It was cherry blossom season in Washington D.C.
       She was stunning, but something was wrong
   She wanted the trampled blossoms for souvenirs
       A representation of her rage
            It made sense only in her mind, where reality and fiction were blending
               We didn’t know then the hell that awaited
          I didn’t know I was about to be changed forever

In the days that came I held her as she cried,
Answered questions about the voices     that haunted her
  That no one could hear
Walked with her when the world
         Was full of fear
    And she was alone

Later we’d know this was an episode, a problem with a name and a treatment plan, but in that moment
It was her and I, holding hands, making promises and blending our tears to the injustice of the situation

In the months and year that followed I was alone. She went home and I stayed behind,
In infected rage. Not at her, but at the world,
   At the people I loved who turned their backs as I held her through hell

I carry the cherry blossoms behind my right ear
A reminder of D.C. in the spring
Of her and I against the world
Of knowing hell to appreciate heaven

A reminder that life is beautiful, fleeting, and merely a season.
A reminder I’m never alone
<3

I’m a verbal *******,
       It only costs a moment of your time, and guaranteed disease free
Seems my price is too high, no one’s got the time, and I’m going broke.

I’m a believer in group ******* of the spoken persuasion, giving each other pleasure by word choice
     It’s an odd love in a time of finger-keyboard romances
The writers
      Poets
           Artists
They’ve gone out without a proper blaze of glory, no Tommy gun goodbye
They’ve faded, filtered out like literacy being alarmingly replaced by technological shorthand

Kkthanxbi

Free me of myself, you beast
You claim to know the code of my soul
A shady offer, cheap date, and an instantly lowered self respect

I want to wash them away; your words
They cover me, come to me, creating unrest in my once certain soul
In these moments of nonphysical ****
I hate you.

The circles under my eyes darken with all the sleepless nights I’ve spent
                     Consumed

     By the answer I can never be
For my loves haunted by addiction

   For all the fragments

          I’m wondering if all my empty spots where love didn’t learn to grow are showing
   Wondering if only God can love the broken things, if only God can love me

It took three days back in that life to make me question
   Everything
I’ve become
                 Of my value
         Worried people can see the sadness induced insecurity that’s triggering desperate longing
   Craving the wrong places, people and choices because my haunted loves are right –
       short term escape is more tempting
     But it means ****** of who I was meant to be and I’m unwilling to sacrifice everything I fought for
                    Everything I am
                               My self-renaissance

                Today it’s a battle of tear stained lullabies and vintage heartbreak revivals
                        And I may be losing now
But I’ll be ****** if I lose the war

Ive been feeling electric, sparking, waiting for ignition
   Confused, longing for release
     Finding close calls with the unavailable
Wondering what about sin makes us feel more vibrantly alive
   Praying for a fated spark, brought by His will
                      Resisting temptation
But remembering electric bad news mouth on my ear
  A friend’s body language
     A student’s eyes searching mine in a 4 hour exchange
A woman in heartbreak
        Cryptic messages from my heart’s interpretation and friendship from available options
   Trying to be the better version I’ve become while the past me slips me bad ideas
     Through seductive lips and sensual whispers
I feel on the verge
   I want all the bad ideas, the intensity almost hurts but

I’m waiting for the fated interaction
     Hoping it’s worth the wait
                         Staying electric
Impatient
         Revved
                  Sparking
                            Hoping
                                     Strong
                                             <3

The musical screech acts as the pleading prayer I could never quite articulate
     the jazz moves around me and through me
I don't understand but I find profound clarity in the minutes that transform into moments
                the album bares witness to the realization I never gave voice to

           that I've only ever held the illusion of love
                                                            ­                     the impression of caring
but love isn't found when you're the other woman,
                                            in addicts broken promises of next time or a summer love in the age of innocence before either of us were aware of ourselves or who we needed to become

true love isn't riddled with entitled expectations
                                                    ­                                      it's given

