A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

The tree is decked with tinsel
the house is full of light
we sit around the fire
on this holiest of nights.

We sing our hallelujah's
praise the little baby born
then wonder at the magic
of another Christmas morn

The table's overflowing
the champagne sparkles bright
the gifts have all been opened
and there's not a tear in sight

We open all our presents
laid out for all to see
under the glittering branches
of a laden Christmas tree.

Then with some wine we snuggle down
our spirits filled with cheer
and raise a glass to absent friends
so missed this time of year

And when the day draws to a close
Its plain for all to see,
The greatest Christmas gift of all
Is love and family.

I tried to die tonight
I opened flesh to scarlet ribbons,
cast in your shadow I bled
as you stood and watched

I tried to die tonight
a new concoction swallowed
rainbow hues for the weak
as you sang a lullaby

I tried to die tonight
you shouted hallelujah
and I was ****** forever
within your gleeful cry.

You shoot words like bullets
Tearing me down
Every sentence delivers a blow
harder than the last.
You hate these words I write
they sit upon your heart like scar tissue.
"Not good enough,Never were
Never will be"
Your mantra will echo eternally.
You know not the damage you've done.

I lay here, alone
pushing in pins
feeling my form disappear.
Years spent searching
as blood seeps slowly
sickly sweet
against craving skin.
I will walk in shadow,
when dawn breaks.
Time will snap these hollow bones,
folding my soul
into butterflies
as flight takes hold.
This final girl
will be no more
than she has ever become.
This will be my triumph

She
refuses
To reside
Inside
anyone’s
Solace
Especially
her own
She’s a
rare rose
With
the thorns
Still attached
She walks
a fine line
Somewhere
Along the line
Between pain
And fine wine
She always
found the time
And
Courage
To shine

Dark days brought me here,
ragged and blown I stand within the devices of my fate
My roaring mouth wide, yet silent
against the cacophonous background. Brittle now, this heart of splendour
as flesh is drawn from parchment bones
revealing only words, their rhythms forever etched into my echo.