Time travel with me, across time and space
Let's find the meaning between you and I-
Nestled in the eternal continuum between here and now,
There is no future, there is no past
We are the children of the present
Crowned royalty in the never ending day.
You and I-
Time traveling, through our minds.

I want to be like Mount Saint Helens,
Strong and firm, quaking every couple years in the faces of the helpless.
I want to make newspaper headlines and magazine articles for being fearless and tall,
Sputtering and spewing at those who've wronged me.
I want to be the conquest men dare try,
Out of fear of being swallowed whole.
The deadly concoction of pure beauty and viciousness,
Threatening those who taunt from below.
Unpredictable and dangerously violent,
They still will want my picture and tell their children of me,
Mount Saint Helens glory will never fade,
For her might is much to strong for the common man.
But I,
I will keep on,
I will conquer and cast my plight willingly
And when they see me, they will tremble because they will know of my unpredictability and daunting grace.
A deadly concoction,
That Mount Saint Helens might find idyllic.

I learned how to write when I could no longer speak,
Time traveled through literature and escaped into a realm of tattered pages and tear soaked ink.
I found my voice inside of forgotten words and unending rhyme schemes.
When I could no longer speak, the ink flowed easily
And the thought flowed even easier.
Releasing my inhibition on to blank pages accompanied by cold coffee and early morning sunshines,
I learned yet again that heroes I regarded sat on top a bookshelf rather than on a screen or in an album.
They gave me voice, comfort, and solace inside of my own head.
The voice I lacked for so many years, came naturally when typing away,
It was then that I finally felt free.

I’m sitting in an ordinary coffee shop,
Listening to ordinary people talk **** on their ordinary lives.
How many ordinary men do I have to listen to ***** about their fat wives and their loser kid’s
Before I combust into a million pieces of myself,
I wish I could scream that what you have become is not what you have to stay.
You can still feel hope inside of your heart and spark inside of your soul,
Ignite your flame, feed and grow it.
Nourish the being inside of you telling you to rebel.
Give in to the devil on your shoulder and figure out how to begin again,
Because existence is much more beautiful when it is accompanied by a side of life.

It’s the new year,
Time for resolution, or inevitable revival
The point of this winter season when everything seems…
New and fresh, like anything is possible.
But is it really, if all we will do is make the same resolutions
And live out our consistent, boring lives
Grasping to the idea that change,
Only change,
Will somehow add meaning to the meaningless-
Inspire the uninspired.
We find that so easily our life will pass us by,
And we will cascade into our indifference
For the lives we made for ourselves and the unimportant choices we took
Even though we heard the necessary calling for change,
We ignored it,
Until the year changed and our lives became one year bleaker.
Call me cynical, or pessimistic
But the change we crave, the change we ache,
Is too busy living inside of the dream of a fresh start
Instead of living inside our lives.

Your beauty is not the reason for your existence,
Rather, it is your soul that stirs winds within you,
Guiding you further into your own tornado.
No, my dear, your beauty is only a fraction of the person that you are
With the rest conniving and gloriously consuming all who listen
Incubus, I call you, luring in those who seek satisfaction from broken parts.
Tempt me,
with all the cracks in your heart.

Today I looked at sun,
I saw the light beams radiate on hill tops and in the crescent of the valleys beneath.
I even saw it shine on the nape of your neck,
As it bounced back off of you,
It took its run on me,
They danced across my skin.
Glowing and morphing into golden hues
Much more beautiful than any moonlight that has walked along this body, along this flesh.
I saw my skin collect and store away the sparkle and twinkle of the sun,
When the day had settled and the night had finally fell upon us,
I beamed, from my finger tips to my toes.
I let that light radiate its ultraviolet passion and its warm love across my body and when I began to speak,
You realized it was not the sun I liberated,
But rather, the sun that liberated me.

Conjuring love,
and compelling lust
All the while we call it nature.
But what is more mechanical then telling yourself that you are nothing without it.
We were created alone, and happy.
When did we stop filling our hearts with our own hopes and dreams,
And start letting others fill them for us?

