chapped lips
shallow breaths
anticipating what comes next
legs weak and
sweaty skin
how could this be called
a sin?
               l.r.

I used to pass love notes to the knuckles that cracked against my jaw.
I tucked inside my locket the bruises I thought no one else saw.
You see when your first love is pain,
Being covered in blood
Replaces kissing in the rain.
The last time a lover hit me I was 11,
So by 12 I had started dreaming up ways to get to heaven.
Depression is just a side effect of wanting to die,
But when you're in love with toxicity,
It can be hard to say goodbye.

I'm an addict,
To everything that hurts:
Bruises,
And bulimia,
Men who chase teenage skirts,
But hating myself was the only obsession
That lasted long enough to work.

You see I don't always want to die anymore,
Yet now I feel like I finally lost my mind.
Desperately seeking new ways to pass the time:
Anorexia holds my attention
Until trichotillomania comes
And then moves along,
And once again I'm boring and bored,
But I always swore
a genuine smile was something I'd want.

you know you do not write poetry
every now and again
- poetry borrows your fingers

I am disembarking from here,
I have moored my boat here for too long,
I have made to many friends,
I have made more enemies than not,
I have destroyed the place of where I live,
I have wiped it clean of its tolerance,
I burned it to the ground not by my own cause but by talking to each side.

This is a project that I had to do at school, it's not a poem but I just wanted people to read it...


          A wise oak lazily wrestles with the wind disregarding its breathy efforts. The tree sits atop a hill looking over a dark golden field, overhead the oak lay the endless universe, while an aurora borealis streaks the earth with an endless luminescent light. The wise oak shimmers with streaks of purple, green, yellow, and red hues as they dance on its leaves. I walk toward the oak blanketed in darkness except for the colours that flow across me. As I walk through the field slowly awed by the living light that has bathed the dull world, I can’t help but touch the soft ripe wheat as it tickles my palm. When I reach the tree it sways softly in the wind, the leaves rustle trying to softly speak silent words of wisdom. I lie down in the cool soft grass and look up at the sky through the leafless patches of the tree, I can see the stars that paint the blackness of the universe and the aurora borealis as it brings the sky to life. I stare for a while and I feel as if I stay long enough the tree will speak to me with great words of wisdom.

i've
cheated death
once more
and
found
a place
called heaven
without wings