in the end of all this I am still whole
I am different and I am more layered now
but I am still good. Yeah, still good.

it's as though all the stars are aligned except one
every time the steps fail, every time it seems, doesn't it?
we're all lost, foolish dancers, bustling- far away from the sun
just planets dancing, burning too hard, scorching paths
into dark corners and flung across galaxies we are cast
I know our eyes will meet when it's over and done
God's hand has finished sculpting, his work here at last complete
and we lay down to sleep, sleep, sleep, as somewhat-one.

A year later, I'm still cradling your weeping sister in my unworthy arms...

in spring, suddenly the sky falls
one minute it's sunny and clear and you feel
your skin toasting, the next the clouds overcome
and fat droplets swirl up dust and sink onto you,
sizzling and cooling, and it's dark again but it's all a blessing
it's all a blessing and maybe you don't see it
but God is on your side.

So that's what I am to all of you.
A ******. A sinner.
Fine, so be it.
I loved like none of you have before.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

"It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, to absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their ***." ~ Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)

Untangle yourself from your sheets.
Change your clothes.
Brush your hair.
Breathe
Brush your teeth.
Drink water.
Eat fruit.
Breathe
Pick a movie on Netflix.
Watch it without distraction.
Laugh at the jokes.
Breathe
Don't think about pills.
Don't think about crying.
Don't think.
Breathe
Get up.
Change your clothes.
Wash the tear stains from your face.
Breathe
Get in the car.
Pick up your sister.
Don't let them see you breaking.
Breathe
Remember that you're loved.
You have so much to do.
You have your entire life.
*Breathe...

I can't write without at least five people thinking it's about them
it's never about you; it's always me, it's always about me
love poems are enscribed straight from my mind, directed towards
none, and all, the universe, God, myself
Art is not towards the subject but rather from the artist
and if you can't see that, I will take my ******* artistic license
and tell you to '*******' like I did before
at least, 'you' probably think it's 'you' again, don't you?

"This screams Republican."
"Um, excuse me, is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

Yes. Yes, it ******* is. You're the reason why this country is so ****** up, you, and your mother, who call themselves Christians and behave the same as the Pharisees whom Christ reviled, you who forget the poor and blame the women and latch on to the past as though even new and better solutions are wrong because they are different. Yes, it is a bad thing.