You cannot make a home inside a person
Who is still rebuilding

You can't love a poet.
Even though, you feel flattered by my witty one liners,
And my charming stanzas, you can't love a poet.
I will write the good and the bad and you won't like it.
You won't like my version of the fight
And you'll like my metaphors even less.
It will drive you crazy and you will tell your friends,
"She's obsessed".
I can't help the memories that stick like glue, imprinted on my brain
And I can't stop feeling the words exchanged 3 Sunday's ago that you forgot as soon as they left your mouth.
I will relive and reread until the end of my days and inevitably you will leave,
because you can't love a poet.
You can't love someone who will publish your intimacy and print your passion.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
Is the thought of me and you tangled together
Limb by limb, so repulsive to you
That you'd rather be sitting
Out in the cold, snow covered streets
Haunted by the thought,
"What could have been"
"We're wasting time," I breathe
Into your collarbone that is usually heaving with a sigh.
You shake your head and respond,
No.
Is it me that you are afraid of?
Does my intensity for love and even for you, keep you awake?
Tell me, my darling, is it me?
I know I burn houses with these hands
And break windows with my screams.
I am intense, and passionate, and ******* crazy.
But I am not scared.
I am not scared to grip your cheeks
And plunge myself into your lips, into your body.
I am not afraid of the moment before we ****
That your body convulses with passion and your extremities stretch toward my very being.
You are a wildfire I never want to be put out.
You burn me, time and time again
But I am the oxygen that keeps your flames thriving
And you are the fire that keeps my heart warm.
"What are you afraid of?" I ask,
He looks at me with the stars in his eyes and looks down,
"Us".
His body creases with pain
And in that moment I know,
I know that even though we are the fire,
Maybe, just maybe, I am engulfing him in my flames.

The continuum of existence,
The constant push and pull.
No time left for actual learning,
Just dying undercover,
We're just trying to keep our cool.
So next time you actually think,
Existence is something more than a series of points
Plotted on a paper graph,
Remember this, my child,
Life is ****,
It's just waiting for us to quit.

"Welcome!" I shout,
To the footsteps pressing into my temples that ache with constant pain.
"Will you stay awhile?" I ask
The nomadic traveler of the night who can only be bothered with a kiss or a ****,
"Can I get you anything?" I courtesy,
Feeding him grapes of Gods and wine, thick like blood. Only the best for the one who comes calling.
"Make yourself comfortable" I gasp
As he arches himself inside of my body
With no intention of staying,
But yet,
No intention of leaving.

We lead such a fragile existence
Between the heartache
And the joy.
We spend so much time,
Trying to walk the fine line
Between bending and breaking
The fragility of existence,
And trying to lie our way through
Our life just to make it
A little easier.
But in reality,
When all is said and done
We hurt ourselves
With all the things unsaid
And all the feelings
That are hidden.
It is the contemplation
Of our existence
That makes us question,
Is this worth it?

Is it worth it to go through life lonely?
Or is it worse to go through it blind?

Don't call me beautiful,
Or say I shine like a star.
I am a constellation made up of some horrible parts.
I am a disaster supported by weakened knees,
I am the road rage you feel on a Friday night.
I am the raw pain of loneliness and heartache,
That will keep you up in a fright.
But don't let me scare you,
Don't hide in fear.
Keep me close,
I can show you the good,
less miserable parts.
I am also hot water,
That massages your lungs.
I am the serenity you feel whilst reading a book.
I am the blissful silence in the midst of chaos,
I am the delicate nature of humanity.
I am not bad, nor am I good,
I am a mess.
Please don't let it scare you.
Don't cower in fear.
Let me consume you,
Twist my heart around yours.

