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Circa 1994 Aug 2014
Skinny is not synonymous with confident. Nor is funny synonymous with happy. But if you weigh 110 pounds, and make people laugh they will ignore your tear stained cheeks. They will overlook the limpness of your movements.

You could fall dead without having been known by anyone. They will peer at your corpse and claim to have known you. They may even cry.

Had I been fat and humorless they would have known me.
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
i'm tired of defending myself.
the things I do or don't do.
sick of explaining the way I'm feeling
and the reason behind my means to cope.
the less fight I put up,
the more attacked I feel.

I don't want to talk
because you don't like the things I have to say.
They're too negative
or I don't say them with enough zest.

I vent to you and I can see the hurt it causes.
I hold it in and I seem short.
What is the use.
I try, only to have the worst assumed of my good intentions:
"Don't make a thing out of this (you argumentative *****)."
So maybe I should quit trying so **** hard
(if i'm just going to end up wrong either way).


******* out of here.
I'm sick of being sorry.
(I'm allowed to have off days too.)
Circa 1994 Aug 2014
Listen close baby,
perfect things bleed too.
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
and I watched you
while you slept,
wishing I were with you.

But I could settle for this.
You felt real.
We were as close as we could get without touching.

at midnight I made a wish.



Not hard to guess what it is.
Circa 1994 Nov 2015
I need a drink like hella.
To soothe my sorrow and make me mella.
I ******* hate this mind of mine
Always churning
Won't stop til I d.i.e.
Plug up my eyes
Ears
Nose
And mouth.
Trapped in the sewage of my harmful thoughts
I am sinking in ****.
Can't breathe in
Won't breathe out.
Ded.
Too rekt.
Too ****** to give one.
It's all in my head.
I'm not crazy
But i wish I was dead to the world
At the bottom of the sea.
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
I have no backbone because I've been bent out of shape. I compromise my morals so I can tolerate the skin I'm in. What I want is to cut it off. I want to expose the tissue, muscle, and bone underneath. The wind is harsher when you've got no skin. No protection. I don't need my skin to be thicker. I just needed to be new. If the scars disappear I'll forget how I got them.
mom
Circa 1994 Nov 2014
mom
Maybe that's why I don't have a mom.
Maybe she wouldn't like me much either.
Circa 1994 Aug 2013
How do you mourn for someone who hasn’t died?
For someone that’s alive and well,
And worst of all – without you.
How do you let go of something
You swore to hold onto?
When you build someone up in your mind
It’s so hard to demolish what you’ve created.
I’ll pretend I don’t know who you are
The next time I see you around town.
I’ll pretend I’m not jealous
When I hear you’re with wife and child.
I’ll pretend I don’t hope you’re a wreck without me.
        And I’ll pretend I didn’t mourn.
Circa 1994 Jan 2013
October 3, 2012 10:49pm

It’s a sensual process.
Watching him paint.
But today I’m his subject, and there’s no talking. He likes it completely silent when he works. He talks about his paints like they’re a person, his brushes – a fine wine, and his canvas – a beautiful lady. He’s the kind of person that has a mind so complex that after a five minute conversation with him you’d just assume he’s dumb, or extremely high.
He says he can taste color. Sometimes I think I’m dating an eight year old. Then my eyes roll over his body, and I remember why I put up with it. When my eyes get to his waist he makes a hand gesture, signaling me to look at him. He wanted this painting to be profile. He’s very persistent about keeping eye contact. He says that the muse is as much the artist as the painter. They’re both part of the process. I open my mouth to say something, but he puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. I scowl at him from behind wisps of my unruly curls. He smiles. He loves when I pout.
I’m wearing nothing but an oversized, tacky Bill Cosby sweater and a pair of his grey boxer-briefs. I’m sticky. I can feel the sweat dripping down my back. He’s been at it for an hour now. I’m uncomfortable, cranky, and tired. He says It’s ****. He says I look better when I’m all grungy.
The cat curls up in my lap. He looks up from his canvas and frowns. He walks over to where I am on the couch and shoos the cat away. He walks back over to his canvas. It’s so large, he can nearly hide behind it. That’s saying quite a bit considering his large frame that stands as a whopping six feet and two inches.
Sometimes I think he enjoys painting more than he enjoys physical intimacy with me. When I see the way he looks at them – the paint, the brushes, the canvas – the way he speaks to them – the way he touches them. I envy them. What I wouldn’t give for him to caress me so gently. To whisper so sweetly. To love me so tenderly. My heart aches.
His fingers are on the canvas. He’s smearing the paint. He pushes his hair back from his brow and gets some blue across his forehead. There’s yellow on the bridge of his nose, and green on his left cheek. If I could taste color, I’m sure he’d taste divine.
He finally drops his brush against the easel, steps away, and smiles – admiring his work.  I stand and he waves me over. I look at it. It’s beautiful. Gorgeous even. But it’s not me. The girl in the picture is radiant. She’s flawless. She’s happy. She’s what he wished he saw when he looked at me.
We’re all just somebody’s muse I guess.
I wish I were the one behind the canvas, instead of the one on it.
Circa 1994 Aug 2014
And I missed you
am missing
miss -
you.

