They say,
there are too many hands on my body
my love does not exist between hushed lips
my heart is empty,
it is swallowed by temptation

They say,
the fathers look down on me
my temple is not holy
my hands they stray too far,
they tremble before desire
they've never seen a temple like mine.

Read the scriptures on the walls
it rolls from my arms to my wrists,
it's scrawled on the curves of my shoulders
my thighs are covered in stories, in cries
my skin holds insecurity beyond words can describe

Feel the aching of my soul
my back is a canvas that holds memories
my heart, a worn down home, it hopes for fire
my hands know only the cold
I am a lost animal seeking shelter,

Drink the nectar of my growth
the depth of the abyss that I've climbed out of
the bittersweet pulp of the hands of man
Feel the warmth on your lips as it drips
I am an ongoing project

They say,
I'm too lost in youth
They don't understand,
history lies inside these walls

Oh, how sweet it would be
When Lucifer beholds thee
His string of words, ablazing a fire.
To read it with passion is what I desire.  

Oh, how sweet it would be
When the reaper comes upon me.
When his words ring in me,
They strike fear, greed, and joy.

Oh, how savory it would be
When Lucifer and the Reaper
Were to sing a melody of their own.
Anger, sorrow, disappointment, and pride.

My, oh, my..
What I sinner I am
For I wish to hear the poems of
The crooked, of the scarred, and ******

My, oh, my..
What I sinner I am,
For I would tear off
The wings of an angel to hear
A wonderful song of sorrow.

My, oh, my..
What I sinner I am
For I would **** a child
To have coffee with the darkness.

Father, oh, Father..
Forgive me for my sins,
But I don't think I'm welcome here.

~ M.M

Saline streams ran down my cheeks and found it's way to my lips
Glitter and shine like sequins as they drip down the terrain,
Seeping into the cracks in a desperate attempt to drink the life I've given up

I'm older now but nothing has changed
My wine still tastes like bitter childhood and my cigarettes smelled like my father
(Or maybe my father smelt like cigarettes, I couldn't tell)
A bag of anger packaged in Mcdonald's chicken nuggets sat on my work desk like a trophy to behold

I was only 6 when the first crack in my heart ran through
My mother told me that maybe copious amounts of cheesy fries and roasted chicken would somehow motivate my body to fill it up
I needed reassurance that would coat it in resin
Give it another layer of protection
But she gave me a bag of hard candy so I could sculpt around it

My body shook and my voice cracked as my father left my the family for the 3rd time and I knew my trust was gone forever
But that's fine because 7-Eleven is down the streets
And they have a promo for chocolate-vanilla ice cream
All I needed was a cone to catch the tears as I swallowed it down like melted sugar syrup

I tell myself that adding chocolate chips into my depression would not make it taste sweeter
But when I took a bite out of that cookie, I could barely tell I've been crying
And a few mugs of mocha drowned the thought deep into my mind

I'm older now
But my taste buds still have me ******* on a chain
And it feels like the only way to escape
Is to jump down the abyss

Depression is not when I attend a funeral,
And the dead have been prettied,
and the coffins have been chosen.
It is not the sorrow I feel..

Depression is not when I fail a test,
Nor is it when I dishonor my family,
Or when I make a fool out of myself that day.

Depression is when I laugh heartily with family,
And chatter fills the air, it's a grand time!
But hell.. Is it hard to breath.

Depression is when I am alone and at peace,
And the clock ticks and the ink drips,
And suddenly I am suffocating in my thoughts.
Like a deep sea of worry, stress and negativity.

Depression is when my body is stone,
And every move feels like I'm dragging tons.
And so, I shed black tears.

It is when my thoughts are in blots.
It is when I am inky.

~ M.M

Sharp sighs and the smell of coffee,
It filled the cold morning air
Of my small room in the apartment.
Grey filled the shadows of my face,
As I hugged myself on the spring bed.

I hadn't been feeling well that morning.
Maybe it was because the old woman
That lived beside me was smoking,
Slowly filling her apartment with tobacco
Instead of cats that meowed gently.

I didn't feel like going out.
Maybe it was because room 7 was open
And out came the strong figure of a man;
A man that'd left his children and wife
I was scared that I'd hear the sobs
Of his little young'uns and his wife
Again for the 5th time, and I'd break.

I didn't want to open my blinds.
Perhaps it was because my apartment was right across room 10,
Housed by a lone boy in his teens.
And maybe if I had open my blinds,
I might have seen his blue glassy eyes
That sobbed for the warmth of
The childhood he had missed and lost.
I swear I heard him howl last night.

I didn't even bother to dress up.
I knew I wasn't going anywhere,
Especially when it was room 5's time,
To remove her dainty mask and honour the drunken sailor's days
By cussing out her only child
And leaving scars in his heart
That no amount of candy would fix.

Don't get me started on room 1.
Oh, room 1, a poète maudit.
There she lays all day in her gown,
Sipping coffee and listening to bicker,
Scooping ideas to weep on paper.
Room 1 had problems of her own,
But she wouldn't dare to confront them.
Not today, at least, room 1 was tired.
Nonetheless, today, room 1 was very observant.

It was a strange small apartment.
It specialized in crazed sane people,
People that didn't grow up too well.
People that weren't quite broken,
But weren't quite fixed either.
They were often cracking under
The own weight of their sins and flaws
But they managed to wake up everyday
And maybe.. Just maybe think
"Today, I'm going to fix myself."

Maybe tomorrow, the old lady would decide to get a bit of fresh air.
Maybe next week, room 7's door will close shut again and ooze with love.
Maybe next month, the kid would've decided to make use of his mouth
And scream "I've had enough!"
He'd bring his mother to tears -
Because that's what she wanted;
For him to stand up for himself.
Maybe next year,  the young teen would pick up his school bag and live his life.
Maybe a month after that year, the poet would've shared a masterpiece.
Maybe by then we'd all have lived better lives and left the apartment.

