She's the one who makes others feel better.
her heart seemed to come to a slow pitter.

Nobody noticed the fake smiles and hidden scars.
covering her arms and hiding her feelings she looks to the stars.

How could someone so perfect learn to hate her own guts.
despite all of the many cuts, she is beautiful.

But as she was falling into the fade.
A boy came and fell as well, he fell as her hearts aid.

Once he left he tore a piece away from her heart.
Now she sits low, trying not to let herself scatter apart.

She just couldn't take the pain inside, she didn't want the monster.
she grabbed her razor and ripped and cut till she finally felt numb enough that the monster was gone.

But the monster ended up being her own emotional mind.
She dug into her arm while she was just a little blind.

She was Bordeaux;
full bodied with a dark
fruity scent, fermenting
more each day as
life pressed out
her sweet essence.

Her mouth, a worn out
label of words, never
deciphered , silenced
by ordinary men; she
had always been
their best kept secret.

The hourglass girl
keeping time
in measured gulps;
drop dead red
had always been her color.

I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.

I wanna be your medicine
               To take away your pain
         I need you to take me regularly
To be swallowed whole by you
                              Daily
                  I want you to feel
  That you'd die without me
          And never leaving my side is
     Necessary

          I wanna be your cigarettes
                          To burn for you
     I want you addicted to me
In your mouth constantly
                   I want you to inhale me.
         Every time you
                     Breathe

         I wanna be your music
                     Your drugs
   Your heart and soul
           Your liver and your lungs
I want you to NEED me
             I need to feel that feeling
   The feeling that I'm
                Not just something
                            But everything



Because,
For far too long,
I've felt like nothing.

She comes to him,
They walk together.
Through the dusky evening,
Past fields of heather.

She takes his hand,
Her fingers cold,
She starts to lead him,
Both gently and bold.

Soon the pass,
A playing boy,
Enraptured by,  
Some simple toy.

Shortly, they pass,
An old country church,
Lovingly surrounded,
By a stand of birch.

Full of lights,  
The windows shine,
While in the steeple,
The church bells chime.

Down the steps,
Carpeted wholely in red,
New bride and groom,
Joyously tread.

On they go,
At the end of the day,
Still his hand in hers,
As she leads the way.

They next pass by,
A tiny cemetery,
He sheds a tear,
To his wife in memory.

Finally, they come,
To the end of their travel,
His nerves just now,  
Begin to unravel.

She smiles at him,
And pats his hand,
She whispers softly,
"No fear, no pain in this next land."

"She's waiting there,
For you to be."
He takes her hand,
Most happily.

Through the mist,
They both do walk,
The peace he feels,
Is quite a shock.


There she is,
He runs to greet,
Tight hug and kiss,
When they meet.

He says to her,
As he takes her hand,
"It truly is,
The promised land."

My lips are ****** from biting down to hold the tears in.

We stayed up late
and talked for hours
We spoke words we had never uttered before
let thoughts escape our lips before we could think twice

We talked about those who had hurt us
and those we were afraid might
and how we had hurt ourselves

When we spoke of escaping i said
"I always liked the idea of jumping"
But he had a better plan
"I would take a knife a cut open my heart"
When I asked why he said
"I like the symbolism"