The frightened man finds solace
In the hang-man's noose

Not once, not twice, a thousand times or more
I want to change, pursuing the perfect of lore
Wishing to be the person everyone loves; not a façade
A gilded cover I wear so well, my shelter; my god
This wasn’t my hope; this wasn’t my dream
I want to be the person that to others I seem
But I’m painfully aware, what a shattered mess
Broken to pieces, who wouldn’t think less
Less of the person they thought they knew
It’s their own fault, they never even wanted to
Be there, be helpful, be heard, be kind
And you’re surprised I say, “There’s no hope to find”

I wish I could stand, could fight; be brave
I’ve tried before, when I was young, and naïve
Over time I thought I’ve been beaten down
But gotten back up, gone for another round
But the whole time I’m bound to the floor
Helplessly dying, drowning in my own ****** gore
My appearance is a hero, dashing, strong and calm
But my heart is pinned, consumed by my qualm
I want to be good, I want to be right
Sometimes I hate my deceitful sight
But whenever I’m sure hope is in my grasp
A fiery strike from truth; that poison snake; that asp

Hands and heart are bound, but my tongue is free
Free to get up and run, but my eyes cannot see
I need a hope, a hand to hold, a voice to follow
But no one’s here; not friend at least, there be a horde of foe
I want to scream, but I’ve tried that before
I confess I’m lost! A broken heart alone on the floor
When do I get saved? I can’t rely on myself
My tormenters wait to put my heart upon the shelf
Another trophy, another victory won
Please, dear God, don’t turn and run
You could win; you could save me couldn’t you?
I’m helpless, there’s nothing left for me to do

But why won’t you show or speak, or rescue me?

Scars! Scars! On her Arms
Sad remembrance of past harms
Hold her close—love her deep
Her scars are no longer hers to keep
Whisper soft; ease the pain
Stand together in the rain
Speak with love, Speak the truth
All of this, just to prove:
She’s worth more than she may ever see
Desire for her to be all she can be
Worth more than the sum of past harms
Worth more than the scars on her arms

I want to write but cannot find the words to craft a line
The tales of hurt, or beauty, love, of how one day you’ll be mine
The rhymes have all been done before, originality’s dead
Another overinflated art, a hideous beast we’ve fed

Perhaps if I
Changed the rhyme
Each time the stanza changed
Then maybe I
Could buy some time
With this plan so feigned

Why do I continue? God only knows
I have no story to tell
No tales of encounters with angels
Nor trips through fiery hell

I have a love, who greatly inspires me
But the way my heart sings forth
Is not in verse; it is quite plainly

I can write a poem that get’s on everybody’s nerves
Nothing new here; just reused words
I can write a poem that we’ve already heard
And that’s all I can do