Moved from place to place
Meeting friends, leaving- straight face
I sigh now at lost relations.
Building and breaking foundations.
Lost in locations,
Frustrations.
Scrounging up translations.
Of feelings and summations.
I am stronger, though
I feel a part of many worlds.
I am glad to have met so many souls.
A thought that consoles lonely strolls.
I wont forget the stories wrapped in white gold.
Memories are something beautiful to hold.
As are scandalous tales untold.

And there was nothing
No itching to relieve
Something so irritating
and noxious as fumes
I exist to consume
and be consumed
a fleshy being
With little to lose
I exist, exist as blue
Not sky nor sea nor calm
but endless and deep endued
I asked for it
Raised to perfection
So, well, I settle
before night ensues

No Lights

I sit in my quiet room
Where no one can bother me.
Where I can't hear anything.
I can't hear any yelling, fighting, or screams.

in this room I write.
I write my life away.
I also dream in here.
I dream for better days.

At a young age.
No kid should see these fights.
That's why I sit in my closest.
Where I can't see anything.
Because there are no lights.

I know that insecurity isn't pretty,
*which is how I also know that I'm not beautiful

I am not a beautiful girl
who loathes her being
her grace, her pale skin
the veins that protrude
But I loath existence
I loath the mirror
reflecting the distortions
that may or may not be there

I am an untroubled woman
who absolutely hates
everything about myself
physical or otherwise
but it's ignored at all times
until it's finally brought up
I realize I can not love or communicate
or have a relationship
that is more than superficial

I sit, writing, but words don't always come
I want to describe the utter nothing I feel
I want words to flow like water
like smoke or smell
not stunted like I seem or am

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

How do you
silence
your
demons?