There are no boundaries
      in this world
Only the walls that we create.
      Socially acceptable questions
with socially predictable answers,
    * Stay in the box
             color in the lines
                   follow directions *
There are no boundaries
        in this world

Only the good die
and the alarm clock won't stop screaming
Why don't you ever blink?
My voice doesn't echo.
Entropy undoes everything.
The stars go out,
the universe cools,
a closet door creaks open.
My silhouette becomes an infinity of birds

I've grown weary of the daily grind.
Tired of the constant work, so many expectations.
I cannot meet all of them, not at once.
I'm drained by this life.
I'm not sure how much
longer before I collapse.
I'm done with this life,
I just want to rest,
an untroubled sleep.

I stopped sleeping
a long time ago.
Rest is restless,
Dreams are nightmares.

When I bolt awake
in the middle of night,
Not a soul is there to
comfort my screaming mind.

I'm tired of this.
Tired of staying awake,
Tired of fearing sleep,
I've tired of this life.

"Can a heart still break once
it's stopped beating?"
Will your breath turn to butterflies
and fly far away from here?
When will things stop feeling so empty
without your presence to fill the silence?
I miss you
I don't know what to do.
They keep saying it's a pity that you died so young.
But that doesn't do the loss of you justice.

Does he take care of you?
Does he hold you when you cry?
Does he listen to your fears
and share his own with you?
Where do you feel things?
He feels fear is his throat,
you feel it crawling up your spine
like spiders with too many legs.
What if he doesn't feel
love the same way as you?
That burning, like a shot of *****,
Like you swallowed fire.
What if you don't feel the same?

To love oneself is the ultimate goal.
To smile at the reflection in the mirror;
I know that you hate what you see
with every shard of your  beautiful soul.

When I say shard, I do mean shard,
For your soul was shattered by the world,
And you broke it into tiny pieces
When you cut your fingers trying to fix it.

You loved yourself once,
Before you grew up in this cruel age.
Your smile was filled with sunshine,
And mirrors were things to marvel at.

You can love yourself again, if you try.
It won't be easy, it will take time.
But love can grow from the cracks in your soul
Like wildflowers in the pavement.

When you find how it feels to be happy,
Will you teach your children?
In the future, tell them your secret,
Share the secret of happiness with them.

I hope you smile with all the light of the sun.
I hope you want to be all the wildest things when you grow up.
I hope your eyes reflect the night sky.
I hope you never find yourself broken.
I hope when some one asks you what you love,
The first thing you will say is yourself.
That is important. I want you to love yourself.
I hope you're happy with who you are.
I hope you dream big and achieve what others thought was impossible.
Most of all, I hope you are happy, whoever you turn out to be.
My dear future child, always know, that I will love you, no matter what.

I saw you again last night
sad eyes, fierce gaze,
Sitting among the silent pews.

You look so broken,
But so beautiful.
Pain is so ethereal on your face,
I wish I could catch it
and wash it away.

I hope you find peace.

To the child who's youth was taken before it began,
Despite all your suffering, it is such a joy to see you play and smile and laugh. You are so brave, not to let your illnesses steal your light. I hope someday you get to see the world through healthy eyes and live without pain. You are beautiful and you are wonderful and you deserve to hold the world in your hands.

Stay strong, dear.

I always loved the idea of a muse by my side, gifting me with inspiration. Maybe it made me feel less alone. Maybe that is why I feel so lonely and empty when I can't write.
Psychology tells me that authors and artists are commonly more unhappy than those whose jobs rely on logical black and white thinking.
But would we have it any other way?
What beauty is there in a world made of only black and white?
Where would we be without our words and pictures and our inspired sessions at four am when the thunder brings to mind an image that you mustn't forget?
The scrawled poems on napkins and foggy bathroom mirrors and the doodles of nightmares in the margins of my calculus notes,
I would be lost without it. I am lost without it.
So if a muse is what I'm lacking, please come back, muse.

You know more about me
than any stranger should.
You know more about me
than any friend could.
It's not always easy
to post the things I write
Because they are more of myself,
that I don't like to share.
My poems are me and me alone.
I hope you like them,
but more, I hope you like me,
even if I'm a mess.

I once wanted to be a doctor.
A surgeon, to be exact.
Blood never bothered me,
and I wanted to save people.
But, you see, I couldn't be that.
Surgery requires precision,
And my hands shake
when I need them to be still.

I wanted to save lives,
To heal the sick,
To revive the dying.
I thought I could be
that godlike figure,
Defying death and
Stealing its victims.

But I cannot,
Simply because my hands shake
With the weight of the past.

