arise, you waking monster,
and meet my swollen eyes.
from which my tears do fall,
from which I see your lies.
your rage is food to all the ones,
who wallow, watch, and wish.
you feed them every time you hurt
me and with every hurried kiss.
to Lust, you toss your rage like sweets,
a plumped belly you gave her.  
to Fear, you place it gently, down
around her your heart wavers.
and last and worst, to your king Grief,
you hesitate to feed.
for his appetite is all-consuming
and to him you rarely heed.
and by the time you finish
with all your empty friends
you've nothing left to give me
but a heart that beats in pen.
so i write your words into a poem
so that i may forget them,
and over time that ink does fade,
and your words, if i let them.
and now i write with open hands
and my heart is free to throw
these memories into a blue night
and these sorrows into prose.

kind hands cup ample *******
like they are gifts,
bestowed upon Man like the dirt of the earth
bestows such beauty, petals and all.

grieving hands prey upon brittle bones
and half-minds, pull apart those
pretty daisies nestled in a war of golden
hair.

beautiful hands stroke magic upon the
air like scars...heal the broken with black
honey and the gold in the break of dawn.

foolish hands know not their limits and thus
they run, like stunned deer upon a road which leads
all but nowhere and everywhere upon the hour,
they cease and recount their limits once more.

invisible hands, alas, all-knowing and soft,
corrupt the mind with the utmost fear.
for one cannot see for proof but can feel
for days on end,
without cease,
the sorrow of which these hands
have dealt.

you press your lips into mine
like whistling grass.
they taste like blood.
there is a white t-shirt on the floor
if only I could reach it.
to be myself again.
I promise myself to stay silent.
like I always do, trust me, it works.
and it's over before you know it.
my hands, so much smaller than yours
are pressed still behind my back
and little do you know
the plan they are hatching.
I pretend i am stronger than most,
maybe enough that I could **** you.
I know, in my heart, that it could never be.
your grief is so much that it's a wearable
coat, large enough to fit both of us.
I'm better now, stronger with each of your thrusts,
I am not the girl under the sheets
or the one in the bikini or the seven-year-old
huddled on the bathroom floor.
I am fresh-faced and venomous,
one bite and all this **** will cease
with the beating of my heart,
and the deafening orchestra of my
mind.

goodbye, world, and those who know.
I may not make it through,
this deep-set storm inside my mind
my death is overdue.
in my fervent dreams, I apologize
for the darkness that rests,
among the corners of my mind
or this cross seared on my breast.
for all the scars that litter my arms
and all that wait their turn,
I will never forget what they did
or the love I had to earn.

Dark!' chuckled I, 'Yes dark!'
Take thy monster from out my heart
Through which it came thick, black, and slow
with that silent begging start.
And upon this beast there lay some eyes
and the eyes said more to me
awaken, girl, from out this sleep,
break apart from your dream.
break out away, from this rift,
which has claws and fiery eyes
in this darkness you may wallow
in this midnight you may rise.
and as the moon touches low, the field
upon which you spun your grief
shall wake from deep rest full and flawed
and greet you.
Oh! Alas! it is you, my child!
my sweet soul only stained with purest love which we lie and name to be love
yet fool ourselves from the truth
this love is not love is not darkness...
Oh dark...
how you have freed me from a life of ever-fleeting joy.

I am down, in the hollows
of this hole again,
shame tiptoes her way past me
I told her to stay hidden
yet she disobeys, as always
wrapping her silk hands around
my throat,
to let me know that, yes, she's still here.
I dream of things, in this dark cavity
of perfect mirrors, forgotten fears
and things I'll never say.
I sit among the impossible black
waiting for my end to come
waiting this human life out.
wandering hands do not
dare venture in this black of mine
human touch is foreign and unwanted
yet it is a poison I want more than anything to
drink.
I feel everything at once
in this impossible black
it is as though I am
dead
yet painfully, blissfully,
disgustingly alive.

I remember these long
drives
down the African coastline
all our belongings shoved
in the back
with the smallest of us
I'd figured then
that she could not reach me
the sheer distance would
break this horrible bond
from that woman
I felt as though I was a fugitive
running, but chasing at the same time
chasing something that could
love me
right.
it was the first time then
that id realized
that.
that I was running.
along the African coastline
the open ocean collects
warm bodies and such
trash and all alike
I remember stepping on cigarettes
ash and butts
along the African coastline
we march and roll slow like
those cigarettes
I remember that beautiful ocean
not threatening at all
just powerful in its beauty
Somalia will love me
Somalia will cherish me
Somalia will not **** me
for I am among the others
now
but how I was wrong
even then, even there
she could still reach me...
for she was inside of me
anyways
buried deep in my mind
like a parasite
and I was her host
for this evil.

