i do not write a poem it
from "who knows where" comes
in its body
is some words
i think
some words
but

why       ?
and             i

"don't know" cuz
like lithe
from out of
sleeping hair it marches

adamantine

unstoppable

invincibly fragile
it marches
doe-like

its eyes are pretty too
and in the terse clutch of its stinging copse
i s
pythe
gleaming rind of life

foamed in sweat
it is nubile strong delicate

but

i do not write a poem
it from
"who knows"
where
(idon't)

I used to be* Broken puzzle pieces
The computer locked me out
Left me without my sense of mind
The only thing that mattered to me
My words
My story
My poetry.

Smile
Even if you don't mean it
Fake it like your o face
Make it like you're going out of style

I don't know why I keep going after the broken ones.
Maybe there's a piece they're missing
like I could be the peace of mind musing
her fragile little soul.

Maybe I just want to fix something.
The perfectionist architect,
The anti-hero archetype
Letting my emotions build castles
instead of locking me in some dungeon ruminating.

Or maybe I'm the ******* broken one
Dead set on divinity
Dormant in between rock bottom and a dark place

I'm ok, I swear to a god complex

Praying for some princess clad in punk rock armory.
Tearing through the motions
in the mosh pit of reality.
All for her crown of fire and flowers,

Come on, save me,
The light of my life
Fire of my *****

Lusting into supernovas
To encompass this astral plane
Where we're waging a war against reality
With the fantasy I'm wanting to pull out

a 4th wall broken

Who am I?
I'm a dreamer. I'm hopeful. I'm a bag of bones interconected with emotions, through my veins runs as much excitement as blood.

I am messy hair, small eyes and steady hands and my hair is as wild as me, and my small eyes catch all the  beauty hidden in the corners, and my steady hands become an earthquake when I'm about to be kissed.

I'm in my twenties. I'm a teenager in matters of love and I'm a grandma when taking care of my friends. I'm a beast when it comes to fighting and I'm the weakest when it comes to crying. I feel too much and show too little.

I'm a daughter, a sister and a friend. I'm worried. I'm anxious. I'm happy. I'm a rave as much as I'm a book and coffee. I talk until my voice fades but my mouth is a tomb for secrets.

I'm a writer and a reader. I'm a dancing machine and a shower singer.

I'm raising an eyebrow when I don't believe you. I'm a random kiss on the shoulder when I love you. I'm cafuné when I care for you.

I'm optimistic. I'm cautious. I'm becoming what I always wanted to be. I'm strongheaded and lighthearted. I'm in constant wait for the world to show me this is not it and fairytale endings exist.