They’ll check your wrists,
But not your thighs,
They’ll check your smile,
But not your eyes
They’ll avoid the truth,
Believe the lies,
Nothing to sooth,
No reason to cry,
Our smiles are bright,
Eyes are a bit dull,
Wrists are clean despite,
The blade with an emotional pull,
And we’re emotionally unstable,
But they say that’s okay,
We are all a bit of a riddle,
But that’s the only thing we can convey,
And the world will open to swallow us up,
But that’s okay, at least our habits remain,
And when their arms finally open up,
We will show them the reflection they taught us to shame,
So we paint a smile with the color of red,
From the thighs they didn’t check,
And from our eyes we bled.
And they'll only understand,
When the noose hold us by our necks,
And if they had thought twice,

Maybe our eyes they would have checked.

It used to flow out of me
Pouring
What seemed to be a never ending abundance of words
Each one a window to my fears hopes and dreams
My pen would fly through the pages with ease
Unfolding all that I carried
Deep inside my soul
An outlet for the things that were oh so painful
But my pen
Has seemed to run out of ink
Suddenly so hard to clearly think
I write
I write
And I write again
I don't even know how to give this poem
An end

Dont complain

Of a wiltering garden

Full of weeds

If you never tended to

Or watered the seeds

So many words
Spinning chaoticly through my head
Trying to catch them
And create a thread
Of sentences
Metaphors
And imagry

Or a new pen