i don’t know
why i allow
you to step
into my life.

i’ve fought
so long
for peace—

you walk right in
like you’ve got
the right.

you got me
feeling stuck
in place.
i waived the flag,
called a truce—

but instead of
stillness,
you chose
the chase.

what do you want,
anyway?

i spent so long
trying to figure it out—

but it’s still
the same lines
on a different day.

i don’t know
why i let you
circle back
again,

when all you do
is skirt the truth
and keep me
in your game.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
yes, you are free, to think what you like about what you see,
and what you think you see —
don't see —
about what you want me to be.
Because that's more about you than me.
so, go right ahead and think differently —
it is freeing then, immediately.

I've spent the majority
of my life performing to your tune,
the one you fiddled on your flute
rather than changing your own swoon,
it must be pretty difficult
waiting for others to change
all the while stagnating
in your narcissistic slime.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
I'm a maverick, you'll see!
Through trials and forced transmutation;
I am a girl and a woman,
I am a heart and an evolution
of a story still being told —
That's just it, never will my spirit grow old.

I wish i could turn my emotions off.
I wish to never feel the same pain again even if its a turnoff

I wish i didnt feel.
But i guess that wasn't the deal.

I wish i could flip a switch inside me
All i see is a monster living inside of me

A switch that would make everyhthing and anything stop hurting
But instead i feel that ppl are being burdened

I wish i cared less- i wish i loved less
I wish i wasn't depressed

I wish we could love wi th out the aftermath.
Even if we're together till death

I wish we could love with no consequences with no heart stiffness
Hopefully thtis time there will be a difference

-Not A Poet-Just Struggling

It didn't matter if it was
August, and the air felt like an
oven on broil, or if it was
February, and the dumpsters
were icecicles to the soul.
We needed *****, and since we
didn't have jobs, the cans, at
5 cents a piece were our
aluminum tickets to sweet relief.
The magic click.
Enough cans meant a bottle of
whiskey
*****
gin,
anything to dull the
sharp, vivid pain of life.

We sifted through
cat ****
catsup
***** diapers
discarded ***** mags,
and all the other
garbage from the
rich and the poor.

One winter morning,
I threw back a heavy metal lid,
and there was a fat
raccoon looking up at me.
If Bacchus or Dionysus were
smiling, we found a
full bottle.
It happened once in
a while during summer when
the college kids headed home.

Miles of walking,
freezing or burning up,
We were the aluminum
cowboys.