4:38 am
And I am thinking about you constantly.
Trying to make you the last thing that crosses my mind.
So that I can hope for any sleep tonight.
The only way I ever sleep these days,
Is in the nape of your neck with your hair like cherry blossom trees,
Dangling over me
It’s wishful thinking I suppose,
To dream of you fighting my woes.
Truth be told, you’re so much more
Like a partner, a friend, a love, my amour

My amour,
You have not yet begun to see your beauty blossom.
I am waiting for the day when you realize you will not fall into ash and your skin will not burn like cigarette paper.
But you will shine like June sunrise with soft heat and white light.
You will glimmer in the wake of destruction,
when everything around you is falling apart.
My amour,
You have not felt your own strength
In passion and love
But I am here
Let me show you

Brittle teeth
Bite hard
But will always
Bend and break

I'm kind of drunk again.
But I can still hear you laughing
That same thoughtful laugh.
I can still hear you playing music way too loud
As you curse our neighbors for being those old boring people we swore we'd never be,
I'm kind of drunk again,
The kind of drunk we used to get when we were way to young
And to proud to drink anything besides *****
That same old, cheap ***** that I still drink
From time to time
To remember the way we danced atop my bed
And cursed the morning sunrise
I may be kind of drunk again.
But it will never fully bring back
The people that we were
Or what we thought we were
It will never bring back the feeling
Of being drunk at 2 am
Ringing the doorbells of the men we loved.
I'm just kind of drunk again,
Thinking about you always.

Remember, my dear,
Even the sunshine will return to its darkness

You are my sailor,
Sailing sea to sea
To eventually see me.
Creating waves in my lungs
Till I am gasping for air
You save me,
Time and time again
From the rough and shallow waters I face
With you, life is an endless blue ocean
And you are my sailor.
Together, conquering the waters
With a smile on our face

love me
or leave me,
but i’m praying
that you need me.
i could love you, if you
want me too.

in the privacy of my own head
i have found bliss in solitude
and peace in my own body
the itch in my hands has subsided
and my wounds have finally closed
i am done picking open scabs
that have started to heal
and finally letting myself grow

i want to write something people can resonate with.
for most of my life, i spent hours in book that i cried with or laughed to.
but now it is my turn.
i want to write for the ones with swollen hearts that are full of love,
i want to write something for the kids who were never enough,
for those spend hours sitting in the shower because the water frowns out the sounds of their tears,
i want to write something for the ones who have spent nights upon nights dreaming of ways to leave this world,
i want to write something for those finding bliss in baggies and hope in a pill
for the children who have found companionship in literary hero’s,
for the ones who twist words and rhymes,
the ones who for countless hours have manipulated vowel sounds and consonant endings.
i want to write for the ones who still believe in the magic of pixie dust,
for the ones who’s pixie dust only lives in hard bound books and in aisles of forgotten book stores.
i want to write something for those who appreciate the weird and find comfort in the uncommon.
i want to write for those fighting every day for that loaf of bread in the grocery store.
i want to write something people can resonate with.
because i’ve been there
so here it is,
here’s to you.

i’ve felt more at home
cradled inside words
and rocked to sleep by stanzas
then ever being in your bed
i’ve felt growth most
when i’m speaking in tongue
and writing rhythms,
then ever talking to you
you planted my soil
then let me choke on it,
while you ****** the life from it.
i’m growing flowers and life inside
of this body,
i am reclaiming
the revelation
that has started it all
i am washing my art down my body
feeding myself with the love and passion
you never showed me
in this moment i am growing
and my art is ever flowing

if you’ve seen him.
you’d know,
nothing gold can stay
and this is why,
i can’t wait for the day,
where you turn foe
so i can love you,
endlessly

Please stop calling me nice.
I am not nice.
I will not be contained to a single word,
When my bones are built from metaphors
And my lips leak similes.
I am a fireball of emotion, splitting trees and men in two with my passion for my art.
I am a slurry of terror, creeping up on you at night that curls your toes right before you fall asleep.
I am not nice, I am anything but
I am alive with the summer heat that burns in my eyes and the sunlight that flows through my ribcage.
I am a warrior, a fighter, a solider in disguise.
I am the moon that hides it face in the day, only to showcase it's purity in the night.
I am the stiff wind that knocks the shallow air out of your lungs on a cold, January morning.
I am the tick, tick, tick of the buzzer right before its majestic song.
I am the obscene, the extraordinary, the menacing things in life.
I am not confined by a single word.
I
am
not
nice.

