she whispers words I've read,
she sings them in my head,
she dangles truth and tells me lies,
and I dance for her after every time,

and we are okay,
because she says she's mine,
I sway,
she pines,
and we do this all the time,
she shakes me,
and I find her laugh can wake me,
just as every lie could break me,
and it's madness,
this sadness,
but she says it's
love,
but I don't know how to tell,
there are days I skim this hell,
and I wonder of another heaven,
where the sickness of your mind,
actually leaves you well,
this is my heaven,
it just happens to be mostly dark,
and only sometimes light.

but you make me feel
                                      
                                          BRIGHT.VISIBLE.WANTED.

I'VE NEVER BEEN WANTED.

*you call this love but I can't tell.

Mystery me
You want to see me
The thing that shall be me

Chemical me
Lack thereof  me
Otherwise me

Pursuit of me
Exhausted me
Sense-of-self-me

Trigger me
Self-critical me
Succinctly me

Novelty me
Coherent me
Dealing-with-it-everyday me

Potential consequences me
Beaten-up me
Battle me

Influential me
Teach-me-a-lesson me
I refuse to apologize me

I deem it fair me
Self-protective me
Love me

Buzzing softly
Rattling like slow beaten drums
The air grew thick
And the clouds hovered grey
Black spider like vines
Crawling
Chasing me
Trying to flee from this darkness
The memories keep it near
Keep it here
Running to the trees
But slowly the leaves
Turn black
Dripping like ink
Bleedin from the ground
All around
It's so dark here
The sky blood red
The moon a black hole
In the sky
The vines like barb wire
Rip up my legs
Cut through my flesh
My teeth mesh
Cold the wind grips my throat
The silent scream
So loud
As the soft grey clouds
Cry tears

In memory of me
The dying thing called me
Wandering the world in utter distess

I ask that if I fall
You do not step on me
For so many times it's happened, i confess

In memory of me
Who longs to cry but has no tears
Whose fears come to reality each day

I beg you to see me
For invisible I am still
And the memory of me is fading away

I wish it was easy to say who I am.
I wish God was less of a creator and more of an author
Ink stained fingernails glasses brimming the edge of his nose type
Whiskey on the side of his computer; optional.
I wish that in place of these veins and hair and bendable thumbs
I had poetry, soliloquies, syllables, punctuations.
That marked my existence
I wish my mind was a novel and each word inside it
Moved through my organs and around my chest
And when you cracked it open knowing who I am
Would be as easy as reading a book
I wish that when I get so angry I forget to speak
That you could just rip off the end of my skirt and read the
Internal and omniscient monologue in place of my skin
That would explain everything
When I smile during turmoil I wish it wasn’t a mystery
And the chapters printed on my visible teeth
Could tell you exactly why.
If God was an author I would be a character
And each of my traits would have meaning, and significance
Why do I bite my nails?
Because when I was five years old I saw my mother do It and when I’m nervous
I do it to be close to her
That would be the reason and I wouldn’t have to sit and wonder about it
Because that fits my story
Every page of my life would be narrated by someone who knew
Me better than I knew myself and that, that
Would take a lot of pressure off my shoulders.
The horrible weight of self-defining
Wouldn’t it be nice to not have to discover yourself?
To have someone do it for you
Instead of taking years to find out that you work better under pressure
And that being a doctor really wasn’t your true calling after all
What if you could just look down at your body
And see words that told the story of you.
What if you were armed with the knowledge of knowing
Who you are and what your purpose is.
I wish I was literature
So finally I could through my hands up
Shout back at you saying “Here, look this is who I am.”
I like the sound of the ocean
Black and white movies
I get sad when it rains
Just read me.