My mind travels,  to distant worlds. I am without limit . No boundaries exist no cage could hold me in, I am free to make my own decisions.

You see,  I created this world around me. I do not believe in Hollywood dreams. Although we both bleed although we both breathe, the differences are vast inbetween.

You may sing as beautifully as the waves of the sea, but no song will ever be able to save anybody. You see, I heard it's impossible to please him well, not when you have so much money. It really doesn't matter how beautiful you are honey.

Money changes people when you have too much, it breeds greed and lust and it's never enough!
Power and titles and fame built up high, towering over above what is right.
  
Above each other, above the law. What happens when it crumbles? What happens when you fall? And you're just another one, just like me.  After everything you've had, could you live so simply?

This is my corner, my sanctuary, my home & my life is my family. Worldwide, I have brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers and everyone listens. Everyone loves straight from the start and it's my free will, this is where I keep my heart.

I am the ghost
of a girl you once claimed to love;
my dead hands

reaching,
asking,
begging

for a piece of your soul
to wallow in forever.

There will come a time when you are sick
of trying to understand my mind
and my wrists.

I was never myself when I did this.

If I were part of the ocean
I would be the shallows;
the cold tide that people walk all over

reaching,
asking,
begging

to pull people in
but never getting close enough.

I was never myself when I did that.

I plead,
help me live once again
as something new born and blind;
blind to the atrocities of humanity,
but all seeing to life and love.

Love,
the only thing that could ever constitute
as sacred;
a relentless, chemical energy
that turns you in to a fool in all the right ways.
A substance more intelligent
than any apparent genius.
Oh, how the love

reaches,
asks,
begs

to confine me,
and oh, sweet love;
how I let you fill my lungs.

I was never myself when I was with you.

I’ve held hands with pain,
kissed every frozen fingertip
and I found my worship in ethanol and ash
before I found it in between
your lips and mine.

You changed me in all the worst ways,
causing me to start a war with my skin,
causing me to see my own reflection
as something unrecognisable,
something I never wanted to be.

I was never myself.

I made the mistake of building a home
out of a human being
and he was so riddled with wanderlust;
a nomadic masterpiece who couldn’t stay,
but should’ve stayed.

I’ve never felt so homesick.

I’m tired of tearing away my skin
and revealing the heart inside me
to people that are incapable of loving anything
other than themselves
and their sadness.

I crave for someone
to look at me as though
they can see my soul
more than they can see my skin.
I crave for someone
to see
what I wish to see.

More than anything,
I crave to see me:

*strong,
magnificent,
and beautiful.

I die inside...
Slowly...
As one piercing word twists the knife...
Future, Present, Past.
And I gasp.
Breathing deep but finding no solace in the air around me.
Finding myself swept aside as timing's harsh laugh crashes down on me.
And I lie.
Back scarred by the black shards that used to be the world around me.
Now I clearly perceive the tense in which I now reside.
I struggle to stand but collapse in agony
As a jagged piece of my favorite "could have been"shifts against my spine.
The only answer my cries receive are the callous taunts of a million happy memories
As they march to the beat of the shattered heart I cant seem to clear from my bone dry throat
My voice cracks as the razor sharp fragments shred the delicate tissue
That used to be my vocal chords
Silence envelopes and entombs what remains.

Dearest Therapist:
There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t see what you see. I feel fine today… it must have been a dream. I don’t know why I ever told you anything at all. I have no problems, there’s nothing wrong with me. How could there possibly be? I am the perfect girl. Things like that don’t happen to girls like me. I have the perfect life, with the perfect kids, the perfect friends, the perfect job, the perfect house, the perfect smile. There is no way I could have ever suffered something like that. I am not pathetic and sorry. Girls like me don’t have problems. Girls like me don’t feel pain. Girls like me have everything anyone could possibly wish for, and then some. There is nothing I cannot achieve. I am so sorry for wasting your time.*