I used to want to be a doctor.
I wanted to save lives and help others,
but now that I am older and have seen how humanity is,
I can't save anyone.
I can barely help myself.
Most mornings,  I struggle to get out of my unmade bed
And sometimes the only way to get dressed is to take those pills.
The ones that are supposed to make me "happy" or some ****.
What is "happy"?
Happiness is becoming a doctor and proving to your parents,
You did it. You made something of yourself.
Happiness is showering at 9 am instead of 3 pm just because you couldn't stop crying.
Happiness is being home alone without the fear of that medicine cabinet.
I am still figuring out what happiness without expectation is,
But there are still days when I want to become a doctor.
Save lives and help others.
But for now, I am saving my own life by helping myself.

It's 5:25 pm and I am sitting in class,
Alone.
I am daydreaming of 11:27 pm when I'll be able to hear your low voice, singing me to sleep with your soothing words.
I am longing for yesterdays conversations and last month's visit when you cradled me in your arms.
I am craving the warmth of your skin against mine when I am shaking out in the cold.
I am listening to a lesson about god knows what,
But I am sitting here, unable to shake your firm grasp over me.
I've written a lot about you.
You're the only one I want to be thinking about
At 5:25 pm when I am sitting in class,
Alone.

I found your bracelet in my underwear drawer.
I put it there because I wanted it to be surrounded by delicate things,
And it reminded me of the way you pushed back that blue hair
With one fell swoop.
It reminded me of the gentle way you'd wrap me
In your arms and whisper in my cold ears,
"You're my best friend."
It reminded me of the way you so softly laid in that tub,
Porcelain skin shining and glassy doll eyes.
You were delicate.
Like the way those soft pin ****** lined your fleshy skin
I wanted what was left of your delicacy,
To be surrounded by beauty.
Because beauty is only found in pictures now
And delicacy is only how you live inside my chest.

I remember when I was 10,
And I saw my father cry.
I asked him "Daddy, what makes people sad?"
He told me people get sad because the warriors
Go to sleep
He said, people get sad because the sun will eventually fall
Even though it just began to rise.
People get sad because one day someone can wake up and say
"I don't care about you anymore."
I think I understand why people get sad,
I am sad too.
The warriors have gone to sleep,
The sun has fallen into an endless horizon,
And even my father has told me,
"I don't care about you anymore."

I'm not addicted to you, per say,
I'm addicted the 2 am conversations
Where we talk about nothing but
Everything seems to come out.
I'm addicted to the way your voice cracks
When you're tired and you swear me you're not.
Even though I can hear the hum in your voice and haze in your throat.
I'm addicted to the way your brain twirls on end
When you try and comprehend the things you cannot.
I'm addicted to the way your lungs heave in and out,
And how heavenly you look when you can finally breathe.
No, I'm not addicted to you.
I'm addicted to everything that makes you,
You.

Rolling over to see your eyelashes batting your cheekbones
Is how I want to wake up forever.
Watching the ends of your lips curve into that sweet and sultry smile,
I could stare at you forever.
You are magnificent, a beauty of the mysterious
Because under everything,
I'm still trying to figure out how your brain
Could see me,
And see beauty.

I think of you in the mid afternoon
When you're yawning from the midst of the day.
I think of you when I roll up my sleeves
And how you never let yours down.
I think of you at 3 am when you are softly sleeping
But I am wide awake,
You see I dream of every inch of you
Every second of the day,
You are like the air in my lungs,
And the goosebumps on my skin
You are necessary, you are inevitable
You are my only end
You are the only one I am thinking of
Inside this troubled head.

