why do i wanna crash and burn?
to quiet the noise in my head,
to turn it up and drown in it?

to walk an endless night,
to be free ?
to enjoy the safety of the ground?

i want to be on the ground,
at least most of the time.

why do i wanna crash and burn?
to escape,
to take a vow of silence and never speak again,
combat the voices constantly bouncing around.

to clear up the haze,
did i wanna get better today?
or tomorrow?
certainly not today,
while the sky falls before my eyes.

why do i wanna crash and burn?
to look at my reflection,
rather the puzzle,
unfinished,
nothing really fits.

my head is overgrown with moss

“if you ripped out all my teeth,
you know there’d be no overlap?
no crooked and mushy smile.
wouldn’t that be nice?”

…

“the fat under my chin,
the way my cheeks become apples,
that won’t do.
that’d be removed  as well.”

…

“we might as well break my feet to point inwards instead of out, while at it”
-
please! hurt me?
Honey, take a carving knife to my thighs and do better than myself” she asks
…

“please make them thinner.”
…

“and don’t mind the stretch marks you find! ah you know , you know”
..

“i’m sorry.
it’s been a tough month.”
..
…

“and while your at it,
if it’s not too much trouble,
might you remove my tongue and eyes?
much like those rigged edges?”

“i wish not to talk anymore,
and to see is a chore.
my humanity has become quite a burden you see. “

a tear fell down her face,
making her features make all the more sense .

“take it.
take me .”

approval, a mutt,
heeling before you.
in suspense, apprehension,
perhaos admiration.

pawing at your pant leg,
unclaimed before it’s owner,
barking attention is the purest form of kindness

in the night,
hidden thoroughly with greedy intent,
i’ll remember basking in the sun.

an apprehensive & insecure turn,
when i was revered to the heavens,
feet spinning around,
safely, freely, almost honestly adored.

unable to tell,
perhaps just unwilling to accept,
the suns true temporary identity,
a fleeting flicker of electrical current.

and in the night,
the light looked reflective enough to keep.

i feel safest under the knife,
blade inches from my skin.

safest while drowning in the waves,
content in the silence underneath,
only cursing the bitter wind for crashing against wet skin

i accept scraps greedily,
ignore the deep hole that has hollowed out my chest

empty cavity aches from inside,
unable to get close enough to be whole again.
underneath the obsession,
a girl remains.
drowning, finding safety in the inevitable

you kicked gravel,
uprooted earth in my mouth.
growing on my tongue,
developing consciousness

yet i swallow my city,
stick out my tongue to the earth,
and taste your cruelty so strongly

i’m not her.
she may be me,
but i am not her.

i couldn’t have been,
the one so desperately foolish,
yet brazenly confident,
in the act of ruining my foundation.

she did tear up the floorboards,
and she blazed the wood to ash,
silent before the flame.

and me,
left with soot in my palms,
have to yet again explain.

she is not me,
but i cannot escape being her.

turning a blind eye,
“protecting my peace”
i never could do it quite correctly.

the ill feelings of comparison,
curiosity & resentment most women harbor,
keep me in line

yet i know when i fall,
inevitably it seems,
my eyes will open wide to the sky.

my “peace” will not be there to catch me.

i hope you stand in its place,
arms outstretched,
below the skyline.

i cannot birth the sadness from my body,
as many women do,
and disregard its existence entirety

it exists as me,
feeding from within,

my desire to free it,
the will to move past,
does nothing.

having no escape from myself,
i must harbor the baby of my own wretchedness,
forever nursing a violent sickness

tranquility in the dark,
head full of sand,
i know better.

unease,
a trashing sea,
breaks to the forefront.


keep vigilant,
in the serenity,
in the times all seems right.

it’s only a matter of time,
before the waves meet the sand,
and all returns to chaos once more,
current pulling back.

bluebirds sing.

seeing the world,
smell the smells and hear the sounds,
bluebirds sing amongst themselves.

the cold metal bars caked in rust,
door tightly shut,
they rest upon a birch woven over metal.

sat so still,
watching people pass,
the bluebirds sing.

if you get close to hear,
open the metal door,
free the bluebird from the cage.

it will remain among its peers,
positioned on the pirch,
with the door wide open.

bluebirds sing.

i watch.

i watch as the decisions are made,
the lifestyle picked.
so much time left yet so little life to live.

at the first fall from grace,
what was to come was already set.

behind a white picket fence filled with cracks,
while hiding in the overgrown grass i’ll watch.

just as i had watched then,
thinking the decisions were mine,
just as i watch now,
thinking it’s too late,
just as i always have,
watched. watching.

flowers grow from muddy grounds,
blooming flowers all around.
Tall and bright,
savoring light,
they grow.

But not a flower, he’s a ****,
i’m a flower from a seed.
he grows up strong and tall,
wrapping around my vine making me fall.

he weighs me down but i love him so,
flower and **** together alone.
can they grow together in harmony,
without weeds hurting the flowers leaves?

all i can do is sit.

sit in bed,
sit in chairs,
sit on the floor,
sit on the stairs.

all i can do is sit.

the world keeps turning,
passion keeps burning,
everyone moves on,
time goes along.

all i can do is sit.

day turns night,
winter turns spring,
the feelings replaced by emptiness that times passing brings.

all i can do is sit.

pain to numb,
emotion to none,

all i can do is sit.

The walls are small and the voices are loud,
the hearts are empty but the people are proud,
all in this tiny house.

I cant see clearly past the fog from the kitchen,
the *** screams but nobody listens.
I watch as the fire sizzles and burns,
i wonder what’s become of this tiny house.

The wallpapers peeling,
i hear the voices squealing,
fire and flames begin to engulf this tiny house.

I wish i found a reason to run, a place to call my own where i could sit by the sun.
I wish i could but i know i can’t, instead i walk to the ***.

as the flames tickle my bones i come to accept my role in this tiny house.

I cracked the vase,
I burned the curtains,
all of this from one destructive person.
I ruined the day,
it'd been dismantled by evening,
whispers ran ramped with wishes of me leaving.

if I stay silent,
clean my mess in the kitchen,
I wonder than if they would listen.
maybe it wouldn't be enough to see,
they already know the damage is inside me.
I could scrub the floors and buy new curtains,
it still wouldn't change this destructive person.

it was me they hated,
me who couldn't be fixed,
me who caused all the problems leading to this.
who to thank but myself for causing this mess,
maybe that's what made them like me less.

maybe it was more than the curtains,
maybe they couldn't love a destructive person.