WHAT ACHES TO BE SAID BUT WILL REMAIN HIDDEN BEHIND THE SMILE:
I am not that perfect girl. My heart and soul have third degree burns that cannot be repaired. It hurts so much inside that at times it is unbearable and I cannot remain here, housed in this body. I hide behind a smile because all I have left is a small amount of pride and a whole bushel of stubborn will. My life is one big lie. No one will see me with my head in the toilet or the scars on my arms that were once covered with blood. No one will ever know that the perfect girl is not real. The reality of it all is way too difficult to divulge and much less complicated to conceal. Tonight I cry alone but when tomorrow comes I will once again live that ‘perfect life’… the life of no pain, the life of no shame, and the life with no fear. And you will never know that when the darkness falls, and I am once again alone, I will feel the pain I push away all day long. And I will lock myself in the bathroom and I will sob on the cold tile floor. But I will do it in the silence of my bathroom, alone, in the darkness.

**You will never know….because I will not speak...I am not allowed to speak.

There you are, structure, bones
standing tall in the sunlight
all of the personality drained away.
Oh, goodbye to that twinkle in your eye
Goodbye to that thing we couldn't put our fingers on, that thing that sparked passion
Because all you are now, is a skeleton.

A skeleton with so many ghosts, war veterans, teachers and teenage girls that I used to know,
even me.
That old version of me who skipped, smiled and run her fingers through her hair
she dances through the corridors when no-one else is there.

Along they came. Dress you up, ready for business. That's one thing I learned from this, patch yourself up, make yourself look okay and no-one will realise how broken you are. No.

No, they won't notice the graffiti marks of those who have been,
on your skin.
No, they won't notice those damp patches,
in the corner,
of your eye.
They didn't notice how your ribs creaked as you let out a sigh,
your final goodbye.
They certainly didn't notice when you closed your eyes to die,
my skeleton...

I remember when you comforted me from the world with soft, warm arms and friendly words.
I remembered how you nurtured us and watched us grow.
A loving kiss on the cheek and off we go, but I couldn't let you go.

So here I stayed to watch you drift away with each passing day as they measured your waist,
for the suit.
Pull it in tighter.
A stitch here,
a stitch there.
Tighter.
Iron out the crease.
Tighter.
No room to breathe.

The suit may not cover your face, but it is a mask, covering up mistakes.
The mistake of your missing heart, the drive, the ambition.
The mistake of your missing eyes, seeing goodness in the world, giving beauty to the hopeless.
And the mistake of your missing smile, inspiration for lost souls trying to find their way home.

But you, you were home to me, my skeleton.
Now however much you lose or decay, you will never go away.
You will always be there, a ghost in my memory.

My loving skeleton who is now in a suit.

I heard poet's have to
be the world's observers
So here I am
Trying to be a good poet
Observing things.

I walk

Through the park
Picturing the poetry
of my surroundings

The day is whatever
Flowers, Bees, Wheelbarrows
Sure, that's all fine
I will leave it for others
to express with their words

I keep walking

I see a man
mowing the grass
Humbly dressed in an
Orange vest
wiping off his life dreams
with the sleeves of his shirt
Grass sticks to his forehead

I keep walking

An older man
but not old
sits alone at a park bench
His face is buried
into the infinite
comforting darkness
of his hands
Tears break free from the cracks

I keep walking

I see a woman
She is not with me
She is happy

I keep walking

I see a kid
playing baseball
He looks sharply at his parents
every second
Dad is on his cell phone
Mom sleeps on her lit cigarette in the minivan
At least they showed up

I keep walking

Down by the lake
I see my reflection
I see myself
Aged
Scared
Alone
A good poet observes things

The reflection is in my bathroom mirror
There was no park
I didn't actually observe these things
I lay flat on my back
My skin sweats against the tile
I grasp the empty
Orange bottle
close to my chest
I try to observe more things
before it's too late
So I can be a good poet
So I can be remembered

I observe the flickering lightbulb that
I should have changed
I observe the towels that
she hated
and don't match the shower curtain
I observe my cold sweat
mixing with the warmth of my tears
A good poet observes things
The light bulb burns out

it hurts and its not the pain that makes a suffering
it's the thoughts that fuel the negative feeling

that eats you till you're torn at flesh
like wounds shining with blood too fresh

I know you feel you're dying inside
and the ***** crashing in your liver is a tide

cause you've been drowning the whole year
so you could learn to forget the fear

of not fulfilling an expensive education
and settling for your parents situation