The sheets can't seem to stay on the bed
and the blankets flee from warmth.
The pillows end up across the room.
Every night, I fall asleep at three am
Sometimes it's four or never at all.
My bed is a war zone.

Who would have thought
two years made a difference?
Two years is not that long
in the grand scheme of things.
Two years ago, I didn't know
so much that I do today.
Two years ago, I wouldn't have
made some of the choices I did.
Two years ago, I could smile,
a genuine smile, with real emotion.

If I could go back to two years ago,
I would change what I did,
Warn myself that not everyone is good.
I used to believe that everyone was good
even if they were only good in some tiny way.
I know better now some people will never care
how much pain they cause.
Two years ago, I wish I'd known.

Today I learned,
that I am useless,
that I will be alone,
forever.

All because I told
a man that I am
not interested in ***.

I'm sorry that I cannot
fulfill my purpose in life.
Because clearly,
all that matters is
my ability to please
others.

I knew I was in love with you
the night I sobbed because
you were so far away
and I couldn't run to your
arms when I was hurting.

And it miserable

Who would have though that
we could hate ourselves this much?

Red scars stand out vividly against pale skin,
protruding bones jut out from your smooth body,
the bitter smell of alcohol on your breath,
and acrid cigarette smoke pouring your delicate nose.

This self loathing,
this self hatred,
this anger that we can't be perfect,
gives us an excuse to destroy ourselves.

I don't believe in love.
Never once have I felt that spark.
The fluttering, the happiness,
That doesn't exist.  

The men I have known,
have not been kind.
The gentleman with the soft kiss,
He doesn't exist.

The nicest thing he ever did
was clean me up.
He wiped off the filth
that came from him,
And cleaned the blood
From my split lip.
I know he was careful
Not to hurt me too much.
Because he took me home
after he dressed me
And threatened that
Things would be worse
If I told anyone
What he had done.

If you could see how many untitled drafts I have,
What would you think?
Shall I count them for you?
Upwards of twenty,
unfinished thoughts
and half formed metaphors,
poems where I just couldn't
find the words at the moment.

They had the gall to throw me from the top.
Sending me crashing to the bottom of the heap.
An untouchable, they say.
How dare they call me such,
after all I have done for them?

The weight of the society,
left to the untouchables
to bear upon their shoulders.
They refuse to even help me from the ground.
The call me *****, worthless.

I am certain my hands are cleaner than theirs,
for the blood of the innocent does not ***** my hands.
I am certain that I am not worthless,
for I do the jobs that no one else will.
Yet they call me untouchable.

Sometimes I feel like we're all just here,
Telling each other we deserve better,
but never taking our own advice.
Do we even know how to be okay?

If I spoke louder,
Would you listen?
If I raised my voice,
Would you hear?

I know you only yelled
because you wanted to
make it more clear,
because I couldn't understand
that I was only hurting myself.
But please don't be so loud,
It makes you sound like him.

Silence is so ******* loud
And I cannot stand the
oppression of the voices
Screaming in my mind.
At least when there's sound,
I don't have to listen to
My mind criticizing myself.

No matter how many times
you wash your hands,
They'll always be *****
with the blood of the innocent.
It's all about power,
You like control.
Vultures like you,
Picking on the weak.
Hit me when I'm already bleeding.
I know you take joy
in watching people break.

Will you hide from the sun?
Or shall you bask in
Its golden rays and
Warming light.
The sun touches all,
Reaches all,
Sees all.
You cannot hide from the sun,
But you can try.

You sleep all day
and wonder why
you can't sleep at night.
Close your eyes,
open them,
Say we're in love,
cheat when she's not looking.
Say we're happy,
cry when we're alone.
We are all lying.

I joined the church choir
but I don't think I believe in God.
I guess the preacher should be
Preaching to the choir.
But the preacher's my dad
and I'm a disappointment.
So I joined the church choir,
because I like to sing,
And it's not so hard to pretend
not to be a failure in your parents eyes.

With a nervous chuckle,
He stammers frantically
about desire.

I sigh and turn away,
Giving his concubine
A little bit of privacy.

It didn't matter anyway.
I never expected
Love to exist.

My expectations were correct.
This is what I get
For caring,

She was broken
And she acknowledged it.

But what does that mean?
A broken human is surely different
From a broken toy.

You cannot replace the batteries
Or superglue the cracks.

What does it mean to be broken?
It means to be human.
And not quite fixable.

Can someone please tell me
what it is like to be a first choice?
To be wanted?
To feel approval?
To have some one look at you,
like you're worth something?

I don't see a future me.
A me with kids,
A me getting married,
Me as a lawyer, like I used to want.
I'm not even sure
I'll get through this year.
It's hard to envision a future
when you don't have hope.