I found who I am supposed to be
You took it away,
"Be like me"
I thought that a mother was supposed to wish
for happiness upon her very own daughter
and I'm sorry that I don't believe in your lifestyle
please don't force it, I am sorry to be a bother

"Rip it off like a bandaid"
It will sting less,
only for the first second or so.

Too bad I liked to take my time
while pealing the sticky material away -
prolonged pain

When you are too drunk
to drink the drink
that drains the drunk
from your stomach,
what then?
Drink more,
drunk more,
drain more,
until you are empty
and full of drinks
in which make you drunk
in which make you drink more drinks
until you are drunk, drunk
too drunk to drink the drinks
that take away the drunk
I drank

She is a beautiful sight
As she she walks across the room
To fetch my creamy delight

Oh how i miss her so
Standing there across the room
At a counter of cream froze

And i know shell be back soon
So i have to say goodbye
Cause im a goon

Her eyes
Her senses
Her perspective

Her skin
Her emotions
Her feeling

Her face
Her body
Her beauty

...and her love

Red rope lies on the floor
Contemplating, pondering, should I?
Maybe if life were just a bit more
And water didn't run knee-high

So this is what it felt like
For the others as they linger
Oh, but can'st thou call a sike
As the water reaches fingers

The door, glued shut with crimson liquids
Quivers like the thoughts and the doubts
Desperately, impatiently attempt to rid
The water rising to the snout

Red rope hangs on the ceiling.

It's okay,
I laugh at me, too.

It started out with the handheld scissors
that were once used
to rip the tag off my pretty pink ballerina dress

I then picked out
the sharp edges of glass
that blanketed the photograph
keeping my dearest father alive

The tacks on my walls
from the silly band posters had worked for a while

Until it became no other obligation
than the razor
that was once sold in the store
of a lady who had no idea in the slightest
that she was selling a young girl
a ****** weapon.

I suppose you
are much like a staple gun;
for you can
hold me together

and yet I
could be compared to a
pair of rusty scissors;
destined to tear thee apart

I t h i n k a b o u t y o u
m o r e t h a n m y t h e r a p i s t s a i d I s h o u l d .

God,
(I'm not praying, I'm mourning)
It is exactly 1:04 in the morning
and 37 seconds
and I can't even ******* sleep
and there is no one that I can talk to who understands me
because the people that do,
stopped caring when I started trying. . .
I'm writing this here on this piece of paper or computer screen
(whichever you choose)
because I ******* miss you.
And I know that you would yell at me if you heard that word
come out of my mouth
but I would rather you yell
than not say nothing at all. . .
****, ****, ******
You're still not yelling so that means you must
really be gone. . .
It's 1:09 now, dad
and 17 seconds
and I have school tomorrow
but I can't sleep because you always ******* haunt my thoughts
and I used to think that I wanted to **** myself
because I thought I could be with you when I die
cause you said we could meet again in heaven,
you remember that, right?
Sure you do, that was one of your
last ****** days on this earth
But now that I don't believe in heaven
or hell
or maybe even God,
what have I got to die for?
In fact, what the hell do I even have to live for?
You're so ******* gone and
it ******* hurts
and maybe it makes me a ****** poet to write
so many curse words in a poem.
You would scold me if you read this.
But you can't read this,
and you're not scolding me
and you're not even ******* here anymore.
You're just gone,
and *God,
I need you to hug me and tell me it's all okay
and call me your little girl one last time
and let me see you ******* wasted
off your knockers one last time
and let me come home to find you broke into our house again
and let me listen to you yell at my mother
once more. . .
God, maybe this makes me a bad person
but I would take anything just to have you back.
I ******* miss you. . .
and no matter how hard I try
I can not put down in words the immense
seering pain that I have felt.
It's 1:17 a.m
and who ******* cares about the seconds.

