Wind blows outside of my window
Pressing smooth yet firm fingers against my home
My mind roams and I imagine the glass smashing
Raining rainbows upon my mattress
How delicate that glass is.
I lie still as the windy hand takes grasp of my roof
Tearing the splintering wood into two
Harming the home that was bathed in my youth
How weak that wood is.
Whipping through every crevice it took
Parts of me, torn pages from books
Picture nothing left, so I take a look
An empty book except for the scars
How mindless those memories are.
Fingers reach and grasp the bed on which I lay my head
Soon deciding to drop the rest and hold onto to me instead
Causing a violent wind that can only press
Who I am explodes in my chest
How easily succumbed this heart is.
But I find I am back in my room
No invisible fingers summoning doom
And the window shakes from these thundering quakes
But I find it does not break
How sturdy that glass is.
The shingles shutter and the wood utters
Cries and groaning stutters
But I find my home still stands as a whole
Full of youthful glow
How strong that wood is.
And who I am is not flying past
Away to become a memory passed
Each piece has a place in this place meant to last
And each scar has a story, lessons amassed
How brilliant these memories are.
Now I lie still, in a bed untouched my body in one piece
A steady beat, is heard beneath
As the wind lulls me to sleep
Dreams of living and being alive form and flow from me
How beautifully resilient this heart is.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

electromagnetically
feelings occur,
responsive to going ons,
pineal gland awakens the senses.

and almost every woman has heard it
"you're so emotional."
so electromagnetically aware
and we don't remember this,
now,

the womb,
the beat maker,
she tunes the
energy of the babe.
mothers wave of
waves fractionally
lay a deep foundation
of the babes waves.
I tell my children
if they can't find me
to look in their hearts
I reside there…
my rhythm, my beat, my heat
lives on.

my womb
charged that spark
that started the parting
of molecules
fractionally
creating its imagine
time and time again, (as we do)
until, begin again,
a new life.
rest your head upon my chest
child
for a recharge.

in our civilized world
we send mothers to work
in a make believe cycle of need.
babes heart searches
for mamas tone
she only cries short
cautious of overspent energy
first dose of sickness.

and EVERY woman has heard it…
"you're so emotional"
notably more so
during some part of her
moon cycle.
so obviously the moon
is more electromagnetic
than we guess.

and women are more emotional
because we are the heart
of the species.
we co-create the heart
of the species.
we require the emotional
antenna
to summon the essence of the heart.

we didn't come from a rib…
our ribs vibrate the
harmony of life through our time!
our hearts beat
the pulse of the
sun
and the dark side of the moon
and infinity.
we are electromagnetically
inclined to emotions.
systematically processing
the energy of existence.

perhaps the first title I will accept
a claim upon my being,
the feminine sensitive.

Gone it seems are the days when I would structure words with grace.
A perfect place for them to stay,
To say what I need to display.
I struggle hard to find a way,
To keep the evil thoughts at bay.
The ones that threaten to destroy
and scream promises to take.
And the longer I live in their wake,
The more it seems I'm not awake.
This is a dream, I'm far away.
The nightmares chase,
I am disgraced.
They see the fear so clear on my face.
I break.
I know I cannot be ok.
They have all of me, those ******* snakes!
They promised me an artistic state!
So I could orchestrate my voice across this page.
I've traded everything for this,
I've lost my happiness.
To make these words sit, so beautifully primped.
To impress blank faces, I'm tired of this!
So imagine for just a moment,
A person sitting ever so lonely.
He writes what he writes,
While he fights with the light,
The one that shows all of your demons that hide out of sight,
And he cries.
Because the world seen is beautiful in his eyes.
But not from naivety,
He knows so well the horrid underside.
But he loves it.
What would he write about otherwise?
He needs it.
What else could inspire his mind?
He craves it.
All while it eats him alive.
Is addiction to sadness any less potent than madness?
I didn't choose this!
What's to gain?
Words in exchange for sane
Thoughts in my brain I can't explain.
Maybe I won't ever be able to.

It seems no matter what I do I cannot control my words
And the stories I have grown on my own are hesitant to be told
I feel a block is in my throat
And a numbness in my hands
And the only thing that grows is the frustration toward this blandness
Rigorous in searching this I've found myself no release
And I scream
I scream
I scream for me to find words that I believe
My anger reaves more than I think
I can't find a ******* break and no one can ******* see
Don't you find beauty in my unraveling?
In a mind swallowed by the sea?
Am I capturing the picture well enough for you to be a part of me
I hope you see
I hope you scream
And scream
And scream until you understand the feelings that I cannot help but be
I do not do this for amusement
I don't do it for you
I don't do it for praise
Or for you to find truth
I do it to avoid release in my youth
From a rope
Or a gun
Or a bus on the move
I DON'T DO THIS FOR AMUSEMENT
But boy is it fun
I DON'T DO THIS FOR YOU
But I want you around
I DON'T DO THIS FOR PRAISE
But I love the sound
I DON'T DO THIS FOR THE TRUTH
But it's something I've found
So I scream
And scream
And scream until I write these dreams down