In order to win
you have to put in effort

"I'm fine," she says with a halfhearted grin.
"I'm fine," she says again, waving away a helpful hand.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, several minutes later.
"I'm fine," she whispers, wiping her face.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says moments after the cry leaves her lips.
"I'm fine," she says to herself, sinking to the floor.
"I'm fine," she tells herself, shaking in a ball.
"I'm fine," she repeats, picking up the razorblade.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she says to her concerned family.
"I'm fine," she insists as those who love her worry.
"I'm fine," she says to anyone who listens.
"I'm fine," she lies as she slices her wrists.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she cries, sobbing on the bathroom floor.
"I'm fine," she wails, but only in a whisper.
"I'm fine," she mutters, watching the blood leave her wrist.
"I'm fine," she practices, stepping from the room.
She's not fine.

"I'm fine," she assures the world outside.

Eyes: Stars. I can’t help but wish on them, holding my breath, standing on tiptoe, hoping. They promise so much.
Arms: Branches and vines. Reaching, wrapping, holding. You break what you let go of; you choke what you keep.
Legs: Thunder thighs and tree trunk calves. You frown like it’s a bad thing, but you’re strong; you’re steady, sure, solid. You are a forest and a storm.
Laugh: A flash of lightning. An instant of blinding, dazzling music in the midst of my storm.
Shoulderblades: Bookshelves. My head is a journal, thoughts spilling over. You are strong enough to bear even the heaviest of my words.
Tongue: A forest fire. I still have a second-degree burn from the first time you told me you loved me.
Hips: Hills. You are mountains and valleys, and I want to take a walk and get lost in you.
Feet: Anchors. They team up with gravity to keep you here. And so you stay.
Chest: A strongbox overflowing with treasure. Your heartbeat is the song your whole body sings, kept in time to your pulse, flowing through your veins.
Ribs: Boards on a ship. Weatherproof, waterproof. This means my tears (saltwater, too) will not ruin you when they fall onto you.
Hands: Morning glories with green-veined leaves. Opening, closing; beautiful every time.
Mind: A maze. You’re a puzzle I can’t solve and a line I cannot rhyme. You are never going to make sense, and I love that.

The illness catches branches low,
heralds beaten unseen woe.

It grows inside me, spark by spark,
a fire in my favorite park.

Jewels forgotten, rivers clean,
mark it by the ashy sheen.

It's gone again; it's worth your while,
stab yourself and spit up bile.

Your days are done and I will rise,
I am back to claim my prize.

///

Bigfoot is real and the government is
Run by lizards dressed in human skin!

Wake up, sheeple! We're being invaded by
Beings from beyond the moon who want to
Steal our culture and **** our land!

Chemtrails are killing free-thinkers by the thousands
And we'll only be safe if we retreat to that commune
In the middle of Utah

Brothers and sisters, you wouldn't think a
Blanket encrusted in ***** could do so much
Damage but clearly we've underestimated the power of deceit

Brothers and sisters and everyone in between,
The land isn't ours and it isn't theirs, and it'd serve us
Well to remind ourselves that the land has always belonged to
Itself and that's never gonna change

It's been several generations now but the blood is still
Fresh and nobody can blame you for being
Sour, but for the love of the gods, it's high time
We transform that anger into motivation

We're more than hokey voodoo magic and
Prophecies about reclamation or apocalypse, or
Cheap drugs and casinos

We're back now, we were never gone,
Just buried

his foot on the gas
His heart full aches
switching lanes
Rearview mirror of his past mistakes
driving way to fast
his life been black & grey
cigarette into ash
head in the clouds
pills on the dash
there's no break to be found
so He might need to crash
to slow His thoughts down
C

Razor blade
next to her.

Pain killers
She can evade.

No one knows
why she committed.

was it because she got bullied
Wearing a sweater Around the halls?

In 85 degree weather
To cover up her scars?

Or Cover the bruise
What her dad gave her?

While her mom on that
Couch Intoxicated.

Start it when She was little
Thoughts that she don't belong.

So she left a Written letter
Under that window pane.

The one she gaze's out
As once called her friends.

Explained a little
About her pain

She keeped the worst
Inside her head.