Aristotle said,
“Through discipline comes freedom”.
So faced myself in the mirror,
Instead of chasing the sun.

My mother told me
If I didn’t start watching my mouth,
I was going to wind up getting my *** beat.

I grew up in a chaos that
would’ve broken you.
Had you begging a God
you don’t believe in,
While crawling on your knees.

As a kid,
I ate punks like you for breakfast
and convicted felons for dessert.
I learned to use my words as weapons,
aimed it directly at the hurt.

Some say I grew up too soon,
Others pitied me at first glance.
I say I rose from the ashes,
And made my own chance.

A man could never
be my muse.
Some might have a
golden touch,
But once the night
Is over,
It never means that much.

Maybe it’s the way
they walk too deserving,
considering all the damage
they’ve historically done.
Always pinning themselves
one of “the good guys”,
Lying to your face
when they say it
While staring into the sun.

Circling back to anything
that doesn’t serve them,
Showing up to the fight
wearing a mask.
Taking what they want,
never even thinking to ask.

I might as well be a drunken fool
it’s in my bloodline.
My father was one.

A Charles Bukowski wannabe.
I dwell in my own suffocating misery
until I pass out, falling to my knees.

Head in my hands,
screeching to the sky:
Why—why—why?
Why me?

Snarling at many,
letting only a select few
get close.

I let them in only to cosplay
their perfect host.

Searching for love
and despising it the most.

I can't help but wonder
when I am walking along,
why I'm not meant to have a family,
why I was born on my own.

Hands in my head
I pace back and forth,
The storms are long
my mind is a mess.

I screech through the night
but no one can hear me,
Asking myself
What am I good for?

I look in the mirror,
to see something familiar,
but all I can see
is hope that has gone dead.

I gave up long ago,
looking for a home.
women like me are
meant to roam.

I still feel sick to my stomach
some Saturdays.
When the light beams
through the kitchen window
just right.
I feel like I am child,
waiting, hoping,
for my dad to arrive.
Not knowing
if he will,
But used to him not.

My love still aches for him
in the form of wishes
and knots.

You said you
needed space,
After I crashed
out.
Why would
I act like
that?
What was that
all about?

I don’t want to
point the blame,
But it’s hard to
find calm words,
When you leave me
Just as fast
as you came.