Come home
this is your promise land
and I promise to love -
you.

Stay stay
tomorrow and today,
you're the one I want when skies are grey or -
blue.
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
I don't need to be what makes you happy
I just need you to be happy.

I'll try my best to be a catalyst.
Circa 1994 Jun 2013
I wasn't aloud to  like myself.
Without permission.
                         "Do I feel pretty today?"
"No."
                          "Am I happy today?"
"No."
                           "You're hurting me."
"Some call it love."
Circa 1994 Feb 2015
I retreat to numbness a lot. It is an easy thing to be.

I’ll drink a cup of water slowly; imagining that the liquid in the cup is my feelings - and by the time the cup is empty, so am I.

So I didn’t always feel it when he told me he loved me, even though I believed him. And sometimes it was difficult to love him through the void of neutrality.

...sometimes it is.
Circa 1994 Mar 2015
I wish i were a lighthouse;
Then I'd be my own safe place.
And the dark wouldn't seem so threatening.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
The black cursor pulses with intimidation;
urging you to fill the white blankness with letters that form words and transition into sentences.
The keyboard is my instrument,
usually used for good and occasionally for evil.
An encouraging word or a means to vanquish my enemies.
Circa 1994 Aug 2016
Let me tell you about my best friend. He is a trigger, pointed right at me. He is the last moment before dusk - a crisp line of color amidst a wide stretch of grey. With exotic lips, lush with an obscene shade of red-pink. Stout sturdy fingers feed into the wrist upon which I tug so that he is forever hurdling towards me. His limbs are animated by hesitance and laughter. his every pore a perfect seal. teeth like ivory, used delicately to inflict a pain pleasantly. His mind is an etch-a-sketch, a single line of thought expands into an organized madness. he is a man of many sounds, all of which tell you something about him - he is eager, sincere, boyish, enigmatic, pure. eyes alive like two magnetic coils, sizzling like a heated brand. he is more certain of the flicks of his tongue than the movement of his body and this speaks to his priority.  I've never seen a man more willing to love imperfect things. a patron saint in doc martens. he is ever unintentionally the accumulation of these things, to which the sum is incalculable.
love
Circa 1994 Jul 2014
Yes, I want you to hate my ******* guts
so I don't have to spend 70 years earning the love I'm not worthy of.
I'm going to spend my whole life convincing you not to love me.
My words don't fix anything anymore.
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
We're not what we were.
But I don't care about how we used to be,
I just want the us that we are now to make me happy.

We could harp on the past
And fake older versions of ourselves.
Or we can keep being our current selves
And hope for a future where we won't be plagued with doubt.

Cause rough is the life at sea,
But far better to bear the waves
Than to give into misery.
Let's talk about it.
I can't talk about it.
Let's ignore it.
Let's not.
Go to sleep
And I'll be alone now.
The end.
Circa 1994 Mar 2017
I talk white they say
Dress white
Act white they say
That's why all the black boys want me
Why the white boys wanna try and **** me
Even though colored girls aren't they're cup of tea
My light skin is a kink
The way i enunciate makes me a fetish
The last black women my daddy shared a bed with was my mother
So why my daddy gotta ask about the companions of my slumber.
I act white they say but ask me
Is my *** phat?
Do i twerk.
I dress white
But they think it's okay to ask me
If they can touch my hair
A white boy once said it reminded him im a ****** even though my skin is fair.
How many white boys gotta stick they're fingers in my roots
To find the truth.
When you say I act white
What you mean is I'm not a stereotype.
You're pretty for a black girl
Talk good
For a black girl
Snap snap hey hey girl
Let me slide in
Thick thighs girl.
You're mixed right?
No way a sister could sound
So bright.
Tell me about your origins miss thang.
Let me put them other boys to shame,
I can buy you top shelf,
Get your rent paid
Better than the boy you wifed up to.
Lil shawty you should smile more,
It's a compliment ****
Stuck up *****.
Do i act too white
Cause I'll never start a fight
Is it white to get a degree
And make my own money.
Touch my hair if you forgot
White is not synonymous with superior
Cause amanda does squats to get an *** like ruwanda.
Remember i got a college dregree
Before you say some ignorant **** to me
Act White?
How dare you
Assume my character
Is defined by a color.
Circa 1994 Jun 2013
Anyone can write a poem
About the kind of love
That only happens
In romantic comedies.
But a real poet
Writes about what happens
After you've fallen.
Circa 1994 Dec 2013
I deem no one worthy
To behold the brilliance of your eyes
Or intertwine their fingers with yours
Or hear a word uttered by your mouth.