                                                          ­         it's a gift

   when you begin expecting it, feeling ownership to it; over it
                                                              ­                            that's the same moment you begin to lose it
I believed I'd been neglected; abandoned, God's not given me the love I want
       but inherently in the want it was wrong
  and in the earnest it was flawed
                                          all my examples are broken
                           and today I wondered if maybe, just maybe
   He gave me so many broken spots so the Love,
                                                           ­                 both His and the one I await can be a salvation I can't fathom
                 today He filled all my gaps with the promise this won't last forever
       that what awaits is greater

Through tear stained jazz gospels I felt healed
      not by the removal of problems or broken pieces, because they will always exist
but by Hope
            by Home
                  and by Love                                          in due time.
                                                        <3

In the name of health I stopped bandaid-ing with busyness
      with food
          with spending
               with caffeine
                   with you
and it stripped me raw
        back to a preteen self before the trauma really came
and a preteen me after the waves hit
                                                           year after year of desperation soothed by self medication

Exposed without crutches I find a dull pulse of someone who wishes to be rotting
      because to rot suggests life and I feel like a statue in pieces  that never meant much of anything to anyone
   not even my creators

          counting hours down without anything to count to; afraid to live like I was and afraid to exist like I am

I'm taking my courage with what little grace I can offer and I'm giving into faith, the Father.

Past: I grew up in the land of men
Present: Culture shock into the wonderful world of women
Future: Close, meaningful, healthy relationships

Past: A sense of being trapped, a predetermined path to struggle
Present: A struggle to opportunity
Future: A completely broken cycle

Past: Self-hatred at worst, doubt at best
Present: Transitioning
Future: Authentic wholeness

Past: Done
Present: Healing
Future: Beautiful

My heart felt heavy in the spaces of your musical farewell
        
      I knew then, with certainty I lacked before, that I cared for you
    Far more than our prescribed roles allowed for
             I knew then, as you played your own composition,
     That I’d failed you in some ways
             But in others I still wondered --- about hours that felt like minutes, about how the time between us was art
   Something in all that I am found home in something you are
       It screams within me for more time and less boundaries neither of us can give

You’ll leave soon, the urgency to make meaning is stifling because I’m afraid I could love you
              But will never know
                            You’ll build a life, one you’ve already planned and I’ll miss you like crazy, wishing I’d been around for the planning years before
    Forever changed by thoughts and stars in November
Changed by thoughts and stars of you
during our only season

I’ll send some light and love when I think of you, of our maybe, perhaps, our almost
    When you feel the air exchange in and out
        It carries my thoughts; a little light and a little love
From one, of two people, whose only regret wasn’t the mistakes either of them made
     But simply
  That we didn’t have more time.

I’m ribbons and lace, polka dots and florals
          Naughty and nice, femininity embraced
  I’m scars and secrets, broken hearts and hook ups
                
                       I’m exhausted

                     Defeated

      A captive of my past, uncertain of my future, longing for wholeness
   Congruence
     Afraid of who I become in survival mode

Broken.

  Praying for relief
      Unable to handle this world of political ties and lies
  Wanting to remember what air used to feel like before it was stained with despair and regret
  Hoping one of these days turns out to be better.

He was electric bad news
    With a soulful garage sound that spelled trouble
  I wanted to be the woman I reformed from years ago, that took wedding rings as a challenge
                  Not a mistake

If we’d been alone perhaps opportunity would have made us both weeds
    In a crowd his fingers grazed, lingered, and caressed my arm
Hand felt strong, heavy on my shoulder
                 Inspiring a mental masterpiece of where else            they could be
       Forbidden attraction pulsed through the air between us

We were electric for one night in Minnesota where nothing happened
    But the what ifs and could haves left sweet sin stained dreams in his absence
   Morning broke with electric bad news on a plane, me questioning who I’ve really become and wondering if at any point he felt the same.

