your critique mimics
the chills down my spinal chord.
I've had an ache for weeks now-
seems there's not enough stretching myself thin
to rid of the pain in my neck now.  
your lips form lashes around my tongue
and it seems I have acid sores
encompassing my lips
because everything you say to me is so toxic.
Your mouth is a battery,
you won't stop running it-
seems it recharges itself.
Seems I cannot throw it away-
it would harm too many others.

Standing in front of you I feel weak,
a version of myself I do not recognize.
Seems I was never strong enough to stand up to you-
so I backed down.
Time and time again
hiding how I feel for your benefit.

It's a shame whenever someone comes around
I wince, afraid you will use your acid tongue
to weather them down
and form rust stains out of their smile.
Most days, I clench my fists
ready to be a shield in their wake.
Most days, that's a mistake.

The high horse
you build your house upon
has grown higher-
you built it that way.
You look down at everything
and bask in the glory of your accomplishments.
The materialistic glow of your youth
shines down upon my face-
but you are not looking at me in awe.
You do not consider me something worthy
of your appreciation.
It seems you think you owe it to yourself
to be nothing less than egotistical,
you grew yourself this way.
Built it from the ground up
so treat it as you wish.

Your way is the only value.
My words are meek inside your muddy waters-
your mindset is clouded again.
I am the rain upon your parade.

Addiction runs in your blood
without something
you fall apart.
All I ever wanted
was for you to be better-
you can never give me that.
You give me a complex instead.

Read this back again,
come back to it and realize
that us women always marry our fathers.
and I can't decide which this poem is about-
I think it's my Father,
but it could also be
every man I have ever loved.

I'm still trying to find love
in between the lines I write
but I only find the past-
the one where love didn't exist
seems it's not enough anyway.
I can't find love
when you show it to my blindside
you don't even care to move in the right direction.
Let me get over-
you.

didn't take long before the toxicity filled your mouth
and I'm not talking about all the cigarettes you smoke-
I'm not referring to the blow you once had up your nose.
The leech has reached your lips-
you said this was the last time
but I know just like all the others that was a lie.
You cannot fool the girl who analyzes for a living
who hides under her rock and watches as people **** up.
She's social but doesn't leave her head space
so she can see right through the strides you think you take
and the love you think you're making
but instead of savioring what you think is special
you are destroying your insides.
Breath it out, stop it from consuming your body-
you're aloud to run away without question
you shouldn't have to make excuses anymore.

A friend of mine clings to toxic things
and not the drink and drugs and designer clothing
but the girl with the long hair
who dresses like she owns the night
only just to ruin his.
I wish he could see right through this-
but he doesn't want to feel so alone
inside of a city so big.
He's not so sure what home feels like anymore
so he uses her for comfort
when all she's doing is making his heart fail.
And he could never even tell the difference.

Dissect me again
remind me I have a backbone
and insides that no one else sees.
Take away my ego,
and breathe life into me.
It was nice to know
what knowing felt like.
Too lacking control,
and not enough self-awareness.
Maybe that is where the cut line should start.
Right down the middle of me,
so every inch is exposed.
Seems you are staring down
who my insides have made me.
I am scared it was not what you pictured.
I am always scared that I am too much for people.
Most days, I'm too much for myself.

Stitch me up,
remind me I am okay the way I am.
Analyze me until
the self-awareness reaches my limbs
and I look in the mirror and see myself like I once used to.

You have a knack for making me feel things unknown-
tapped into a place inside I hadn't yet discovered.
Explore with me?

Insert cheesy metaphor here about how
I want all of you-
but you will not open yourself up enough
and I am too timid and insecure
so I idly sit here and wait for you to come to me.

Insert life advice here about how
the ocean can make waves
but it takes skill to swim
and once you learn
you will always know
how to beat high tide.

Now,
make the font pretty and add your watermark.
You don't want anyone stealing your work.
Maybe put it juxtapose style on a pretty piece of paper.
Make it so stereotypical people eat it up.

Helpful tips.
1) make sure it's generalized
2) try to put as much emotion as possible
but don't put any of yourself into it.
3) always write about love
4) make people think you've experienced a lot.
5) follow as many people as possible to get a lot of likes.
6) edit until it sounds like it's from a hallmark card.
7) take yourself out of the poem
8) make it hollow.
9) make yourself hollow
10) get nothing out of the experience but massive likes.

repeat until you feel better about yourself.
repeat until your fingers don't feel like
they will burn themselves off with lack of confidence
make your mind work in propaganda
and feed into the masses
because who needs creativity
when you have publicity right?
Likes, likes and more likes-
because that's poetry isn't it?
Not a true, genuine expression of ones self
just some **** on a page that sounds pretty
and probably rhymes.

