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Wicked Mar 2018
He told me I was beautiful
He made me feel loved
He kissed me softly
He whispered sweet nothings
He reached his hands
He touched me all over
I tried to speak
He kissed me harder
He held me firmly
He told me it was okay
He know I wanted it
He grabbed me
He kept me down
I couldn’t speak
I couldn’t move
I couldn’t say no
Wicked Mar 2018
I twitch
I shout
Without thinking
I move
I make noise

I don’t have any control

I ****
I yelp
Without thinking
I flick
I whimper

I never had control

I jump
I yell
Without thinking
I twist
I scream

I’ll never have control
Wicked Mar 2018
When things are always going wrong
you start to lose faith.
My faith in God is waning.
A God who loves his people,
wants them to live,
to be happy,
a loving God,
would let so many horrific things happen.
He let my heart be shattered.
He made me autistic.
He made me with Tourette’s.
He let my parents fall out of love.
He took my best friend.
I’ve lost faith in the god of deathless death,
pain, loss, and oppression.
Wicked Mar 2018
I wake up
        head ****
        shoulder roll
        tongue click
I get ready for school
        head ****
        head ****
I get on the bus
I put on my headphones
        arm ****
People stare
I suppress
        They build
The minutes drag on
        Like an itch they can’t be ignored
The bus can’t go fast enough
        They’re pushing up
We arrive at school
        They’re going to escape
I run off the bus
        They begin to explode
        head ****
        arm ****
I distance myself from the students
        arm ****
        head ****
        head ****
        tongue click
        tongue click
They stare
        shoulder roll
        arm ****
        shoulder roll
Everyday I tic and twitch
A homage to my everyday struggles living with Tourettes Syndrome. Tourettes is a chronic condition where you have involuntary movements and make involuntary noises.
  Mar 2018 Wicked
You came in black.
Drenched in black,
encompassing the night into your every move.
Sun or moon for each eye,
stars twinkling your feet
so that you can slip quietly in,
black holes removing all evidence of breaking in.

You crept slowly, surely
grabbing everything you found,
every little
secret, scar, soul shine
into that bag you clung to,
clutching it so that it hung from your back.

You passed my fire place.
Empty, with nothing left but coal and dust.
The fire once there?
Now long extinguished.
You shivered,
and continued looking.

You glanced at the kitchen counter.
Strewn across it were spices
and ripped up shreds of pictures
of all those loved.
Mixed into remnants of
entrees, appetizers, desserts,
too good to be true,
gobbled up too fast,
You shudder,

Finally, you find what you're looking for.
In the basement, kept in a safe right by where I slept,
you found it.
You reached towards me,
slowly, silkily took the key I had around my neck
as I sighed at your touch and unconsciously let you take it.

You twisted the key,
opened the safe
and grabbed the
ornately scarred,
worn down wooden
box that was held inside.

You opened the box.
Inside lay a red thing.
It resembled a minuscule
mauled, mangled, mutilated
crimson heart.
You sighed with relief and tossed the box and it's hideous contents into the bag.

You grabbed everything else you found and put it inside your bag.
Some were lead heavy, others too light...
Memories kept too long,
some fading,
some still fresh,
others just too strong of a memory.

You crept quietly away,
but not before you heard me whisper your name.
You looked away
like the coward you are
and left the house.
Smells like Teen Spirit
by Nirvana

D is for Dangerous
by Arctic Monkeys

Billie Jean
By Michael Jackson (but I'm listening to the cover by Breath Carolina)
  Mar 2018 Wicked
i dont understand why i feel the way i do
why at a certain word,
or a certain picture
my heart will seize in my chest
hold my organs in,
bracing itself
only to go forth
and shake and tremble
and perpetually ache
like an old sore not healed

i wonder why i can't stop
digging graves for myself
despite being in a state of bliss
why when theres nothing wrong
i always expect the worst to be right around the corner
and instead of waiting for the worst to come
i make the worst

i guess i was never really patient in the first place
by bruno major
Wicked Mar 2018
As an artist I should love all colors.
As a boy I cannot love them all.
are colors I know too well.
They're the colors of bad days
And long nights.
They lead to tear stained pillows
and sleepless nights.
They’re the imprints of his rings against my skin
and his slurred words in my ears.
They’re a reminder that my father
isn’t a dad.
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