I kissed a boy
who's mother beat him
and who went home at night to his little baby sister
and prayed that she would never end up with a guy like him

I kissed a boy
who's mother neglects him
and spends all his time
wishing and waiting for what could have been

I kissed a boy
who's mother just let him
do whatever he wants to women,
because that is what his father believed also

I kissed a man
who's mother respects him
and who treats a lady with care and gratitude
putting her own needs before his own

The first boy I kissed,
he touched me when I said no

The second boy I kissed,
he lied and broke me whole

The last boy I kissed,
was nearly twice my height and age

The first man I kissed,
he loved me for every page

Now if this doesn't tell you
the love of a mother,
I am not quite sure what will.
Just because you
got treated like a *****
doesn't mean your son
should treat women as that still.

delightful*                                                      (pleasing, full of delight)
dreamy                                                ­         (peaceful, abstracted from reality)
demure                                                ­         (reserved, modest)
distant                                                ­           (seperated in space/mind)
delirious                                                ­        (not able to think or speak clearly)
dangerous                                             ­        (able or likely to cause injury, pain, harm, etc)
daunting                                                  ­     (tending to make people afraid or less confident )
destructive                                                    (causing a very large amount of damage)
decrepit                                               ­          (weak/fragile, not strong enough)

dead                                                ­            (my father/heart/hope)

Would you still say it
if I were standing before you,
fresh mascara staining your favorite sweater
and scars to show for a cause unknown ?

I stole a bottle of beer from the fridge
I chugged about half the bottle
but I didn't like the taste
so I threw it out the window
and then I threw myself out as well
and I went to pick up the leaking bottle
and I drank it still, even though I didn't like the taste
and I fell asleep in the cold, and I think I cried
and tears made their way down my cheek and into my parted lips
and I didn't like the taste
but I continued crying, anyways
and in the morning my brother handed me some medicine
that he promised would make my head feel better
so I took it from him and swallowed
but I didn't like the taste
so I went and found another beer in the fridge
to down the medicine with
and even though I didn't like the taste
I got used to it.

You think                                        the clothes that I wear define who I am?
You think                                        that all I amount to is a simple word - emo, goth, scene
You think                                        that there is something wrong with not being okay?

I think                                              that you do not understand
                                                         what it is like
                                                         to have your whole entire existence
                                                         on this earth
                                                         defined
                                                         by one
                                                         word

I can tell you how to write sad poems,
all my favorite songs that make me cry. . .
I can recommend movies that end in a suicide note
or books, where the character never does learn how to fly.

I would lend you the eyeliner that is most smear-resistant
for the days that you have to sneak away to the public restroom, lock yourself in a stall, and finally let the emotions out. . .
I can talk about my old car and the boys I've kissed in it
and how they took advantage without a doubt.

And yet I will always say I'm doing good when you ask
and promise there is a brighter side to life
because you do not have to be clever to make yourself a mask,
there just need be a (false) sense of contentment in your eyes.

I thought that if
   I had enough spray paint
    And a place to put it
      Then maybe I could
        Make something out of these
          Drab pale walls

            But the landlords
               They got mad
                  And they said I would have to pay
                    For the damage done

                      But, I didn't see any damage
                        All I saw was galaxy
                           And colors that reflect
                             What I felt at night

                                 ... I wish that I could just
                                    Order the ones that painted over
                                       And damaged me
                                            To pay, and to fix what they did
                                               But maybe they don't understand
                                                  What they did, either
                                                      Because I look fine to them
                                                         And my expression
                                                              For all that they know
                                                                 Is not faked

                                                                    And maybe they like what
                                                                       They did
                                                                          And maybe it doesn't
                                                                              Look that bad
                                                                                 From where they stand watching

                                                                                    So I will fix the **** wall
                                                                                       And then right once it is back to
                                                                                          Its normal
                                                                                             Wretched colors
                                                                                                I'll paint over it again
                                                                                                  But this time with my own blood
                                                                                                      And the tears that they caused

                                                                                                         And you won't be able to
                                                                                                              Demand me to fix it
                                                                                                                 And they will still gaze at me
                                                                                                                    And smile
                                                                                                                       At what
                                                                                                                             They
                                                                                                                                  Did

Happy birthday,
Dad

from the kids
you left behind

Happy birthday,
Dad

through the promises
and lies

Happy birthday,
Dad

do they celebrate
up there?