The coffee slides down my throat,
Straight shot to my vines, an imitation of alive,
My hearts too preoccupied to do its job
Busy singing a siren song about a guy
Who didn't want me
Doesn't miss me
And won't

The anxiety of that truth slithers around my neck at night, stealing my rest
As the memories of his touch haunt my mind, circling on repeat, whispering 'almost'

I didn't know him long enough for it to feel this way
Heartache is for the splits of duration not the barely begun
But
Here I am

In withdrawal of him and all we could have been

We grew up together
In sunray symphonies and sleepover sunrises, we grew
Only as children can, without regret of so many yesterdays or fear of the future and it’s guaranteed pain

We played together
On glimmering snowy hillsides and golden pastures
You pulled my hair and I cried, years later you lost yours, and I cried

We’d almost done it, made the passage to adulthood
And then it was the cancer that grew
Without fear or regret you fought
It took away your youth but you only smiled, the smile of faith, of angels
I cried the tears of lost yesterdays and dark tomorrows, I cried the selfish tears of people
And when the prayers and medicine stopped helping, it was you who cried
The sorrowful tears of the heavens, of the loss, of the end

As day hazed over to night somewhere over my home I sat in awe
     During a midnight flight how the ground became constellations of civilizations
        How a power plant with the right illumination becomes a master piece
  At the connections and networks we cultivate in this digital age drive us apart
    Move us away from brilliance
From connection
    Muting us with hyper stimulation
Distracting us with safe delusions
    How the lighting and perspective can make a lie look like nature and a person feel like heaven
How electricity was once a vibrancy within us, that radiated from the gifted through creation and how now
    It’s a drug, dulling us, a societal dependency
With no one left to stage the intervention
    There’s a beauty in the illusion
       In the man made constellations  of life
But there’s life in disconnecting  to find our electricity
Our humanity
Our hope
<3

The strings
The notes
All familiar to me
Along the road
That’s been traveled on
And the one I've yet to drive
My therapist
My friend
As soon as I hear
That first string
I know
I'll be
OK

I walked home in the rain today
                               Holding an umbrella
                Unopened and unused

The rain felt like memories
    Of Europe at 24 and first love at 17
                              It was a well worn path home, but it felt like
                     Adventure
It shared the same grey skies as London, where I left my heart for healing

     I wondered, if this rain, if it too could wash away everything life had stained me with
   If across places and spaces rain held a baptismal purity
If it’d always hold interwoven fingers and venice beaches
     Thunder field kisses and a vibrant life reclaimed

Or

If like the storm, it held the promise of this too shall pass
   If in time the priority would be to stay dry

Forgetting the sweetness of rain
   Of picnic table romances
Of European adventures

                                      Losing the beauty of life
   When rain could taste of hope
                    Feel like memories
                                Inspire poetry

And take an ordinary day and
Make it art
<3

The midnight canvas with it’s beautiful truth paints us a masterpiece and openly I talk to you
The silent night protects us and hides our insecure fears, both of each other and nothing
In the line of tomorrow becoming today and today yesterday the sense of clarity becomes confused
But at midnight it seems to breath, the skeleton of me starts to take shape
A calmness filled with an anxious appreciation of fate, to sweet to feel without fear of permanent escape
And I ask in the sense of an invisible companion, When does it click or all fall apart?
Why don’t you answer in my enlightened dark?
And how do I believe, hold faith and still fail to find my voice
Then the clock moves, everything’s shifted to the edge
I know it’s approaching, the time the darkened shield’s gone
I hold on as long as I can without it being said until through nonverbal communication our openness halts and we drift away to an understanding saddened state
Our midnight’s gone and to speak would only make it break
So we sleep dreams of the next midnight fate

You tell me I'm too flirty,
              but with a ring on your hand you hold mine?
Friends can't nudge each other, but they can hold each others hands?

They can't playfully tousle each other's hair, but they can touch each other's legs?

