Reality is flooded
by the fantasies we seek
its all fog in the air
yet we still believe we're free
But I do not believe
that lingering demons deep inside
or the anger and unhappiness
that we opt to hide
shows any type of freedom
or strength inside our souls
we are not strong enough
until we learn to let things go

What if I fell in love
With a broken down *******
Not because I needed to fix him
But simply because I wanted to revel in his beauty
The maddening craziness
Of a life
A life that didn't need to be maintained with perfection
A life where you could just knock down pillars that you didn't need
Destroy friendships that weren't beneficial
A life where one could disown one's own mother
Without the whole neighbourhood offering their tut-tuts
And their 5 cents too many
About how to trim your garden
What if I fell in love with a life
Who let their weeds grow
And created a garden out of thorns
A **** patch that would make those neighbours shriek
What if I fell in love with chaos and disorder
Not to right the tables
Nor to order the shelves
What if I didn't attempt to prune the garden
But I let it grow into a forest
And then laughed when I stepped on a thorn
What if I let the sun shine through the madness
What if I opened my arms to the destruction
What if you sung me a lullaby out of tune
And I asked you to sing it anyways…

i am less than human.
i am a creature that breathes just as they do,
but i am less than them.

i love to believe that i'd fit in
and be a real human some day,
but the little scars on my wrists and legs
move up and become more visible,
screaming
     "here i am"
     "come see"
     "look at how well i can hate"

i am less than human,
where i am a museum of
lazy little razors.

They say that a person's heart
is the same size as their fist
but when you said I love you it hit
harder than your hand ever did
and I may have two black eyes
but yours are the color of fresh cut grass
and your heart must beat faster
than a hummingbird's wings
because your fist moved like
the needle of a sewing machine on my skin
but I was the one stitching myself back up
and I am covered in bruises
shaped like the hand I used to hold
but they will never hurt as much as
the last time I felt your pulse

Voices without faces
Without form or foundation
We’ve gone unnoticed
Much to our dismay
We are still here, still speaking
If you would only give the time of day to listen
Music to our ears ,
like phantom speech
Would be the sound of our own voice
above the crowd