Happy birthday,
Dad

if only your lungs
they still had air

Happy birthday,
Dad*

on the first day
of the year

Happy birthday. . .
. . . Dad

I always thought you'd
make it here.

This is for you
that deals with self harm.
This is for you
who has to watch their
best friend, daughter, son, or lover
deal
with self harm.

This is for the boy or girl
or man or woman,
the ****
or the quiet one,
the girl who wears too much eye makeup
or the girl who doesn't wear enough.

This is for
whoever you are
wherever you are
if the thought or the sickly desire
to harm your own
precious
delicate skin
has ever
for a second
crossed your mind.

This is for the ones like me
the ones that promise themselves
"it will help"
"I will be okay"
but deep down
they know
it wont
and I wont.

This is for the nights
and the days
and the empty smiles
and the swallowed laughs
and the times in which
you may have carved
****** letters
into your skin because
that is all you feel you amount to
or maybe it's just lines
or swollen bumps that last
much longer
because words can not describe
what you have seen
and heard
and felt
and what
you
have
become.

This is for you
for her
for him
this is for all the future children
or teenagers
or full grown adults
that will someday choose their weapon
to defeat
themselves.

I am not going to tell you it gets better.
I am not going to say that God is the answer.
I am not going to confess
my whole life story
and end it on a happy note.

But I do know that
through the tears
and cuts
and burns
and constant suicidal thoughts

there will be smiles
and laughs
and hugs
and even nights that feel as if they couldn't get any
better.

And sometimes,
even if only sometimes,
those smiles will be genuine
those laughs will be never-ending
the hugs full of love
and those nights, those nights
they will get better.

I do not know
if WE will get better
and if maybe someday
we might not want to
harm ourselves again
but I do know
that there will be better days
and moments
that are completely
worth
living for.

This is
the last 3 a.m
of 2015*

2014 - 3 a.m
laying in bed
next to a man
who claimed to love me
and lied.

2013 - 3 a.m
laying my head
on the cold tombstone
of the man
who was supposed to be there
all my life.

2010 - 3 a.m
laying my mom's head
onto the pillow
because she was too drunk
to do it herself
and daddy didn't come home.

2009 - 3 a.m
finding a bullet
full of lead
and wondering if that
was the reason
the yelling had stopped
in my parent's bedroom.

2007 - 3 a.m
sleeping well fed
in a warm and comfy bed
as my parents kissed in the living room
and they were happy
and so was I.

2015 - 3 a.m
downing the meds
the doctor prescribed
to numb away the pain
- but, surprise
it didn't succeed
cause just as well
I can't stand to breathe.

*This is
the last
3 a.m

Y o u    D o n ' t    D e s e r v e    F o r    M e    T o    S p e n d    T h i s    M u c h    T i m e    O n    Y o u

A f t e r    W h a t    Y o u    D i d



B u t    H e r e    W e    A r e*
                                             I'm sorry.

My friends
they always told me
"You are fit to be a queen"
They say that I
have perfect curves
and live my life in dreams

I took their words
and ran with them
miles, so it seemed
but really it was only 'til
the dark began to beam

Bowing down
to recieve my crown
But find me on my knees
Giving head
to the man I just met
and doing what he please

My perfect curves
fit perfectly
between the sheets and
men that be
look over there
what's that I see?
oh just another job for me (or should I say for he)

but finally
the dream I live
I no longer live with glee
the dream I live
consists of who
and what he wants from me

maybe they
should have told their friend
she would live a life that's worse
'cause seems as if it all depends
on bending backwards *(back words)

Thank you for the book
with the hard cover
and the pages
with no lines
to guide my cursive tool

Thank you for the insults
concerning everything
between
music artists and cheek bones

Thank you for not
making me pretend
as if I care
exactly what you think
of me or I or the ****** rock band
that happened to save my life

Most of all thank you
for never realizing that
our passions never quite did
go hand in hand
so that it could be easier
for me
to write another
meaningless
poem.