these memories haunt me always
my knees begin to shake
I can't find the off-switch to this terror
when I sleep and when I wake.
these voices are too kind to me
telling me to die
I deserve much worse and more
and all they want is a goodbye.
I waste this time away and rot
because I cannot seem to speak
when all these words are stuck up there
and my mind becomes too weak.
too weak to say anything at all
to speak any truth or meaning
I am paralyzed by all my friends
left to all but my breathing.

these bindings hold me fast and tight
I remember, in this bed of blood
my friends dance around me in a jest of rage
but only I can see them.
there is screaming, my own
and that of my feathered king.
there is fear and a music like a plea
for me to run, and hard, to leave.
what shrill beggings may echo in the dark
and little joy shall they reap
instead, they are met with the same harsh reality
and from this, many memories they will keep.

I cannot stand the mundane atrocity of this life
my feathered arms know not how to fly in
the midst of this cold darkness
I am ever so bored by its marchings
dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn
sunset to sunrise and back again
my mortal mind is chained to a mortal heart
which beats with everlasting harmony
to the thickening of my blood
and the rotting of my soul
what many masks lie beneath
that sorrow-stricken face of mine
only to surface when the need truly arises
which is always
in this inept society full of wandering mask-wearers and
kindred dying hearts.
what can one do without a mask?
not much,
not much at all...

when everything gets lonely
when all stains from life have
finally molded to the walls of my mind
i want to live in a house with windows
big enough protect me from the world
yet still let me watch it.
i want to be able to see my whales
out of those big windows
bellowing and leaping among the
pure blue.
and when everything gets lonely
i want walk out of this door,
and never look back.

i cannot stand the
mundane atrocity of this life.
no more shall i toss and wake
at every injustice done.
nor shall my fervent dreams
confront every soul that takes
the stand as inadequate.
and my sorrows, deep
beneath the flowers,
which make their advances
towards the night sky,
from forgotten buds,
shall cease to bloom.
only to do so upon recognition
of society, how willful.
and only once my petals have
settled on the moon,
should i rise.

i've got no way out
as i lay here on this bed
this pain will never leave me
like the voices in my head.
he comes again, larger this time
like a wolf at final hunt
i know this will be the end of me
"shut up you ******* ****."
theres nothing i can do
as he pushes into me
he sinks his teeth into my skin
and i count to three.
i could to ten and back again
i hope the voices know
I'm trying so hard to leave
but my body just won't go.
he's given me something
to make me tired and dead
tired enough to ignore
even the voices in my head.
they scream as he comes
YOU HAVE TO ******* FIGHT
I'm trying, i think to them
but its just another night.
i am his now, naked and numb
i feel no fear inside me
only him, and my own blood
and again i count to three.
theres only a couple seconds
apart from his hunger and need
what can i do to stop this?
or am i thinking in greed.
maybe i deserve this
all this fear and disarray
the shaking of my bones
and the sadistic foreplay.
i am numb inside my head
but i feel the most pain I've ever felt
like my skin is on fire
from these cards i've been dealt.
he's here with me now
my coal-black, feathered king
he stares me down with ruthless eyes
you deserve everything.  
he hits me again, ******* my cheek
pay attention *****, you're gonna die tonight
i listen hard, but i can't look into his eyes
only my crowned king, watching me fight.  
he can see my hope, pouring out
my blood and ***** on the sheets
he can see my life, all his own
he can see my pain retreat.
i am light now, a floating soul
above this bed, alone
yet finally free from all this pain
that's buried in my bones.
this will be my secret
only mine to keep
so no one knows the darkness
that nestles in my sleep.

there isn't any space
for more than one or two
i hope this is enough mom
enough blood for you.
i don't know what it is
about tearing through my skin
all i know is that it feels
as good as ******* sin.  
there is no cure for wanting
there is no cure for lust
but there is a cure for torn up wrists
bandaids hidden in the dust.  
this desire to destroy myself
strong like ***** on your breath.
i hope its okay with you mom
that I'm cutting up the rest.

my confessions come in cups
filled to the brim

my quiet rage is not so quiet
anymore

my grief runs through my torn up veins
so i can see it pour

out into a muddy street
where passerby will shake from fear

of this feeling, all consuming

god help me now to climb this
hill  

with weathered, cut up feet
so i can summit my own

destiny

he takes my wrists
into his fists

and sets me on fire.

he takes my clothes
its me he chose

he never seems to tire.

i think about yelling
i think about telling

but only whisper no.

my clothes are gone
my mind is done

i really want to go.

i write too much
probably
but its the only way i know
how to speak.
my words don't come out
properly
in normal conversation
i say mean things
i try to get a rise out of them
but i don't ever mean what i say

its hard to cry in front of people
but that's all i ever do
and leave feeling like maybe
i'm too much
and not enough
at the same time
like maybe i've overwhelmed them
with all this pain
and now they have more than
they ever signed up for


its hard, these things....

