Whatever it was
That once drew words from
A tempest of a mind
Is missing now.

Whatever it was
That animated my withering hands
With dancerly motion
Has taken flight.

What did I have
That sifted through chaos
And spoke with power
Through my juvenile lips.
Power with which my grown voice
Could not conjure except
In a moment’s horror.

Skill generated from the lust of a fire
Stoked by unpredictability,
Fed by creative superiority complex.

I can look back at my adolescence with shame
And disgust.
I can tell myself
How much wiser I am now.
But that lustful child,
That frail beast
Could soak a page in pain
In ways I struggle to mimic.

I was erupting with language,
Bursting at the seams with monologue,
Overcome by soliloquy.
Now I am a mute stage hand
Calling for my line.

Must I once again take the spotlight
For an audience of self judgment
To prove to myself
That I am capable of putting on
A written performance worth reading?

Let this be my audition.
I will move myself to a standing ovation.

Her thick brow,
Is only her choice.
A stance against norms.
2. Ribbons and flowers,
All tangled in her hair.
A decorative crown,
But beauty is not defined here.
3. She had many lovers,
Of many kinds.
But promiscuity,
Does not define worth.
4. Drink more than the men.
To dance with a love,
They can never have.
5. Politics are unimportant,
Only the ideas in your mind.
Of equality and charity,
But it will leave somebody dead.
6. Be bold and smart.
Follow your own direction,
Maybe dress like a man
7. When a trolley crashes,
Leaving you wishing for death,
Draw on your bandage.
Don’t let your broken column
Break your strength.
8. Don’t fall in love with artists,
They drink too much,
Cheat too much.
And will break your heart
9. Fall in love with artists,
A musician, maybe a painter.
You’ll never be bored,
You’ll always be drunk.
10. Just don’t let them break you,
Don’t stop painting because you’re hurt.
Don’t give them the satisfaction,
Of breaking your wings.
11. You don’t need anyone,
When you have wigs to fly.
Don’t need feet,
Or anyone else.
12. You probably feel like a freak,
Like the weirdest person you’ve ever known.
But as long as you’re weird with me,
You’ll never be weird alone.
13. Make friends with the past,
With people you’ve never known.
It’ll always be a source of security,
No one can leave that’s already gone.

I look at Frida through her paint, through her words, through the story of her life she has taught me not to be afraid.

Grayness swells above,
It rains glass drops from heaven
They shatter on me.
The glass will not make me bleed,
My skin is hardened as stone.

I’m losing grip on deeper thoughts,
I wish to stand on war torn fronts,
I turn away from all I’ve fought.

I cannot mask my clear remorse,
Un-satiated hungry fear.
I must leave this to run its course,
My dusty bones are crumbling here.

I am a force to all I love,
A fearful storm that leaves no trail,
A burden they cannot hold up,
My storm, it carries hell and hail.

Slipping back into the sea,
My mind is lost inside of me.

What is this life?
I’m confused, where am I?
I don’t know what my purpose is.
Not yet.

My couch is a wasteland,
Pulls me down, I cannot stand.
It scares me that I’m drawn to gore,
I see destruction, I want more.
I don’t know if its anger,
Or if it’s something stranger.
I want to shatter glass,
I need to make this feeling pass.
I want to throw things and scream,
I want to get out of this dream.
Running isn’t satisfying,
I feel like I need to break something.

Funny little thing is she,
She laughs at lightning in the storm.
And what most would see as torture,
She inflicts with pride and is not scared.
Her skin is sharp like broken glass,
And through her lover’s skin she tore.

Through her safest home she tore.
Stupid little girl is she.
They try to mend her broken glass
But the edges cause destruction of a storm.
Please don’t run, don’t be scared,
Don’t be a part of her torture.

Running love is her only torture,
Not pain that through her heart tore.
Distance leaves her crying scared,
Unable to control the fear in her.
Maybe she is the rain in the storm,
Shattering passing window glass.

Maybe she doesn’t mind the glass,
She doesn’t think this is torture.
And maybe it’s not a storm,
But a hurricane she tore
Out of her skin. She
Is no longer scared.

The distance does not make her scared.
Her skin is no longer broken glass.
Alive little girl is she.
Nothing more will be her torture.
She doesn’t need the lover she tore.
No longer does she hide from the storm.

Not sunny skies, but no more storm.
Not yet calm, but at least not scared.
Not yet healed, but not torn.
Maybe cracked, but not broken glass.
Some discomfort, but it doesn’t feel like torture.
Strong little girl is she.

Screaming insanely she tore herself out of this storm.
No one will say “she’s gonna lose it”. Because she somehow she is not scared.
It’s a mystery how she fixed her glass, or how she can still tolerate the torture.

I'm still just as lost,
But there's a light in the wood.
These days I haven't seen much sleep.
I'm at a loss of dreams.
But silence is better than my nightmares.
I'm still that drowning mermaid.
Now I'm learning to breathe.
The ships have sailed and I'll never reach shore.
Still, I'm addicted to the sting of the salt.
Can't swim but I can float,
Let this lingering shadow man carry me.
One day he may let me go,
For now this friend won't leave my side.

Now I'm meeting old friends too.
I was convinced my friends had left me.
It seems like a reunion in my room,
And I the unwilling host.
This room is crowded,
But at least I'm not lonely.
I want the light to burn them up,
You are only a spark.

If I abandon my room,
If I get lost I won't mind.
At least I'm free.
So I'll wait for my time,
When it's time to run.
My friends won't stop me.

Wake up
Wake up
I'm up
I'm up
I'm awake

Slipping in and out
Sober
High
Sober
High
I have to stay here

I have no thoughts
When I'm high
Sober
High
I'm up
I'm up
Wake up

I thought this was reality.
But a world bound by words can never be real.
We've created these words to explain the absurdity of our existence.
But no longer an explanation.
Now just a way of ignoring our fear of the pure real.
And ultimately, the absurdity of our mortality.
Iv found the world without words. I've found the horror we've been conditioned to hide from.
There are no words to tell you about this world.
If one was created, the real would lose its meaning,
And become only a word or a label to make sense of something you can't explain.

The entrance is marked by a path of fallen syllables,
that will serve no purpose in this world.
Leave your language on the road leading to the real.
Abandon your understanding of existence.
It will only crumble anyway.

This world of truth is mine.
Only I can experience it because I cannot communicate its existence.
I can't tell you how crippling the real feels.
It's a silent war of the mind and mouth.
The mind is dying for exodus of this experience.
But the mouth cannot divulge.
It has no frame work to put together.
It has no sounds that can build you my world.

Alone in this life.
Because no one can live it with me.
No one can feel what I feel, ever.
No one can live my exact life.
It makes me feel detached from every other human or object.
They can never truly enter my life or my world.
You cannot put yourself behind my eyes and see what I see.
Your perception is distorting my real.

Maybe your real is less terrifying. Maybe you don't have a real.
And I am envious.
Don't build your wordless world.
It only pushes me to see I will die alone.

I find it hard to believe
Something so healing
could be so harmful

I can't see why it would matter to anyone
How I medicate with self prescribed medicine
I don't see why you would care

Whats the difference
If I drown myself in water or alcohol
I'm still going to die