These are my bars.
Limbs that stretch too much
to soaring stars
I could never touch --
these limbs are defective.

Bitter restart,
frail, powerless cudgels
grasping at Heart.
Claws cutting pastels,
shredding ****** dawn sky.

My mirror sepals
are names and faces
of all people
who met my graces
or sailed my winding path.

Leaves of glazed gold
reflect sun's bright rays
as they enfold
the sharpened green maze
in torn and ripped portraits.

Leaves of Abyss
litter my bony scars
swallow my bliss
coat me like hot tar --
kissing at dying bark.

Red lipstick stains
on switch blade carvings
of names on veins
with no callings
see me as a trophy.

Nothing of worth --
just merely conquered.
A space for berth
and his young *******
I am nothing to him.

He can't see me
as mighty Belle Arbre
or hear my plea
as I feel his barb
plunge my old wooden core.

He cut me down,
carve me to shape him --
I'll be His crown
as he is condemned
by my only Father.

That's so far long --
sitting on his lap,
dreaming I'm strong
enough to entrap
all my stolen virtue.

His silver tongue
wove such a strange tale --
willingly hung
and welcoming jail,
all he promised was love.

Something bruised skin,
cut lip or black eye,
limbs bony thin,
or tears asking why --
they've never known this thing.

I reach'd for him,
branches out-stretched,
he was my hymn,
so close, yet farfetched --
he sat among the stars.

Me, bound by dirt,
jealous of the birds
nest'd in my skirt.
They are just songbirds
but take flight for granted.

I would give all,
every last petal
if I could fall;
shrink to a pebble --
give anything to hide.

But I'm a tree,
I'm mighty Belle Arbre.
Broken, Earthly.
Yet reduced to garb,
Everything I am: His.

Bad girl. Hush. Speak. Sit*
Talk to me like a dog;
I'll treat you like one

IF
THEY'RE
NOT
MY
FRIENDS,
THEN
WHO
TRULY
IS?
MY DEFINITION
SHATTERED
MY HEART
BROKEN
BECAUSE
I
THOUGHT
THEY'D
ALWAYS
BE
THERE
FOR
ME.

I've reached the point
where all I want to do
is scream; curse the world;
cry until no tears are left.
Girls who told me lies:
"no boy will come between us"
"we're friends forever."
How silly of me to think
they meant those bound words?
My heart hurts because of them
I loved them like kin
But how quickly they've left me
because of a bruise:
a small mark on my neck's side.
It's just a hickey.
But they don't want to be friends
with a "****" like me.
It's not my fault they're lonely
not my fault I'm loved.
I want to blame jealousy,
but I'm just running
to the arms of Patriarch
crying in His sleeve
begging for His forgiveness.
Because this hickey,
the same ****** mark as
scratches on men's backs,
marks me as a ***** ****
and him as a man.
But we're friends forever, right?
Or was that before
I had the gall to love him?
But that shouldn't matter, right?
Because something like
a boy won't separate us.
How stupid am I
to actually believe
I thought I found friends?
Girls are such terrible things
we deal in weapons
of silence, gossip, and blame:
things that do not show
things that will bleed the heart dry.
My heart is bleeding out: *D  R  Y