I'm trying real ******* hard to put you first.

                 you and your wife.

   Ignore all the signs that point to us and support you and when I hold back my habits of playful friendship swats

you.

you hold my hand
       and she's in the room.

I loved it, and I hate myself for that.

An emotional investment left me bankrupt, things shattered
Apart we’re left in pieces on the floor shattered once again, once more
The shards of the past touch my trusting hand not to touch in the end we understand
But at present state we’re lost among the shimmer
The shimmer, sparkling face of a porcelain doll, painted to please, hallow, spots missing, taped up, broken
Take up the drug of Gods, sanity’s sweet nectar
Fill your holes with liquid and be fulfilled.

I'm never the girl they want me to be
                        Too forward thinking
                        Too liberal
                        Too boyish
                        Too honest
                        Too sassy
                        Too mysterious
                        Too used
                        Too adventurous
                        Too much
Part 2
                        Not Pretty enough
                        Not thin enough
                        Not traditional enough
                        Never enough

If I'm too much of A and not enough of B then together the solution is:

a.) change or
b.) *******

or some blend of both.
             despite being the most undesirable combination of excessive A and deficit B i get labeled a heartbreaker, a *****, a ****

it's a double edged sward, and both ends are out for blood.

A visitor rang at my door late one night, an old friend,
Taking his hand in mine without words we held no identity and breathed as one,
He held a bag of emptied hearts and broken spirits
His eyes held the burden of truth,
We knew, in the silent darkness, the way only hearts can, our parting that night would be short lived
A few days more my door rang again and there with his bag he slipped right in,
I heard all the words he had to say, all the truths he’d forced me to face and begged him to go
Sadly he shook his head, kissed my forehead and took residence in my bed,
I fought and persuaded, pushed , and hung my head defeated
This old friend, he told no lie,
That time for now was no friend of mine,
He never left my side in those months to come, in return I dropped my contributions into his bag,
His hand stay tightly woven in mine as my eyes witness the cancer take so much from the youthful angel, the world only briefly could know,
My friend, he saw this too, he’d wept with me weeks before, and for so many yet to come promising never to leave, at least never for long,
I collapsed into him, into his tragic security
As a loved one slipped away to death he slid into my home
His name was grief and while I live neither he nor I will be alone

If I could understand it myself maybe I'd sahre it.


I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

       But I don't know why or how to be someone else. I also pray for another life and for the sweet
caress of death.

                              Clearly I've had more than my fair share of unanswered prayers
I love the men I can't have
                         Because
                                                         ­   I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

For that same reason I spent my formative years getting serious with a knife.
                  I prayed we'd get too serious and go too far, but here I am an exhibit in pathetic
  another unasnwered prayer poster child

I made a promise to live because
                                   I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

I don't know much. I sure as **** don't know where it started or why but at least
        I
                know
                         what
                                    I
                      ­                  Like

"I am a man on fire" he stated
                                               undeniably ablaze with passion.
       This would be a man I would love, I thought,
                             One I could have even a year ago when I was a woman lit with fire, but presently
the more accurate statement is,
            I am afraid and fighting for life

I keep trying to crack the code of how I got here again - lost in another addictions and multitasking distractions
     when the question truly is how did I believe I woudln't end up here?
When the truth is I will again until I sort my demons
                                                         I've been workin on it for years,
                                             and to my credit I suppose it's better and fewer haunt me
but
I'm here again
       wanting to want life but altering my reality via drugs

I was a victim
I am a victim
of abuse, and a heart that feels too much
                                          respectively,

So the idea of love is daunting because I have a black and blue history of finding people
who will hurt me
           because that was my home,
   that's what I lived
and at night, when no one can see
                            I believe it's what I deserve
    but I've learned that's wrong
The cycle, the habit, the belief as destructive as it is
is easier said than broken, but I'm trying

I would like to be like that man on fire.

For now I'll simply settle for a woman okay with being alive.
            Baby steps my lovely,
                             baby steps.