Not even me.
I don't deserve you.
Circa 1994 Dec 2014
Get so upset
Text your ex.
Feel so broken
You're drinkin and token.
Hurt so deep
Weep and weep and weep.

This is the life cycle.
The story behind every pair of sad eyes.
I've run out of ideas.
I'm this close to exploding.
Someone listen to me.
Someone hear.
I'm losing my will
And soon I'll disappear.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
Wearing clothing seems unnatural when we're together.
I'm drawn to you like a magnet.
You tell me I'm pretty
And laugh at how awful I am at accepting compliments.
I promise to leave before you wake up.
Circa 1994 Jun 2014
Part of me doesn't want to belong to anyone.
Part of me won't.
Because I don't want anyone to feel entitled to the things I can't give them.

The things I won't.
How honest is too honest?
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
It's okay it's okay.
Everyone is always saying that
And now the words have no meaning at all.
Ironic how everyone  says it's okay
Most often when it's not.
Even if things were "okay"
I wouldn't believe you.
I don't believe myself when the word
Repeats in my head.
Tell me things are good.
Hell, tell me they are bad
before you tell me they're okay.

I don't want to be okay.
I want to be perfect or I want to be dead.
Which is easier?

*okay.
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
I don't feel like I'm slipping through the center of the earth.
The molten core won't char my shoes
And singe my hair.

No more quicksand paved roads
******* me in like a hungry mouth with no teeth.

Hydroplaning is a thing of the past,
Because it's not raining on my parade anymore.
Circa 1994 Nov 2014
we're one big argument that's never going to stop.
Bickering.
Bitterness.
Bottled up hurts.

When did we get so good at this?
Causing each other pain.

When did the distance
Start pushing us apart?

When did silence start to feel more comfortable than talking?
I used to not question if the pleasure outweighed the discomfort.
Activate the distress signal.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
Things feel sticky.
Soggy.
Itchy.

I feel frayed.
Broken.
Chafed.

I want to fade.
Pause.
Sleep.
Circa 1994 Feb 2014
If I were a book,
what would my cover lead you to believe?

Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky.
Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase.
Purple hair - craving attention.
Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward.
Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy
Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy.

Maybe your assumptions are right.
But you'll never know until you read the book.
Circa 1994 Apr 2015
Ashamed
is the word for what you're feeling.
And i can't be bothered with this.
Because we don't feel real
Until you admit i exist.
Bisou bisou
It'd be easier in another dimension.
But alas.
Circa 1994 Dec 2013
I never want to be you.
You're so miserable.
And I promised myself I wouldn't vent here
But then you said those things.

You push everyone away.
That's why you're alone.
You want everyone to be as miserable
as you are.

I still resent the fact
you never taught me how to ride a bike
or swim.

Maybe if you avoid things long enough
they'll disappear.
Like me.
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
I arrive at the party early and head straight for the kitchen.
I half and half a fruity flavored ***** and cranberry cocktail juice in my red solo cup.

It tastes bad.
I drink fast
It tastes better.
My cup is empty.
Refill.
Hunch punch it is.
****** drinking games
****** music.

I go out on to the patio.
I'm greeted by a circle of hazy expressions
And red eyes.
1 hit
2 hits
3 hits
4.

Jenga truth or dare.
lick the faces of three people
Girl that dared me - one.
Girl with purple hair - two.
Guy with buddy holly glasses - three.

Space Odyssey plays on the stereo.
5
4
3
2

I wake up fully clothed on a makeshift mattress made of couch cushions.
I'm ******* freezing.
And next weekend we'll do it all over again.
Same party
Same *****
Same music

A party's success is based on how guilty you feel the next day.
Circa 1994 May 2014
And he realized then that she wasn't his.
Passing her off like a spliff.
Round and round she goes.
Nobody knows how it feels to die.
We're all too busy pretending to be alive.
She fell to the ground just like the ashes.
And I inhaled her like the smoke.
Circa 1994 Feb 2014
most of the time I don't even want to like people
and I'm not completely sure why.

don't talk to me.
go away.
leave me alone.

....................................

I didn't mean it.
come back.
I need you.
Circa 1994 Jul 2013
I know people
who have monsters in their head
instead of under the bed.

I know people that
spend their love
in order to buy time.

I know people
who use their daddy issues
as an excuse to hold on too tight.