Baby girl,

When you are born in this world no one tells you that one day you will become sad, depressed, psychotic, or ****** up. They don't tell you that every night before you close your eyes that your life will flash before you and undoubtedly, you will cry. You will cry because it isn't fair that a fire burns inside of you that seems to scorch everyone else. They'll swear you have a heart of ice but it's only because they made you so ******* frigid that your heart will never beat normally again. When you are born, you are pure and untouched. Perfect, beautiful baby they say as they probe your skin with their filthy fingers and ****** themselves inside of your purity. I wish they told me how many times I'd ******* slice my skin just to feel that hot love pour out of useless body. All the while my peers laughed and played out their sick fantasies of torturing my mind. Holding me hostage to the prison of my own head. Nobody will ever tell you, baby girl, that your innocence will be stolen by men who never even deserved it in the first place. They will stalk you in your own mind till one day, you know nothing but him and the way his fists look imprinted in your tired skin. As you age, everyone you love will slowly fade and the hope you had in humanity will be lost. You won't cry this time because the emotion stored inside you will have already left for vacation and soon your mind will join. Listen. The last live bits of your anatomy will slowly wither like the last of the autumn-browned leaves. When you become the fragile bird everyone has always told you you were. You will believe them. You will finally give in to the devil on your shoulder who seems more like friend then foe. He has always been there since the beginning, the only one who ever was. My god, it will ******* hurt but now that you've seen it, baby girl-

Rebuild

-I've been there

You are a vacation,
But you will never be home

You are the only light left at the end of the tunnel
But when I arrive,
You are gone.
Your existence- obliterated
Me- waiting.

My favorite time of day is the morning before the cigarette smoke laces through my hair. Theres something so pure and innocent about the morning and the sunshine and the smell of youth. I remember when lollipop sticks stuck out of mouth and my mother would yell that I would rot out my teeth. It's funny really, now the cigarettes hang out of my mouth like candy. Innocence is so pure the way it feeds through your body till some other drug is then the innocence is lost. And that's the beginning and the end to all our problems. We lost our innocence trying to **** the pain and when I say **** the pain I really mean **** ourselves. Because no body at 15 wants to down a bottle of pills just to make it through the day then at 16 drink more liquor than water then at 17 attempt to take your life because it might actually make you ******* feel something. I tried for so long to just ******* feel something like the way I felt heartache and pain and loneliness course through my veins. I tried to ignore it, black it out, I ******* tried. I think I love the mornings the most because the way the have so much potential but still seem to come to a ******* end. They know how to end. I am still learning.

you are my cup of tea
in a world full of coffee stains

We all exist in this world
Wouldn't it be nice to spend our time
With more memories,
More love,
More life,
Wouldn't it be nice to just live a little more?

You are a flower
That constantly sways in the wind
Petals scattered from shore to shore
While I,
I am a seed
Buried deep within the cold soil
Who hasn't been watered in days
I am the seed who has not yet began to grow
But instead, fades away

I never wanted to.
I didn't say yes,
In fact you never even asked.
Did you think this would ever affect me?
Did you think that one day I'd be too ****** up for anyone to ever want me again
Did come to mind that one day I wouldn't be able to get out of bed.
That one day, I'd cry broken sobs into my pillow just to feel.
That ever since I've been trying to forget, trying to fill the void
The void that you ripped into my chest.
You made nothing feel good, you broke the last living part of my body
But I think now, I'm finally whole
Whole and alone.
The way you wanted it.

You were laying in a bathtub
And all they did was wash you.
You were alone.
Bruised toes hanging of out the white porcelain.
Your hair, damp and thick with mildew, dripped off my fingers.
And you were alone.
All they did was wash you.
Blue lips, puckered as if to say your final speech
That everyone around you left you alone,
Entirely alone.
Until the only one left to find you,
Was me.

There’s something sadistic about cigarettes,
and the way they fondled your hands
like the way you used to ****** me,
hard and rough.
There’s something sadistic about the way they ****,
slow and steady,
like your words and how you purred them into my ears.
Their smell, coats and lingers for what can seem like years.
Just like your Old Spice body and strawberry scented hair,
because 4 years later the scent sticks to my nostrils
like a child clings to their mother.
There’s just something sadistic about the way a cigarette can look so **** good on you.
A fashion accessory, licensed to ****