Beware, it’s the solitary girl
       The stranger remark how odd a creature
How odd she is
                               Alone she walks, she eats, she sits, she reads
                                        
                  ­                       Beware,
                                                   It’s the solitary girl

Nothing in this life is left well enough alone and soon the rumors spin form the silver spoons; drugs, prostitution, no home, no hope
      Whispers quicken, ‘ don’t let your children near the solitary girl
                                 She relies on herself, **** dangerous girl
She holds her head high, never anyone at her side; poor solitary girl

What heartbreaks befall a person to turn them to be a solitary soul’ oh poor solitary girl
         But she smiles and turns to the nosey eyes and announces to their trained airdropping ears

‘BEWARE! The solitary girl. I see the world as you distracted can’t, I appreciate the love your words spoils, I hear the bodies speak of all your scandals, beware of the solitary girl, I see the quiet unrewarded deeds and the secret affairs because the solitary girl - she IS an observer, of the world, keeper of our secrets, threat to your appearances, indeed, beware of the solitary girl.

In a city of strangers and uncertainty I waged the final war to close the chapter of aged heartache that’s been stretching on for far too long
       I found everything I needed in London without knowing what had been missing
  The blistering exhaustion of my feet couldn’t stop my soul from rejoicing in the wholeness it found after so long
     Hours blended into days that became a week, a week of healing, of hope, of a life reclaimed, refilled.

In a city of strangers I found myself
                 24 is the year.

Our love story was short.
I used three words to describe it.
I. Love. You.
You used two.
I can't.

Then there was nothing more to say.

An onslaught of misery forced me into a whirlwind of change
To strong to resist, to sudden to understand left only to stand and observe the destruction
The overwhelming aftermath left me sweeping all emotion under the rug, setting myself up to later trip up and leave me dripping with stale grief, swearing, as the grief stricken crazy do, that I could hear the angels weep the day you died, and how the wings of your memory brushed my face each night
How I could swear we bridge the gap between our worlds when I see you in my dreams

My heart leaned into listen as your eyes began to speak
Your low warm voice softly kissed my ears,
Setting my cheeks afire, a cherry glow
This is new, but the idea of us seems written in the stars, stamped for eternity

Your breath on the nape of my neck wraps me in you, a captive of your charm
Hearts beating, thoughts float with ease from me to you
     I’ve known you for always, written in my soul was a role for you, it seemed we confirm the stars and plunge into a lifelong pact of love
Vulnerable moments, countless memories
The stars fate seems fatally miscalculated
What we had was love, what we hold is hope, what we forced ruined both
     You wanted to work, repair the permanent damage I’d created
But there’s a truth inside that whispers our confirmed stars were a lie, or at least that’s what our human touch has turned them into
She’s not my love because she’s not you but we can’t go back; we’ve meant to much already, a lifetime of commitment in half the time
The boys will be alright
Someday they’ll gaze into their own stars and learn a little to late the precise art of love and fate
How the heart is good for one big shot, but even the brightest, strongest, truest of stars burn out
The speed of light isn’t fast enough to prevent the mess we’ll make
Love is real, but lust is more intoxicating
Don’t worry for the time ticking out on this omniscient statement it spans past all time: love is alive only after we die

I miss him. I love him. He was never mine.

I miss him
because I loved him; love him
without understanding the
how
when
or why

Lord, help me, I found the best kind of connection in the worst kind of unavailable.

No, really,

help?

I knew then what I’d think now
A pre-chosen idea like an infected wound opens up and feels brand new
The burning unexpected taste of a drunken release disappoints and leaves me here

I knew then
What I’d think now.

