there is no graph
no dictionary
no written rules.

there is no academic asset
no precise configuration
no mathematical equation

to measure
compare
explain

that confusing
tricky
puzzling
feeling.

wakes you up
in the middle of the night,
leaves your face flush,
your stomach afflutter,
your brain confused.

half past midnight
your face becomes my hell.
personal or otherwise,

hell nonetheless.

the beast with two backs rears
its ugly sillouhette
from the depth of my imagination.
an encounter I never
encountered.
but played back on my brainwaves
radio request of the unappealing
monster you've become.

my overrun mind needs
a walk.
it's metaphorical legs afire.

you patronize me with
empty words
relieving me of nothing but
the notion
that good men exist.

I emasculate you
with my sharp tongued replies.
abuse on demand,
for you taught me well.

long past midnight
your lies become my hell.

I will not spread my
pale legs
and wait for the adolescent
American culture
to pull out
and take my innocence
as a prize.

my body,
in all it's curvaceous,
imperfect balance
is mine alone.

I do not plant my feet firmly
on this dried up earth
for your amusement,
but to convey
I am the aloof
portrait of a young woman
in a blossoming
****** revolution.

I may wander into your
self indulgent thoughts
as just an image
of the female anatomy.

I am not
your bedroom amusement.

I am not
your late night sheet stains.

I am not
the inherent weakness in a
man's world

I am more than
the sum of my parts

I will not sell myself
to your male machinery.

you will dream
but ultimately
wake up
to no one
and
nothing.

pale, windswept girl
with a tendency to accumulate
broken things.

but you, sir, are shattered.

your shell begs to me
in soft, raspy whispers
to try and pick up
the billions of tiny fragments
you so carelessly lost
within the vast confines
of temptation.

people* always leave.

a sentiment long held
by a cynic
shaped as a girl
learned at birth
proven in love
enforced in friendship

people always leave.

words a young girl
bears on stubborn shoulders.

my morals have been
compromised
by the one who seems so
promising.

I'm a fraud in a room
full of failures
acting like I passed
the test.

I just failed with flying colors.

I'm not the girl
who takes things lightly.

this heavy heart rests
in a weak chest
beneath inadequate shoulders
under a head drowning in doubts.

I didn't hold out
to be let down.

children play atop me,
six feet above empty potential.
my body,
a delicacy for no man to enjoy
must the maggots feast on me now.
winter will wipe away all color
pale and frigid as I.
spring will invoke new life
for everything but I.
for I am winter's daughter
and the sun doesn't shine for me.

set fire to the beds tonight.
we're attached at the hip
rushing through sins
till we complete all seven.

my virtue?
increase the decrease.

you're exactly where I want you
throughout my body
and along for the ride.