As I stare into the mirror I begin to ignore everything I hear. I start to wonder what the world would be like if I wasn't here. There are some days I just wanna disappear.

I'd have no pain and no more worries. No need for a selfish man. I'm pretty content with just my hand. No complications just a different feeling.

I'm tired of crying. Im tired of cutting. I'm tired of a man I thought I loved. I'd rather just chop his **** off.

I'm angry and ******. There's no one to turn to. My boyfriend lays next to me thinking I'm at rest. I feel the movement of his hand that can't stop touching his ****.

All he wants is for me to fall asleep so he can ******* to his stupid ******* and that's just something I can not Handle. Just one more time and ill ******* leave.

I'm hurting inside. Please just **** me or bury me alive. My cuts become more deeper my heart becomes weaker. I just want this all to stop. Please just end this reality. Pain is just much too deep.

My brother was three
I five
My father had
The money to spare

Bought us toys
Unannounced

Nothing big
Treasures yet
Beyond adult
Imagination

Guns
Tiny pistols
One themed Batman
One Pink
Panther

The tired young father
Never forgot my brother's
Little hand around
His piece of innocent
Hardware
Fast asleep

Not letting
Go

So

Tell me if I love you
Too fast
Too
Tight

My hand is on you
Always

Now

I never considered myself one for the books,
A pen felt clumsy in my hands,
Something too delicate to touch,

You introduced me to my first romance,
Tales of rivers and sweet words of Hughes,
Pages were my optics, my eyes danced in the light,

Nights turned into highways of jazz and beat poet longings,
Kerouac and Ginsberg whispering into my ear
of corrupted ivy manifestos,

Maya told me to sing, I did.
My love for her still echoes in her passing,
Set sail to the open waters where Neruda lies,
sonnet 17 afloat upon the tides,

You knew my addiction before I ever got high on the ink,
Drifting across the sentences in the midnight hours,
A prayer in thanks of what you gave to me

There's more to this,
This thing we call living.
Everyone's all about the take,
What happened to the giving?

We take what we can
And still we want for more.
Receive one or two of something
While wanting three or four

There's gotta be another way,
A way to be grateful.
But when we don't get what we want
Everyone acts so hateful

There's a feeling of being owned,
Before we've done anything
A song that needs to be sung
That we can't even sing

Lyrics to write down
To give our thanks and praise.
But instead we wallow,
Depressed for days and days.

*This might just sound like
A difficult way to live,
But wouldn't be great to take what we take
And give all we have to give.

A blind man asked me
what i was looking for
sobbing on the kitchen floor
I blinked and saw oblivion

A deaf man played
the sweetest music I’ve heard
the notes feathered and frayed
it was more than I could ask for

A mute woman spoke
of a black sort of peace
that’s louder than words
and softer than fleece

Men have feared much greater things
of colossal serpents with devils wings
but I only fear the greater good
and if you only knew, you would

i will cram myself into a goldfish bowl
because it's awkward inviting people to look at me if i am perfectly normal
maybe everyone will forget to feed me
and one day you'll find me belly side-up

or perhaps i will dig myself into the cheerios in my bowl
i need a life preserver
and there are several stacked up in there

maybe i will get bitten by a computer virus and morph into code that nobody can decipher

or maybe i will write a poem
and it will preserve a portion of my soul

(so that my ideas may die without such a struggle)