I accepted a dance with the devil and he took the lead, creating a fatal romance to a seductive beat
One small drink
Cha cha cha
Just a few pills
One, two, three
And dip
My neckline plunged and I begged for more
His eyes lit up with delight
Razor blades and blood became our midnight sky

walking to work today I realized we'd never have another Christmas
I've been rereading words from when you knew me
                                                                   from that sumer at the lake
                                                    where I heard of your Nita

and how you two became my boys

     logically i know you couldn't write at the end,
that you didn't know me
                                                                                                                        but my heart doesn't care
it didn't hurt when you died
          
                                                            because what awaited
here for you was hell, but today
it hurt
       and I missed you like crazy
                          I hope you know that
    how deeply I loved you
                                          and your Nita
                                                                                                                and that perhaps you're together
                                                                                                        as you were always meant to be
                                                      and maybe you'll guide me to my other
                                            for my own life list

It pulled me under with ease, like I had no where to be
It sang its sad siren song
I fell to my knees as the pain clouded over and pretended to be fine, as hope disappeared
The hearts shattered and hid as cancer showed it’s hideous head
The prelude of misery
22 year old on the way to save a burning home, to stop the disappearance of someone’s memories
Left him to walk through ours

I breathe still but it’s no longer light and airy
It’s heavy with misery
It’s aged from the loss of innocence and it only pushed out to survive

Sorrow’s pounding on my door, quarter to midnight, relentless, bill collector after my feelings.
     I explain my situation
                                Unforeseen emotional expenses have left me under budget and no way to make the minimum payment
He’s heard it all before, he can hear the pre-rehearsed lines in my voice  and presents me with a predetermined standard payment plan - he acts as the devil and I sign over my soul for an undeterminable amount of time for collateral

It’s useless really, he’ll never get the debt I owe
                                                       As soon as emotion comes in I’m going all out, he’ll never get paid
I’m already grief’s *****, and sorrow wants in too,
            I’m popular in stocks of hardship and heartless - there are perks to the situation if you choose to see them
                                               Without feeling anger no longer pollutes my mind

Hope passed through but with no vacancy he moved on to someone else, I don’t sleep well, but without emotions I do get to sleep

If I could always feel the wind on my eyelids; feel moved like the leaves; sadness would be a distant memory, never reality.

I am not the leaves, she thought, I am not a leaf. The wind stopped, refusing to be her distraction.

I am a series of pieces learning to be whole; human.

'These feelings always throw me off -- you never cared' she howled to a God she didn't trust.

Ah, but the feelings are meant for people and pieces have a way of fighting just right, given time. I love you now, always have, always will the wind whispered.

She cried.

A collection of pieces, free to do as they please, residing in this one life together, not alone, but lonely.

The tears fell.

My eyes had a way of changing color, grey to green, depending on pain

He had a way of inspiring the spectrum by the way he withheld his heart,
A varied action
Dependent only on the day
And had nothing to do with me

It felt personal though, it always feels personal when hearts get involved
Hearts and their agendas

I gave up on my dreams of us being any of the scripts I craved but
I'd still held purpose in love transforming his loss

Selfish or selfless,
Agenda's agenda

I'll go on loving him because with love like this it's the only option I've got

But I'll do it agenda less
Perhaps my eyes can find a terminal balance

Hazel Grace

It’s a beautiful dance we engage in, an intricate illusion to be sure
                                                 the most becoming coming of age fairytale,
It’s a stunning tale to behold
                                  one of truth, of love, of something better than we held before
                       the threatening reality pushes us to determinately cling, trying to grip the memory of what was
watching it slide in a strikingly sorrowful manner down our hands caressing our veins, teasing our life, as the tomorrows cease to be bright and our womb life before living is our finest delight
              It was the once real hope who’s skeleton we now masquerade about attempting to replenish the life it once held, it was progress for something other, someone other than ourselves.