I'm tired of cliche's
and rhyming-
tired of the disingenuous nature
of something that saved my life.
I'm not looking for relatable
I want to ******* feel something,
someone, anyone-
make me ******* feel
something.

Too many nights I lay awake,
staring at the marks upon my ceiling.
Seems these floor boards
have become headboards now
and I'm sleeping where I feel the most at home.

The victim screams again
trapped inside of these lines
everyone draws for her.
There is a box-
fit in it as much as you can
even if it's a tight squeeze.
We have no pity for you,
if it seems to be too small
just fit into it-
we all have to at some point.

This sympathy has become
a sinking ship to me
and ironically I've never seen the shore.
Drowning in the idea
salvation will reach my fingertips
and feel like grains of sand.

This sunshine I never seem to see
feels more like a dream,
a transfixed idea of melancholy
that is pressed against my hips
and I am feeling an ache in my spine.
Seems my backbone is being crushed too
I can't stand up even if I wanted to.
This box is locked and I am captive.
A prisoner of my own thoughts.

Jot this down-
remember yourself clearly
and all the scars painted upon yourself
every inch of bruising you have come across
a small reminder you have been here before.

These purple walls
have turned to a purple heart,
seems I've been drafted into war.
They drop these courtesy lies upon me
like they're bombs-
seems I am exploding again.
But if I do maybe I will get out of this box.
Maybe this ship will take me to the bottom
and I will feel the sand again.
Or maybe I'll see the sun-
when my back stands up straighter
and I can read my own words without cringing.
Maybe then I'll feel at home,
maybe then these bedsheets can replace floor boards
and the white of my ceiling won't be the only thing I see.


I tapped upon the transparency of myself
and seen a unrecognizable face staring back at me.
She nods her head and tells me it's okay
she is me, wrecked and scared-
with faith etch inside of her eyelids.
but why is she someone I don't know
an empty street corner of a place never been
wide eyed and painted on smile-
wish that I could know her.
Wish that I could be as good
at painting on this canvas
that is my body-
See I was never really good at art.

I imagine murals painted on this ceiling-
and my back hurts from laying here for so long
I hope to see the backs of my eyelids soon
because black would be better than nothing-
black would be better than transfixion
until delusion-
white canvas, white pills, white ceiling-
how can anyone love anything so void of color.

I haven't wrote a poem
since I could inscribe your name
inside of the stone cold outline of my cerebellum.
My movements are etched inside these lines,
but it seems you write too much in cursive
which consists of you
interweaving your thoughts around mine.
I believe these movements are meek-
that these hands can only write for so long
before they feel as if they have said too much.
Or too much of the same thing-
I cannot wrap this head around your literature
how you walk and the way you switch pages in an instant-
I didn't even get to read you.
But this comprehension is merely subjective
when it comes to your eyes under these sheets
and these hands all over your brain
trying to rack it of what is left of us.
You speak in tongues
and run in and out of me-
but somehow I still can't hear you.
Just a soft faint whisper
behind these outlines and inside of these four walls.
You encompass me
but it seems you still haven't a clue where you're going.
Time and time again
I try to rewind these words
and read another page of your insides
only to have it ripped away from these fingers.
Now all you do is collect dust
building up these leftover skin cells
because you would rather shed yourself thin
than open up.

I haven't written a poem such as this-
since your words ripped me in two
and I had to rebind this spine of mine.
Seems I am a renewed version of myself
and still a used copy all in the same two hands.
There isn't a page missing here
but somehow they are all defiled and bent
backwards they seem, lacking uniformity
just read me-
because I need you to see me
because I need you to let me see you.

I have grown too attached again
stuck inside of this dark place
I cannot seem to rid of-
it provides too much comfort for my insides.
My head repeats the devastation-
so I cling to the only thing I seem to know
the only thing that can help me breath.

I'm asleep-
but it seems these dreams get the best of me again
so I'm locked inside of this bed
it has me like a cage
and it seems I am drowning in bed sheets,
falling in love with this comfort zone
and hating what's outside of it.

Do not make me move-
I like it here too much.
It holds every inch of me
and keeps all my secrets safe.
It promises me it will be here
when I need it and it never lets me down.
I weep inside my pillow
and my insides are found here again.

Waking up to a new day
just wishing I didn't have to leave.
These bedsheets tangle me
and make promises always kept.
and I was never a promise that's been kept.