Oh darling don't mind me and my twisted thoughts
It's not like you bothered to check before
So I'll down this bottle of Crown alone
Just like the one I did 20 minutes ago
To get as far gone as I can
Maybe I'll call you and confess what I've always wanted to say
After all, sober thoughts have never really done me much good.

Downing bottle after bottle sounds more appealing
Than you telling me you don't love me anymore

How dare you tell me

That I was the problem.

I used to paint pretty pictures on my skin.
My brush collection was wide,
Filled with box cutter razors, the blades out of pencil sharpeners, and knives.
I used to melt my shaving razors and rip the blades from their homes,
Nessled them deep within my flesh to warm their steel bodies with my blood.

Am I painting pretty again, Mommy?
Am I making you proud yet, Grammy?
Looking into the glass windows of my home like they were funhouse mirrors,
Twisting and distorting my hourglass figure until I could no longer recognize my own skin.

I used to own a hall of mirrors.
Collected my demons behind the glass.
Big and small,
Tall and short,
Thick and thin,
Each mirror distorting your body image more than the last.

I used to collect knives.
Steak knives, butter knives, utility knives, butcher knives.
Each blade glistening with crimson.

Oh how I miss my children.

I bet you think it rude to speak of my past gory collections so fondly.
As if cutting myself open to let the bees rattling inside my veins free was the animal abuse.
Well I'll have you know I've finally set them all free.

Now my true healing may begin.

Now I collect flowers off the side of the road.
I collect feathers
I collect poems
I collect words
I collect men
And finally,
I collect myself

Everything would be easier
If you would walk away from me

But you won't
You'll leave me in limbo

Forever

When he touches me, I can feel your hand in mine.
When he kisses me, I can feel the heat of your breath.
When he ***** me, I can feel your hands on my hips.
When he sleeps, I can feel your heart beating.
When he looks at me, I can feel your eyes on my soul.
When he leaves me, I feel like you did all over again.

Write a line or two, get a decent rhythm.
Write one line that sounds wrong.
Erase one word, replace it with another.
Re-read the whole thing to yourself.
Read it out loud.
Shut up because you sound awful and you're not a spoken word poet no matter how hard you try.
Erase the whole thing.
Try to start over.
Trip on your words.
Lose tract of the topic.
Forget this poem was not supposed to be like the last one.
Erase it again.
Try to come up with a title to inspire yourself.
Fail.
Listen to music while staring at your pen.
Write a ****** poem about not being able to write a poem.
Kinda like it.
Feel inspired.

This has been the official tutorial.