The phone rang again last night
                 He carried new versions of last spring’s heartbreak, in a brand new season
We’d taken some time apart, and while I loved the freedom, my life’s destined to be his
             We’re fatally; fatefully intertwined he’s my ****** soul mate

We’ve gotten reacquainted over coffees on the afternoon; he knows how I take it; too much creamer for a fake delight, a little bit of sweet to lighten up the dark
    He takes his black, without sugar or any messy mixed deceptions
I whisper, red eyed once again, ‘I haven’t anything to offer; you took too much before’
                 He remains silent, it’s his style, I’ve grown fond of these becoming characteristics; loyal, dependable, and while he can’t be exclusive he never stays away for long
I wouldn’t call what we have love, but an old fashion arranged marriage
             He doesn’t mind my hearts to broken to hold and I don’t mention my resentment towards are lifetime commitment  --- we just sit in each other’s company sharing our afternoon coffees with the same old problems staring at the same bad news.

As day hazed over to night somewhere over my home I sat in awe during the midnight flight how the ground became constellations of civilizations
     And cities flickered like embers
                      From a fire ready to ignite,
Awaiting a reason, a cause to be in awe at, to fight for, to be vibrant with life for
    Thoughts over seconds in a sky took shape and now spark my soul, my dulled living,
                                           To be more
To look for more
      I’ve had too many weeks of mundane that pale in comparison to those few seconds
    Like the horizon haze there has to be a way to blend and thread those seconds through those weeks to create a life better lived
It’s a spark worth pursuing and this,
               24 Is the year

I don't need a home
              I don't need a husband
I don't want kids.
          I don't need a six figure salary or fame
                     I don't need a pet
                                     or a place on the lake
I have but one request, one love, one desire; to see the world

So, please, keep your ring, your family, your home, your money, your pets, your vacay places, and dear God,

BRING ME THAT HORIZON.

I heard of a woman once, who spin you a tale as old as time, of everything you'd ever wanted to hear
of the great loves you'd endure, of the soulmate you'd find
the journeys you'd embark on
she'd tell this tale with such a passion, an intensity, a fire you'd get lost in each line, hang on each word and pray it never end
and then this woman would stop, her fire would begin to flicker and fade
smiling, with a coy look in her eye she'd present you with the most seductive of offers, for ten dollars she'd tell you the truth and for twenty she'd continue the lie
she'd wait a moment while peering through your eyes, watching you decide, knowing all to well the battle raging within and then she'd turn, her brown locks swaying behind her, choosing your answer for you
tempting you with dreams, teasing you with reassurance, and leaving you without either she grants you the greatest of gifts, something to hold on to
Hope

She talked of prison pipe dreams
                                  of England accents found in adventures in far off land that would act as armor
    for the inside where the sadness takes root and smothers hope; the seed of which resides in us all

                                 She'll never go now - the years have passed by and bars built and hold her here
  I swelled with a mixture of guilt and joy, having lived her dream and withholding it from her now, still

   the weight of unclaimed dreams and moments never experienced tore at my heart so I numbed it through self-inflicted deprivation; refusal to add fuel to the chamber, going on days now


oh baby, make it hurt so good
sometimes lives don't live like they should
make it hurt so good

I write of great loves I’ve never had and heartbreaks I wish had never been

The cello strings dripped of rich resonance as the bow glided gracefully across the string like hope on the breeze
Capturing every heart and connecting every soul in the room to one unified moment
Every breath rest on the edge or release as each instrument came to life, saturating the air they wipe away our past, every imperfection, renewing us
Breathing life into our tired flesh, giving us a sense of the dreams we once held and the stars we believed we could reach creating hope for new possibilities, for new beginnings
Long after the final note faded the music rang, as we all moved back to our small worlds and personal sorrows, it rang
Forever in us, it rings

We’re in the midst of a December disaster
        Deja visite
     Verge of a new year stuck in the same old pain
Grandmother’s got cancer, merry Christmas, thanks Santa
My hearts to bruised from last spring slaughter to feel very much and with death on its doorstep again it’s in no rush to reconnect

