I am not the curves of my body.
I am not the clothes that I put on to hide those curves.
I am not the person you think I am when those clothes do not do an adequate enough job for your liking.
I am not what you think about me.
I am not what you say about me.

I am not this outer shell that you see.
I am not my sexuality.
I am not any of those things you use to label me.

I am smart, sometimes capable.
I am thoughtful, sometimes brilliant.
I am sarcastic, sometimes caustic.
I am phenomenally woman.
But what I am is not any of those things.

I am not my thoughts.
I am not my jokes.
I am not my words or even my actions.
I am not any of the things I use to label myself.

What I am runs so much deeper.
If you get to know me,
Draw me out of my core,
You might be able to see it.
You'll know when you've caught a glimpse.
The indestructible, indescribable..
The exquisite, the beautiful...
The part of me that has always been and will always be.
The part of me that lends everything to itself.

So don't try to describe who I am.
Don't try to label me.
I am not a convenient definition for you understand.
I am so much more.

Screaming "I don't care"
At the top of my lungs
No feelings or emotions
Easily roll off my tongue

Gonna leave me?
Left alone to soak in my misery?
That's my definition of sanity

Maybe it has something to do with
Being knocked unconscious at fourteen
Taken advantage of
But I only remember in my dreams
Then I wake up with no memory

I don't understand how I'm startled so easily
A simple figure of a man,
All of a sudden, standing anywhere near me
I jump, scream and can barely breathe
Even when I know it's the man that loves me
And would never intentionally hurt me

Panic flows continuously through me
Excessive amounts of anxiety
It's not really a new thing
Not really something anyone can explain
You could guess, make assumptions or try to diagnos me
But I don't think anyone could truly understand the pain

*I'm not so sure if no emotions is really a good thing...

I'm not saying that I want to die.
Not right now, anyway.
But lately, I just want to sleep.
To sleep and never wake.
I'm so tired.
Tired of everything.

everyone i've written about
has left me.
so you must understand
why i will not immortalize you
with my words,
why i won't turn you
into a poem.

maybe this way
you'll stay.

I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

if you seek to avoid every pain in this life
you have some growing up to do
and sorry, hate to break it to you-
but it's going to hurt.

Drunk and belligerent,
you got out the words
"I miss you."
I spent weeks pining for you,
wondering what was so wrong with me
that made you not love me anymore.
Weeks of crying,
weeks of avoiding you,
weeks of remembering the
few
good memories
instead of the innumerable bad.
I told you about the new boy
that holds my hand
and calls me beautiful.
I'm happy
and you're pining.

What comes around,
goes around.