I want to dig my nails in to my skin,
and drag,
peeling and bleeding the tears I must not shed.
I will leave little crescent moons
that will glow
as pale
as a child's milk.

I want to pound my thighs,
and bruise,
breaking and destroying all frustrations.
Great booms will shake this earth
and stories will be told
about these booms
for generations.

I want to rip the hair from my scalp,
and shred,
tearing and pulling all smoke clouds away from my mind.
The ***** smoke puffs will dissipate
and I will be able to
finally
think clearly.

Even through the wars,
When society kicked my feet out from under me,
Even when my knees were scraped and bloodied,
When hot fire tears burned my chapped lips,
Even when I snapped like a worn rubber band,
Whipping your skin and making you yelp,
Even when my words were dipped in poison with barb wired tips,
You were there.

You,
With your white silk feathers,
And permanent glow,
And undying flames in the hushed snow.
You,
Holding out your hands,
Palms facing the sky,
Pulling me off the dusty floor, covered with glass shards.

The words are too hard
To leave my soft lips,
So I write a quiet message
That should be screamed from rooftops:

Thank you.

Dried tears
stick permanently to pale faces
too old for her years
her eyes stay wide so she notices
everything.

But she's sleepy
she wants to slither underneath
away from all this weeping
her arms ache from holding up
everything.

She begs for release
jams words in to her ears
but the poisoned snaps don't cease
she is tired of dealing with
everything.

Two poets fell in love
with words that flowed
from the same fingertips
that grazed each other’s faces
and emotions that fell on paper
just as they found their way
into their hearts.

And this went on for quite some time
as their hearts bled like the ink from a pen
until there was nothing left but
blackened tears that lined the parchment.

They think I am normal
if they even think of me at all.
But oh, if only they know
my mind is
black and frying
grey and booming
white and blinding
brown and dying
purple and bruising
blue and flashing
green and living
yellow and shining
orange and glowing
red and bleeding
pink and kissing
chaotic
amazing
too much
for me
to
handle

You pick up your needles
and knit together your lies
you make a scarf
of all different feelings
blue, red, green, yellow
beautiful
but that doesn't mean
i don't hate it.
You drape it around my neck
wounding it around and around
tight, tighter, too tight
i choke back my words
i now look beautiful
but that doesn't mean
i don't hate you.

They slither around cob webs
and hide in the crook of my elbow
attached to me
like a child clinging to his mother on the first day of Pre-K
hideous and scowling
but then beautiful and glowing
either way I keep it pressed to my chest
i breathe in the putrid smell
but I am now used to the scent
it purrs and snuggles closer
and I don't pull away