Yeah, I know some people
and they're all a reflection
of me.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
You haven't gotten less perfect;
I'm just becoming more aware of the fact that I have.
Circa 1994 Dec 2013
I want to hug you for three hours.

                 Make that three hours
                 and four minutes.

I want to feel the weight of your head against my stomach.
              
                Listen to the rumbles.
                My belly button is not an "on" switch.

I want to touch your lips
                
                  With my fingertips.
                  Imagining how they'd feel elsewhere.

I want to  moan for mercy.
                
               Watching you
               *Watching me.
Circa 1994 Nov 2014
Do you like me?
With all my tears and scar tissue?
Even though I'm emotionally unstable
And I'm still a bit afraid of the dark.
You know I'm sensitive and grumpy.
You know I'm insatiable and clumsy.
You know I'm a writer
Cynical
And spiteful.
Could you love me?
This mess of frizzy hair and insecurities?
Even though I self sabotage
And I very nearly hate everyone I meet.
You know I have stretch marks on my ***
You know I'm clingy.
You know I'm afraid of drowning
Heights
And losing you.

Well as long as you know.
Don't say I didn't tell you so.
Circa 1994 Sep 2014
If you say I love you, you're signing a contract
A document that you acknowledge the sharp pains that keep you from sleeping won't cease.

You're forfeiting the feeling of being loved in order to show someone love.

You're saying: "I know this will happen again and it is worth it."
Circa 1994 Mar 2015
I lay my palm flat against my tummy. This is my body. I place my hands on the coldness of the cement wall. this is a wall. Hand on my stomach again. This is my body. This is my body. But I don't believe it. Im trying to convince myself that it's true.
Circa 1994 Jan 2015
Cranky clitorous
Shaking in bliss.
Topsy turvy,
Give me a tickle.
Give me a lick,
Like lollipop sugar sweetness -
You've got a candy coated tongue.

Twitching legs.
Raking nails across
Crumpled sheets.

Don't cry baby,
Even though it's beautiful to die.
Circa 1994 Jan 2013
My bed is my sanctuary.
Your voice is my song.
A murmuring melody
That rolls in with the dawn.
Sexed up hair
And cloudy eyes
All taking in
The hazy sunrise.
Pink cheeks flushed with pleasure
Heated bodies
Beyond all measure.
Give me dew drop kisses
All along my spine
The passion of your lips
Is truly divine.
Love me on Monday
To the weekend
And back.
My eyes are hungry
Its you they lack.
Curl up your toes
Inside your socks.
Your whispers seem loud
During our pillow talks.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
How tacky.
                                                                ­                      Tacky.
                                    ­                                        Tacky.
                  ­                                                 Tacky.

*****.

I'm flattered
that you find my words worth stealing.
But I hate you.
And think you're
                                        Tacky.

Pathetic.
Taking credit
for something that belonged to me.
I hate lairs.
So I hate you.
I'd say it wasn't personal,
but then I'd be a liar.
Like you.

You'll never be a poet.
"Thief"
Is a name far better suited for you.

******.
*RAAAGGGE*
Circa 1994 May 2013
Pixie stick kisses
And a sticky tongue.
Pigeon pointed toes
Curled in triumphant approval.

Buzzing eyes and flushed cheeks
Making a grand entrance
On your face.

Let's reenact
The age of innocence
We tossed out with
The trash so long ago.
Circa 1994 Apr 2014
Internal struggle.
A perilous fight.

It's been said that guilt is a human invention.
A form of self punishment that enables us to attone for our mistakes and shortcomings.

I guess that makes me a *******.
Circa 1994 Oct 2014
I don't like any girl that could steal you away. Because she's there and I'm here.
She'll fall in love with you,
because how could she not.
First your skin should have ownership of (painting permanent pictures with needles)
and then the bits within.
Circa 1994 Jun 2013
She started talking less.
And he started talking more.
But she heard not a word.

He wanted to drown her
in sound.
And though she feared the fall
She braced herself
For the impact
And prayed for forgiveness
For the sins
That had condemned her.

He grieved her spirit
But it was long gone
By the time
He realized.

Perhaps her body
Was so filled up
With his words
That there was no room left
For her soul.
Circa 1994 Dec 2013
Stone cold sober
And I'm okay.
Though a bit hungover
On sadness.
Nothing's fixed
When reality hits.
Circa 1994 Jan 2014
I'm sorry I stopped writing.
I think I got scared that once I finished the story
you'd go away.


(Because what reason do you have to stay.)
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
Angry people are just people;
People that were sad too long.

Bitter people are just people;
People that were angry too long.

Spiteful people are just people;
People that were bitter too long.
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