s       g  o  n  e
and not for things
          t  o      c  o  m  e
     -Happy Birthdays Come Rare

My Voice Is My Own
     -A letter to my dad
My Life Is Going To Be My Own
     -A reassurance to myself

As you grow
they'll try to prop you up
with rigid twig
and twist you round their garden rules
not realizing you have already sprung
and bloomed round your own forested path
     -I will not be a vine