I know a girl
with wandering eyes
who paints her dreams
on giant canvases.
her lopsided ponytail
is secured by a paintbrush
and I swear she looks most beautiful
when her lips are pursed
and nose scrunched up
as she tries to get that final detail
just right.
disheveled and sleep-deprived
with coffee stains on her tired smock,
she brings to life
intricate images of her subconscious.
detailed landscapes
free of the burden of mankind
with creatures whose names
I find unpronounceable
but they roll off her tongue just fine.
one day
in her cluttered studio
her paintbrush meets my cheek
with a fiery line of red.
I catch her hand in mine
and she meekly says,
"I dreamt that you were mine
so I thought I'd paint you,
too."
our lips touch
and the paint smears
as we are brought to life
among her dreams.

I'm sorry that my open wounds
       Dripped and oozed
And ruined your new carpet.

My words are just echoes
Of words said before.
My thoughts and feelings trivial
Flecks of nothing
In light of space
And time.

The Earth watches us
Live and die
And never sheds a tear.

Tonight I grapple
With my insignificance.
And even while I write this,
Wonder why I even bother.

The room spins with an awkward intensity
As I find myself (once again) questioning what is real
Fearing that time will steal another moment
From my consistently weakening grasp
Unknown forces pillage my thoughts
3:00 am
Ideas jump from my mind like suicide bombers
Burning and fizzling as they plummet to the ground
Confused by my feelings
And confused by the world
I ***** emotion onto a page
Hoping it will save me from being broken
But words cannot contain
The run away
Freight train
That is my soul
On fire and restless
Far too tired to sleep
Way too hungry to eat
Too thirsty to drink
Too everything to think
I mean what I say
But I can never say what I mean
So I stare a the T.V. screen
Hoping it will make me normal
Or at the very least numb

Goodnight Red Balloon

If I am the mother to a million poems landing on def ears and
a single one grows slowly to learn your language than
I will surly transcend into a kind of euphoria
and swim in satisfaction.
If I am the mother to a thousand ideas
and none but one shall strike you
but it is so loud the ground you stand on trembles
Than I will cross the threshold of my potential
knowing I have finally listened long enough to say something undeniable.
If I whisper a hundred nothings onto notebook paper
and after a hundred years a single sentence means something substantial to a individual..
than I have done something innately  good
and larger than myself; a single mother to a million poems

i fell into a deep hole
6 feet steep in demented people
a crimson liquid comes up
from subtle muddled tugs of
dark artistic blades
sharpened & parked in place
are scarring my heart from the arch in my back
while i'm starting to starve for a part of your laugh
but your stabbing tactics,
adverbs grabbed to get me back with,
are childish attacks on your selfish self for what has happened
you cant even admit the **** you brag about in private settings
& you'll deny & lie to try & find a way to die without regretting
but i guarantee it wont work
i've been there when i was younger
you're just building up the thunder
to be burned & buried under
& the stress is infested with aggressive death messages
when all your best friends' chests are ****** messes