There are sacrosanct daydreams
That, all at once, are too much yet not enough
Whether to make one scream
Between the deafening cries of undeniably divinity
And the consistent ache for the unknown
There’s a schism of morality that we all fall victim to at some point
It’s not a choice, truly
More an inclination to our own mortality
Our humanity
Whatever that may be, of course.
Not like we can cultivate anything near the divine
We can look upon the stars
But we can never call them home
It’s a beautifully tragic irony which begs the question—



Why?

I am what I am.
The wavering question mark at the end of the nervous inquiry.
I am the final drops of dandelion wine that grace your monstrous lips as you scream at me for being empty.
I am the first drag of your cigarette as you blame the stars for your twisted fate.
I am the silence after the collision of your fist to my cheek, the stinging of my eyes and red stained skin promising not to fade until the morning after.
I am the sunflowers you left on her grave last winter, long forgotten by both you and time.
I am manic love and screaming intemperance.
The final burst of carelessness as you run to the cliff’s edge in an attempt to mimic Icarus.
I am the intrinsic bleeding of burning star-crossed losers.
I am a universe of exploding stars, unanswered questions, and questionable prayers.
I am the throw of a ticking clock at five am after hours of restless insomnia.
I am going 90 on the freeway at midnight with the music just as volatile.
I am the shudder of anticipation.
The relentless ache for more.
I am Jane Doe.
I am oblivion.
I am freedom.
I am what I am.

Could you be different?
Truly?
Or have I gone too far yet again?
My love, you are the stuff of dreams
With your crystalline eyes and paint-stained fingertips
Those delicate movements from roughly hewn hands pluck gracefully on my heartstrings
That crooked smile, so clever and mischievous; it could get away with ******
You are not for the faint of heart…
But then again…
Neither am I

It was only a kiss.

This I must repeat,
As I feel my own selfishness,
But also my guilt.
Like a monster from a fairy tale,
It crawls from my stomach
And into my throat,
Clawing its way out.

You wanted this.
The truth.
Instead, another monster came to you.
One with green-eyes and
Speculations.
I should never have made you read that play.
The one I wrote
To push my fears of you away.
But alas…
The past and I aren’t friends.

And soon--
Neither will we.

Here you sit
Six feet from me
The girl who broke me

He makes you laugh
But...
Why so much?
My cheeks,
Hot and red
Turn my stomach into knots
No man could untangle
Except him.

And you
Want him.
You want every man
Except the one you love.
That is always the way.

I must not fear you
But I can't help it.

I do what I do because I love it/
Not to sound like something I am not/
I find new words because to me/
They are art//
I do not do it to impress/
I take photographs because I find things beautiful//
Not to make you think I'm creative/
I do not write for the glory/
But rather, the story I can imagine/
I do not do it for you//
I do what I do because I love it/
Like the child I'll never have/
My guardian angel/
The best friend I made up as a child//
I'm a mouthpiece for something I can't explain/
But I know it's not done for the praise/
It isn't done for anything/
Other than the fire-like passion/
And desire to make something matter//
I am not pretentious/
I am progressing///

Once, I never cared for this.
Incandescent lights,
Snowy streets.
Finding adventure in your own two feet.
Swift shoes on misty pavements,
Calling to you like sirens from old
Myths we've long forgotten to tell.
Once, I didn't care how badly
This desire inside me burned.
This call to the unknown,
A cry so deafening
It made me sick,
And I---
Liked it.
I was a wanderess stuck still.
A statue of wanderlust and unlicked postage stamps
So close but oh, so far
From being where I belonged.
It was a nightmare far
More sinister than any
Monster under my bed
Once, I gave up on trying to fly.
To get away
From the poison place I couldn't stand.
I didn't care how I lived
Because no matter what,
I never saw it as my life.
Needless to say
I was wrong.
Once I realized that...
No longer do I stare out windows that stared back daggers
Blaming me for a life I didn't fight to live.
But don't worry, no...
That fight is not over for me, now.
It's only just begun.