You are my birth father and you treated it like some ******* check box on a sheet
like it was a ******* option for you
but not for my mother.
Where were you on those nights
where I was having a panic attack
and my mom called her 9 year old to the hospital?
Or when the 7 year old fell and scraped his gums off?
When you said you loved us,
why did you disappear without a trace
like the fact you loved us
made you so scared
you had to ******* hide.
You're the reason why
my mother deals with being beat all the time
and lies to the police about her bruises.
You tossed her like a grenade
and ducked from the explosion.

I ******* hate you

I’m envious of the bee’s
Ability to be.
Their ability to see
So much better then me.
They are born and they live.
They live and they die.
The whole while with only one goal in mind.

Feast on my words
for I am the dead poet.
Ink to the paper
the past is my moment.

Written down to the second,
the minutes might say.
History's forgotten
the battles will rage.

Sentenced for crimes,
my expressions are free.
Lock me up in the cell,
nothing taken from me.

The thoughts in my head
will always remain.
Touched by the emotions,
the abuse and some pain.

Pent up with the silence,
speak up with the truth.
Explode with your pen,
no moment is mute.

Now I lay in the ground,
dead as the others.
Remember my words,
fellow poets,  my brothers.

If I held out my hand
would you take it ?
it's warmth ready to permeate your soul
but what would it tell you of me ?
the scar on my finger
the wrinkling skin
the crooked pinkie
the gnarl on my thumb
stories to be told
if you would only take hold.

we are sometimes lucky enough to know people who illuminate our skies like the northern lights

we appreciate them even when we don't show it
and love them even with our fists slammed into the wall.

we do not have to be broken hearted.
we are so conditioned to believe that it is the people who love us that will hurt us most,
which in turn,
distorts our meaning of love into pain.

they say the only way to reverse this idea is to forgive, but
forgiveness is a tricky thing
and if we don't learn when to use it for others and when to use it for ourselves,
we will end up alone.

but people like me aren't afraid of being alone.

and you should know,
that i don't spare the lives of those who hurt me.
and even if you lay breathing tonight,
by morning,
you'll wish you were dead.

People look at me and call me all these names
Boys ******* use me and play all these games

I feel so alone, I can't take it anymore
I can't stand being called an ugly ******* *****

I go home and cry my eyes out
I don't know what to say, so I scream and shout

Walk into my room and open up a box
In there, are some treasures, and a few couple rocks

I dig a little deeper till I find what I'm looking for
It's the blade that wounds the thing deep inside my core

I take it out and stare at it for a while
I have so many reasons, they stretch out for a couple miles

I take my blade, walk to the bathroom, and lock the door
I look at myself in the mirror, and I am sure

What I am doing is of my own hand
These marks will leave their very own special brand

I hold the blade over my wrist
And when I bring it down, I feel pain and then bliss

The warm blood starts to trickle down
If anyone found out, they would do more than frown

I attack my wrist so vigorously
Scarring myself to **** the thing inside of me

Each and every time,  the feeling becomes addictive
For each cut becomes distinctive

This one is for the girl who told me I was full of crap
And this one is for the boy who called me fat

They didn't think I would take it to the heart
But actually, I am tearing myself apart

I do it once, twice, three dozen more times
I throw my ****** blade down and begin to cry

Why did I do this?
Even though I felt pain, I felt so much bliss

My troubles went away with each slice
The blood ran thicker down my arm, Jesus Christ

I start to sob and bury my head in my arms
When I look up, I feel the blood on my face, so warm

I get up and start to clean myself
I grab the towels that are on the shelf

After I see that there is no more blood
I go to my room and my emotions begin to flood

I lay in bed, hiding the scars buried deep in my wrist
I think about the hate, and my eyes begin to mist

The front door opens, and my mother come inside
She comes in my room, noticing that I have recently cried

She asks me what is wrong
I tell her in this world I don't belong

She sees my wrist and puts her hand up to her face
Oh, Allison, you belong here in this place

Please promise me you won't cut yourself ever again
One day you will hit a major vein

No one wants to lose you, your precious smile
The question is, do you want to stay with us for a little while?

'Bounce my face off the floor,  maybe then you will recognize me'
Burn my skin so you will remember my scream
Pull my hair to feel colors slide between your fingers
Punch me
Make me feel something
Other than a lie you built during the day
Making people believe you are charming and handsome
When the true you is conniving and distasteful
Your teeth are never white,  
Rotting yellow behind your pale lips
Your hair is thin, and in places on your scalp disappearing
(like I wish I could)
I dream of knocking you down
And breaking your bones harder than you ever snapped mine
And knocking your teeth out
While I pack my bags and watch you bleed on that new tan carpet you just installed
And even adding an extra kick in the head
Just for laughs.
If I am lucky you will be brain dead,
But alive just enough to where you can watch me live my life fully,  loving heartily, And most importantly,
Speak my mind without fear, or your voice replacing mine anymore