People are staring, are they looking at me?
What is it this time? What could it be?
I know I'm not pretty or skinny enough
But I put up thick walls and try to act tough
Can they see beneath the surface, through all the cracks?
Do they know about the anxiety or the panic attacks?
Can they see the cuts and bruises that litter my skin?
Oh how I hope they can't see what's within

She was told from
an age so young
that she indeed possessed all
the magic she needed
within herself
to set
the world
to right.

She placed daisies in
her long black hair
and skipped to the beat of
the songs her mother
had sung to her
before she left
escaping
her father.

She was often alone
rarely with friends as
she found comfort in the faeries
she spoke and sang to while
the wind
gently blew
hair in
her face.

She giggled when with
her only little sister
the best part of her world
to whom she adored more than
the breaths
she took
each and
every day.


She stood firm at home
never allowing
her father’s drunken words
to penetrate her self made wall
of anger and despair
because inside
her mind
there
were angels.

She closed her eyes at night
wishing the demons
to disperse into the heavy winds
that howled through the rafters
reminding her
she was
in fact
alive.

© Sia Jane

Dust amidst dust
A resting place of sorts
However many kites you flew
You never left the ground
You never heard a sound
Beyond the rage you screamed
Tearing down flags
In revolutionary rags
And changing nothing
Going nowhere
Sat in your armchair
Dust amidst dust

                                By Phil Roberts

I'd give you my soul,
If I had mine still..
My heart would be yours,
If it wasn't his..
I would open my mind for you,
If I hadn't locked it and thrown out the key..
I want to give you anyone everything.
But what I once had was taken forgranted.
It was passed around
Until misplaced.
I couldn't find it.
I didn't want to.
And when I did find it
There was only an empty me.

The magic doesn't exist between the sheets or is herd in the sounds of a drunken night whatever it was it has surely died.
Long since been taken away with the tide and I like so many others simply pick the bones of the greats clean.

In hopes to capture the essence I simply repackage the old lines as something new burning the candle at both ends existing a reject of today  and a connection of what never was .

I am the *** in the street.
The fool in the cell drunk out his mind yearning only to howl at the moon to hear the sounds of my own madness .

I'm the burnout ,I'm the drunk who is all to happy to be left alone I need no shelter the storm is a friendly reminder .
The chaos lets me know I'm alive .

The burn kicks me in the *** and pushes me to another high I never needed the scene for I find company a burden and my own demons guide me for better than any you may know .

The candles flame cast shadows but never blinds the few who understand the battle for what it is.

The junks all the same just new names and the same train wreck.
The arrogance of youth cant touch the heat of the bitter old fool.
The ice in the glass and one last call to remind me it's fade until the next.

I may me be a throw back to another time .
But a slurred voices words still my own hold there weight .
Trends and tricks styles suited to please are best left to the clowns who seek acceptance from the page .

Sometimes you just have to stagger a bit to know your alive.

When I am alone in bed, I can spread out as big as I want
I can wrap myself into a cocoon blanket
I can pull the covers over my messy bed hair
And look as ugly as I want when I wake up in the morning

I don’t have to worry about body heat
Touching me, coursing in through my skin
And making me a sweaty mess
I don't have to make sure not to hog the down comforter
I can toss and turn as much as I want

I can rebuild you with my pillows, work them into the shape of a man
I can wrap my legs around them and hold them all night
Because they’re cozy and welcoming
And I don’t have to place my head in anybody’s nook
And I don’t have to wrap my legs around a warm body

I can watch TV until 2 o’clock in the morning
And wake up with heavy purple eyes
I can put my blankets in between my legs when I lay on my side
Because I hate to sleep with my thighs touching
And no one will be there to tell me that’s weird

I can sleep on my stomach with my hands under the pillows
Or I can sleep on my back because I have no one there to hold
I can snore, if I want to, I can even drool if I see fit
I can open the window if I want and listen to the sounds of the street
The creaky sign, and the drunk 20-somethings, getting hammered on a Tuesday
And I can wonder, all alone, what they got up to that night
And why they're all having so much more fun than me

But I think I’d rather be sweaty and confined
I think I’d rather share my blanket cocoon and lay my head in your arm pit nook
I want to kick my pillows on the floor and make room
To wrap my legs around my human and pull my blankets over us both
And wake up looking ugly together – with bed hair and tired eyes
Even if I snore, I’d like you to hear, even if I drool

When you wake a Sunday morning
Don't want to get out of bed
You sleep a few more hours
Just to postpone the dread.
You hear the carnival in the distance
But ignore what you had said
For you can't look in the mirror
Without shaking your head.