Tonight I can't stop thinking of you, and of her, and of them, and of my best friend whom you so carelessly flirted with. I can't stop thinking of the messages I found on your phone when I had just begun to trust you and God knows I can't get the things you told her out of my mind. I wonder if you touched her how you touch me...? Did you call her pretty and **** and perfect...? Did she make you feel as good as I do? I wonder sometimes, late at night, if maybe you think about her. You do not understand, my love, the absolute torture it was to watch you love on other girls, and put your arm around other girls, and kiss other girls, and **** other girls, and share those passionate moments in which I believed were just mine and yours... with other girls. Some days I can not help but feel as if I am not special at all. You touch me only how you touched the others. You kiss me only how you have kissed them. You say you love me just as you said to her and her and her and her and her... When making love is to me, is it only just *** to you? Am I only just... *** ... to you? I fear, my dear, that even now, and even here, I am only as one of your other girls. I will only become... one of your... other girls.

If my friends knew
of the pain inside
and the technique I created
for my scars to show up
perfectly aligned
I do not believe
they would remain my friends much longer.

If my friends knew
how I cry at night
and try to choke myself with my own dark hair
and finally,
lay broken and sobbing
in the midnight air
I would not blame he or she
if they stopped being friends with me.

If my friends knew
how I turned to *** to numb the pain
or jumped out the window
to feel again
I wouldn't blame my friends
for saying Im insane.

Lastly and surely,
if my friends knew
how many times I have bled
or burned
or weeped
or screamed
or tore away my lover's clothes
to distract my brain from
burning eyes
my friends might figure out
my disguise.

Remember when you touched me
as I said "no"
Remember how you kissed me
with such urgency to take that first bit of innocence
Remember as I pushed you away
and you got mad but zipped your pants anyways
and the only reason I followed was because
you were my ride home.
Remember how you had THE NERVE
to ask me for money
after how you had just touched me
and the only reason I did not slap you
was because you had made that poor little girl
afraid
of everything.

But tell me,
you MUST remember when I came to realize
the man I was with was best friends
with a criminal,
a deciever,
a lousy excuse of a man whom took this
hardly-14 year old girl's first bit off innocence
and discretely- her last

You must remember the denial.
You must remember how you called me a liar,
a fake,
an attention
seeking
*****...
You must remember wishing hatred upon me.

My poor excuse for a man,
but do you not remember
the beginning of a catastrophy
that only you
had the power,
underneath those grimy wandering hands,
to start ?

She attempted to burn her skin with the mere faucet
But no matter how warm the water became
the only marks on her skin were those previously left
by the hands of the rusty blade - hidden deep within her nightmares

She lay naked on the shower floor
****** legs and ****** arms spread out in front of her
and only she could make out the difference
between her tears and the running water

This child knew in that moment
that her every second on this earth had been a waste.
If only her mother, or the man that claimed to love her
knew just how empty she could feel
they would surely want no part in her disasterous real

So she lay down in the shower
as the water ran cold
and prayed for it drown her
with the small hope that there was still a God to show

Brother is addicted to fairytales
In his head
Mother won't stop reading the words she claims can save us all
Father is addicted to never coming home again
Sister treats her skin like paper dolls

Maybe if brother kept in check with reality
And mother came to realize no words could save her
Father wouldn't have left in such brutality
And sister would never have the urge
To pick up the razor

Then maybe their future generations
Wouldn't have to experience
When parents claim they're "going on vacations"
To leave their children with but a glimpse
Of what this real world, real life
Taste is

This one's for all the ****** angels
Bearer of knives and guns
I know you didn't use to think this way
You were just like one of us