I know I shouldn’t feel this way,
And I loathe myself for it!
You seem so **** happy together
So **** perfect!
I wish I didn’t wish
That I could break this pretty little picture!

I look at your smiling eyes, and wonder
If you remember under the bridge
Or maybe under the table?
Now loathing is all I have,
And this pretty little picture
I wish that I could tear apart!

When you close your eyes

when you close your eyes, do you dream about me
are these dreams filled with love, and burning ******
do our hands reach for each other, in the darkness of the night
carressing one another, until the early morning light

do we whisper sweet nothings, into each others ear
ignoring the obvious, the things that we both fear
the truth can be quite painful, it will not let us be
in this case the truth, will never set us free  

when you close your eyes, do the tears fill your head
lying there motionless, in your lonely bed
because there is no room for me, someone else is in that spot
one more night of crying, your stomach in a knot

your last response was no response, it left me with a chill
the feeling is the end is here, you sent the final bill
when you close your eyes, I feel you no longer dream
covering your head instead, so no one can hear your scream

no I no longer think, that you dream of me
the cold distance is wider now, the space between you and me
that you have made a concious choice, to just let it go
you don't have to say the words, I already know

if i could tell you everything,
i would tell you with this song.
but i won't sing it to you,
my throat is dry and
aching from crying in my

cold metal framed bed

i feel like coat hangers in the front closet
and clean desks

and pens without ink.

i would sing to you
but i can't hold a tune

i feel like a shampoo bottle
after two and a half months


if shampoo bottles could feel,
i would.


i would feel so much.
the fire and the cold

and the ache
that sweet sweet ache

and i can't figure out which part of me it's coming from.


if i could tell you everything,
i would sing to you
but i am too weak to hold up this sheet music.


i hope you can understand

but i will whistle you the tune
of my heavy heart
beat

I have wide hips, a wide waist.
chubby cheeks and
short legs
given to me

by my mother.

she is not a witch.
she has wrinkles, yes
but they do not define her
nor would she let them.

I have no interest in making friends with fish,
small birds,
candlesticks or clocks,
or rodents.


I need human contact to survive.

If you put me alone in a house in a forest,
I will not clean.  
I will not wait to be saved.
I will not ask for your permission to go outside.

I will leave.


I do not need a prince to live happily ever after.

I have short bushy hair
and a ******.
yes, it's there.
underneath my cotton underwear and long lace skirts
that no one is telling me to wear.

I have a sister.
I go to her for advice.
I look up to her and I talk to her about
Everything anything everything

I do not need a prince.



I look up to my mother.
She is not a source of fear,
she is a source of comfort
and relief.


what are We teaching our daughters?

these imaginary princesses
teach our babygirls

to have long eyelashes
to have two inch waists
long luscious hair
*** appeal


and if they don't,

they will never live happily ever after.

If I need all that to get one,

I do not want a prince.

I do not want to be anyone's
cinderella.

I will not chase after anyone
if they choose to leave.

I will weep into my sister and mother's shoulders

But that poor,
poor
princess

will always be chasing
squirrels
to talk to

and men
to be saved by.

When will we teach them to save themselves?


When will they teach themselves
that there is no such thing as perfect

You said you'd come to tea
so I made a cake
chocolate sweet; maraschino filled;
girdled with a satin blue ribbon;
set out the prettiest plates;
hand painted with forget-me-nots.
And from the darkest corner of a drawer
found a single candle to celebrate the day.
I'd understand if you had 'phoned,
but now the chocolate lends a bitter taste
and even the despairing posies have given up all hope
as the candle's flame flickers my ever waiting shadow.

I regret the times
I've had worked with you.
an inventor of scenes,
Stories untrue.

You tend to drop names
during critical moments,
you only knew errors,
for all your concerns.

A big ******,
you trashed our systems.
never knew your own process
even yourself you can't process.

A pin pointer blamer,
is all you know.
how you do your work,
for a mind that is too slow

Know the art of proper escalation,
where to go, which is which.
before you blame your computer,
blame it on your face, *****.