But today was not the day.
Today nobody had thought to fix themselves.
Today everybody clung to this strange place.

-M.M

I never liked the word beautiful
It felt overused -
I could see it tucked under lover's beds
As if it was treasure, a new word
When really.. It was in every piece of literature

I never liked the word beautiful
It felt meaningless -
I saw it scribbled onto paper to invite a stranger into someone's bed
I felt it hang in the air when a young woman passed the streets
It didn't feel right.

I never liked the word beautiful
But when I saw you standing there,
With tears in your eyes and a sad smile
I couldn't help but think
"God.. She's beautiful"
And suddenly the word had never felt much heavier and powerful

A genie came to me in my sleep
And asked me what I wanted most in the world
In my heartbroken drunken sense,
I said "look into my heart and see"
"A broken girl with broken dreams", he replayed

He said he'd give me the man I need
But when you came, you were a wish come true
You wore your heart on your sleeve
And tucked your insecurities behind your ears to show off your grin

"I like you", you shyed
Like a little boy confessing his love
"Love" was a strong word so your heart chose what it could handle

"I like you", your lips curled into themselves, nervously quivering
Your arms were extended out to take all of me in

It broke my heart
I tucked my heart under my matress and danced with my insecurities
I could never love someone like you
I could never bear to lose someone like you

You belonged among the stars.
So that anyone could look into you.
Your heart, your soul, and your beauty.
someone as illustrious and radiant as you
should light someone else's skies

The genie gave me what I wanted
But I see now I don't deserve it
He had played the best game of trickery
And that was betting your heart on me

All he ever wanted was the moon
But I couldn't even get him a single star
So now that he's with you,
I only wish you take him home
to the cosmos

The dripping echoes throughout the house
I am a broken faucet that screams
The water thrashes against the metal sink like a thunderstorm
Do not fix me
Do not call a plumber
I want to be heard

What is in a name?
An identifier. Christine. Paul. Bernard.
A sense of uniqueness. Foxy. The Rock. Buddy.
A personality. John. Chad. Karen.
A name is something to hold onto.

What is my name?
A label to keep me concrete when people forget
A phrase to pull me back down when I drift
An identity so that I don't mold into everyone else
My name keeps me together

But what does my name sound like?
I forgot where I placed my strengths
I forgot the way it was shaped to my body
My person slips away from the letters as they form into your mouth
and get lost in the bottomless sea of identifiers

Who am I?
Billboards and signs that paint "fragile" across a face like mine
Small, petite, figures that whisper "prey" and warn me of the big bad wolves
Unfamiliar faces that tell me that I am "too much" as my bones grind against them and their hands try to cup me smaller
there is nothing to keep me from vanishing

Who am I?
Worker # 187, making a dime as they make a dollar?
A father's daughter, a person to be handed and never to stand on it's own?
Am I my weakest moments?
Am I my triumphs?

Who am I?
My own mocking voice screaming, giggling, obscenities before I catch myself
My own motherly tone re-directing me from the bad roots in my childhood
I am this thing and then I am another
We are so inconsistent, as people

We forget to keep our names close to our hearts
To choose our own identities,
let ourselves remind each other that we are
who we choose to be.

My name, it echoes against the cages of my body
and it wraps around me
reassuring me, reminding me, piecing me back together
breathing life back into me.

I stand before you
my pieces put together in shapes
that do not cut when you get close
edges turned onto myself

press your lights against my chest
the coloured pieces of my hurt
shine in a mosaic
"you are so fragile, love"
"let me take care of you"

My eyes are closed
and I let myself be swallowed
into your words
they are cold but embracing
possessive and enveloping

Cradled and helpless
my pieces shift for the mold you've made
you tell me my pain is beautiful
and I let you eat my pieces up
until there is no more of me

and there I am, an empty shell
looking to be filled
seeking for the hands
and hoping they give me back

I don't know who I am without you.

Dust settles in your room,
Untouched by time, like a still image
Your being woven into the corners
Yourself, littered in the paper scattered on the desk

The summer outside is roaring
Your fan should have been humming
But I can only hear the cicadas scream
Over your excitement,

December 16th, circled,
Bright red pen,
WINTER BALL!
You never got there.

Everday, I make your favourite meals
Play your favourite movies
Whisper goodnight to your name
Hoping that you would sit beside me, sleep beside me, be near me

And I ache,
and I ache,
and ache
For it is empty everytime the moment passes

And everyone says it's been years
and I should let go
That you would want me to move on with my life
That you will live on through my memories

Forget to mention that they've forgotten your voice
That they've forgotten you put chips in your sandwiches for "the crunch"
and if you live on through my memories,
how could I ever let you go?

If your laughter sits in my heart,
and the twinkle in your eyes are imprinted in my mind
How could I ever fill it with anything else
without losing you?

Dust settles in your room,
and the smell of your perfume
is fading
from your clothes

Poets wear armors
Of labyrinth words and
Moistened nibs

Faces encased in
waters of written ideas
and recorded feelings

Time does not
show in wilting paper
years do not
matter in ideas passed
through generations

Poets will not
age unless
the human race do

I find myself here again,
Listening to your song,
Several millenniums stretched and folded into each other
I melt into my ancestors

The wind whispers a calming promise
A ballad to those who will listen
The trees rustle with song with the touch of the wind
My heart, chasing the drums of the sea

I am a quiet listener
to mother nature's orchestra
Howls, chirps, pitter pattering of feet
The world sings with her

And we are reminded,
We are small and alone,
but her gentle voice
sings growth into us