I'm not in control

I can't stop

I don't want to destroy myself
But my hands, they do

I yell and scream
Try as I might
I cannot stop

My hands won't listen to me
They are not mine

Please stop tearing me apart
Please stop the pain
Please stop destroying this body of mine

we all want to love
and be loved

the right way

In the bind of the early morning,
With a weeping glow of rise and shine,
I think about my mistakes, my regrets.

Dawn is my honesty.
Ask me  anything at sunrise
I cannot lie.

She walks up to me curiously,
Head-tilted; her innocent eyes stare into me.
Constellations on her face - I count one, two, three blinks followed by a grin.
A child sees herself for the first time.

Now she’s taller, her face a little broader
she looks into me;
a smile replaced by a frown, she pulls back
inspecting every line that marks her skin

then returns with paint which she brushes over her skin.
It marks her eyes, her lips; her cheeks
full of pink as she admires her work.

The paint never washes off, you see, it stains.
She returns to me regularly, rivers of ink running down her face,
her eyes clouded; the illusion of beauty hangs in the air.

Society’s product stands before me, reflections of her.

-thelostpoetjournals

my wicked game
won't stay
hurt
longing for where
we used to
miss being alone
gliding in glue

this word is only gonna make it part
can you write
them, instead of speaking desire
leaving the ends of sidewalks to me

learning alone to be, responsible
for love
our free years got torn apart, with you

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