There's an age old story. A tale as old as time.
A feeling I can't quite muster, a voice that's not quite mine.

I've grown a lot this year, felt a lot this year, slept a lot this year, ****** a lot this year. Needless to say....it's been one hell of a 365 days.

This poem is a  stray from tradition, it lacks rhythm, flow, but ******* it it's written of my own volition.

I've earned that right, finally making my voice heard, learning how to fight. I've lost a battle or two, don't get me wrong.

But I still raise my head, every round for the gong. I get back up, throwing punches until I see stars.

Fighting with mad love and ambition, even if it kills my heart.

What's more important? A sane mind or a sense of place? What's scarier? Losing yourself or fighting demons you can't face?

There's a lack of attention that consumes my thoughts. There's feelings of self hatred, despite finally being on top.

That's the funny thing about thinking you've made it. The only person you have to best is yourself. The only person you have to let down, is every single person you've every helped.

That's the fear for me. Never finding happiness. Enough never really being enough.

Time being an illusion that slips away and before I know it, my legacy is just a disillusion.

I've had this dream on repeat. I'm lying in a casket, looking ghastly in defeat. Death and I have become one, finally giving that ever so cherished encore to a dance we've swung too many times before.

It's lonely here in the dark. Colder than I thought. Sweeter than I imagined.

Peaceful....yeah, peaceful.

Help! Someone hand me a knife. Help me cut away the binds holding me hostage by parody and strife.

I'm bound, leather cuts against my skin, the pages filled with word counts wreck my mind from within.

You see what started as a hobby ballooned into a full time obligation, with deadlines, dollar signs,  and a **** ton of manipulation.

I'm restless but full of rest, like Gatsby within and without, I'm bored of doing the same thing all day but never gaining any clout.

There's a system in my mind that tries to comprehend this restless feeling I feel will never end.

So I'm resounded to spewing my words online, the only place that welcomes the madness of my mind.

If you happen upon this jumbled mess, please send me a message and beg me to get some rest.

Until then, I'll be your green light on the dock, your key fitting every lock, your master of words and prose, your knight in shining armor fending off your foes.

I'll be here.

Living vicariously through you, hoping one day again, I'll find myself too.

Thank you! Truly...it's such an honor to be here today and accept this award for most angry person.

Truly! It's an honor. I mean...I have sooo many people to thank.

Let's start with my mom. God...thank you for the childhood trauma. I mean forcing me to raise myself since I was like 7....stellar! Great stuff!

My dad! Thank you sooo much for your Bipolar genes and your tendency to throw money at your problems. Outstanding!

My fellow award winners. I look upon you with such esteem. To think...I accepted nominations for so many other categories! Least trustworthy, most codependent, and ah my favorite...lack of empathy!

Ah, such a great crowd this year! I wanna thank each and everyone one of you for coming out and supporting my demise. An end of era is upon us...please, join in the madness.

This is the death of ambition.

Gather round' come on! Let's mourn our past together. Let's mourn what we could've been. Just for a little while.

I was 14, I was naive...and the worst part, was that I was in love.

I was ambitious...and that's a dangerous feeling for a 14 year old girl who would move mountains for someone she just met on the internet.

There's this thing that all the movies about young love just don't seem to get....I mean, why I haven't I seen any movies about two teenage girls falling in love, moving across the country, going to college and having a quarter life crisis together?

I mean...that might be a niche audience.

So the scary thing about the death of ambition, is that it dies slowly. Overtime...months and years turn into decades wasted. Unhappiness, contentment.

That's word's always scared me...content.

It defines a time when you stop trying. I don't know what I'm more afraid of...being content...or never...ever feeling that way.

So, this is the death of ambition. Slowly, crawling it's way to your core. Suffocating. Deadly.

A hungry gaze, dissipated haze. From across the room his hunger stays.

Tears glisten yet no one listens. Madness and depression her brain descends.

Yet she has no choice...she's one of the boys. Get a doctorate, make something of yourself, stop playing with your broken toys...either way you'll be damed to hell..

She lied, they say. Made it all up, they say. He cries his reputation is ruined, I mean he never laid a hand on you anyway...Haven't you ever done something stupid when you're drunk?

Appointed to the highest hall, I guess some people are untouchable after all...

Ah...what it is to be white and male in America..

Land of the free so long as you've paid the fee,
SIT DOWN....Don't you know girls are to be seen not heard?

So, the first time she speaks her mind, the scales of justice pull her taught from behind, all too similar to the predicament she'd find herself in...all those nights ago....

This is the story of a woman who lost it all, trying to save us from the infamous Kavanaugh.

I wonder how many Bretts do you know? How many more have we yet to meet?

There once was a ledge way out at the edge, of the world,
Where one day a man found himself in the hands of the girls, who lived in The Land of Do as You Please.

The man was aghast for he remembered the past when the girls would sit with their hands behind their backs, and promise to wait on his beck and call.

So when he returned to the land he was distinctly appalled, for none of the girls paid him any attention at all. He took them and shook them, and called them all out. Screaming and Screaming " Ma'am what's this all about?"

Finally, out of all of the noise, emerged a beautiful woman full of grace and poise. She said to the man, " Sir! Get down on your knees! For after all, this is The Land of Do as You Please!" So without further ado the man took off his shoes, shaking with anger for he didn't like to lose. He looked at the woman with anger and spite, and lifted his fist with all of his might. Before the man with the oversized hands, could land a blow, the beautiful woman's eyes started to glow.

She turned bright red, looked to him and said, " Well my good sir, I think you might be just dead!"

With a final breath rattling from his chest, the big man lay his head down to rest. The woman sighed and looked around, for there were piles and piles of other men laying on the ground. All meeting the same fate as the last, each of their ideals also stuck in the past. The woman turned smiling glee, knowing she was finally safe, in The Land of Do as You Please.