The charity bells continue with their holiday hymns and grandpa can’t understand where his wife is
     I can’t take a break because one check’s never enough
She’s terminal, but I suppose we all are
                                                            S­he’s ****** to die in slow anticipation pain, we’re ****** to watch and contemplate our own demise

Merry Christmas Jesus, tell your dad the same, oh and tell him thanks for the hell stained greeting  sloshed upon our door
             We’ve only ever done our best, and while ****** go free, I suppose yes, it is we who deserve this living nightmare

Books threaten us with hell, eternal absence of you, well with the hand you’ve given it doesn’t sound so bad
Excuse my sacrilegious phrasing, but seems you’ve pardoned molesters and allowed hellish realities to walk our streets
                      What have we done?
                                                         You see us, and judge us wrong, but we are only what you made us, and pushing us doesn’t fix the hate you help create.
            I’d ask you for help, but you’ve already made it clear, you don’t give a flying **** as to what happens to your people here.

I know I won’t hate you forever, and maybe never really at all but my heart has been emotionally ***** and it feels like it’s all your fault

Sorry for whatever I have done or didn’t do, but if we repent can you give us one death free new year?

                    Bitter, table of one.

                                        Check please

I splintered yesterday.
       Subtly shattered into a haze of pain.
                                                I was afraid of what the night would bring so I broke my rule to better and found the pills.
       It said for pain and I was split wide open with it so I took 1.

Just 1.

Until I still couldn't sleep. The not being enough and being me yelled in my head. Intermingled with the news of a further broken friend.
       I was spinning in a tornado of too much of everything so I took another one.

Just one more.

The roaring loneliness with no where to turn and no where to hide began to die down.
        I could feel sleeps breath on my eyes, giving weight to them, but my heart was still screaming --- creating the sensation of being burned alive, but given my options silence seemed better so I took 1 more.

Third time's the charmer.                     Tomorrow, with any luck, I'll stay just as numb but for now I've got the night and the drugs to help me slip
                                        into unconsciousness and forget


                 Sweet dreams are made of Vicodin - who am I to disagree?

Last night I fell into someone else's fight and was an outsider looking in.
          Begging for affection
                               begging for it to stop
                  but knowing my place and shutting the hell up.

   It felt too **** much like home
                      the one I fought to be free from
             Where tensions rise and the issues are untapped
                                                        ­                           We gloss across mimicking how we wish we felt.
With no one succeeding.
  It felt too much like home when the Psychology was off.
                and two poeple were together even though they're all wrong

and I was in the way

I was forgotten but obnoxiously present.
I fell asleep to other's whispers conversations, comforts.

and I cried myself to sleep - huddled in a ball of issues
         Alone, wishing I'd been enough
                               Pleading to not be alive
                                              and I was an outsider looking in
like always
like home.

When I make the right sequence of choices I get here, my safe place where all the valves shut off and thoughts float through, without lies, pretension or hope

I want the vices
I wanted him
I like the hunger it gives me the numbing and the numbing turns everything dark
   but with a flicker of a browned red, you could miss it if you've never stayed here, in the satisfying pain. You can live any life here; mother, lover, CEO, or happy because nothing really gets in
                                            and no one really cares to notice
and solitude becomes always, not just when alone
skin explodes with the tingle of a touch that won't ever come

desire wanes, and dreams extend to the dried blood red where there is a hope of home but expectation of morning, which feels impossible and hellish
  just the right amount of pain
when it gets to be too much you just turn another valve off

it'll pass or you'll die trying and either way you win; the sweetest taste, darkness embraced

My favorite family photo of me is as a baby
   Eyes twinkling with wonder
           Heart open with glee, no idea of what life awaits me
    Of the hell I’d meet
No idea that tears of heartbreak would pierce my hope
   That scars would be self inflicted for the love I ached
That I’d be haunted forever by the broken pieces I’d become
     That there’d be so many nights I’d pray to never wake
That I’d be alone
   That life would lose it’s twinkling wonder
That a lifetime would quickly become way too long to wait