this could end
me
from the inside out
but it doesn't feel like that

i am oh so powerful
and this hunger is my
sword

i shall climb these mountains
unscathed
and 10 pounds lighter

i will collects the heads
of monsters along the way
with their rearing jaws

they bite into me
they roar
and shriek
for me to eat
but i won't let them win.

not me.

i carry them
like trophies
and at my journeys
end
is my prize

death greets me with open hands
he says
it has taken years,
my friend
yet i was always here
waiting.

and you've finally

found me.

there's music running up the walls
and glass beneath my feet
I write bad poems into the darkness
and hope my words may meet,
someone who hears me loud and clear
whom upon meeting I shall kneel,
to discover that there's been a wound
from which I cannot heal.
this painful madness creates a cage
the swallow settles into rest
begging with a heavy beak
for a bullet in her breast.
I was once a baby, awaiting death
so they put me in a box
and little did they know about
the ticking of the clocks.
the passing time of being stuck
silent begging to escape
get these tubes and needles out
so that I may be *****.
so I may be drugged and hurt and starved
of any love or joy
so I may drink the gift of life
that we all so enjoy.
from her cage, the swallow has now flown
free to soar at last
catch the wind inside her wings
but still prisoner to her past.
and I was put inside that box
with artificial life
the will from a father, let me live
and a mother with a knife.
she used to cut me slow and deep
and never let me rest
from all the other pain I've felt
and this sorrow in my chest.
this laughter echoes from my lips
but my eyes are red from crying
and no one knows that I smile
because I know I'm dying.
I'm dying from a lack of space
and air to ******* breathe
I'm dying from my own devices
and other's sunken teeth.
I'm dying from my mother's rage
my father's hopeful grin
and now I may take comfort
in all my countless sins.
3 years ago I swallowed pills
enough to try to die and then
I settled on the bathroom floor
and waited for my end.
but life betrayed me, as it does
my body fought for air
as I choked on my own *****
and shook until I met the stare,
of a brother who was pale as snow
and my mother with her knife
she said, this is what you get you see
as he began to cry.
I pulled through as the doctor said
you haven't got a clue
how lucky you are to be alive
from all that you've been through.
I remember the kind nurse
who held me as I cried
I remember my mother
invisible then, still wielding her knife.
It seems that I simply won't die
until I'm truly meant to,
and with that, I'm sentenced to my life
and I must see it through.
there's music running up the walls,
and glass beneath my feet,
and I write whatever I want
so that my words may meet,
someone who's kind and listens well
despite all of my flaws
and when I meet them I shall rise,
and take life by its jaws.

little girl
kitchen table is her
worst nightmare
she welcomes the
monster
under the bed
to sit with her and
endure.
this pain.
he says to her
little girl
you cannot run
like you used to with
you pigtails flying like small kites
you cannot shake
like you used to with
your wobbling knees.
you cannot cry
like you used to with
your red eyes and wet cheeks
you can only sit
and wait
for pain.
and when it comes
little girl
you must
devour
it.

and though
i may be sleeping
now
with this hunger -
an eternity

my soul will be
dreaming
of that future
where i may lift myself
from the ground

make no mistake
i am still alive

i am the
albatross
powerful and
sound

just above,
among the rain-clouds
feather-light and
free.

They said that life, itself, was all one big miracle,
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
When I walk the black of the manhattan alleys,
Or dart my eyes over the roofs bowing to pedestrians,
With the windows that frame the solitude of a lone cat,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Stretching their tired arms towards the sky,
A same routine of eternal awakeness to souls drifting by,
Standing at the ready for the open fire of the harsh winter,
And the soft song of spring,
Or sitting at the dinner table with the rest,
Or talk by day with anyone I love,
Or sleep by night in bed with anyone I love,
Or wade with naked feet along the break of sand and sea,
To me the sea is an infinite miracle,
With life just under cusp of blue and swirls of green,
So much life that of which we cannot see,
With men in ships and shells in sand,
And salt that stings the eye,
What stranger miracles there are than these?

Sometimes I wonder, no,
often I wonder,
imagine,
search all around me,
for the cause of mans belief
that he is superior to the
air he breathes,
the butterflies he captures.
Man thinks he owns the wind
that hurls itself through the trees,
he owns the stars in all of their vastness,
the midnight murk that surrounds the soulful moon.
He owns the whole galaxy,
which he clamps in his fists
like the fish that he has caught
in the stream that is his,
watching it wriggle and gasp for air.
Watching death itself.
That is the pride and joy man carries,
his golden trophy.
Man cannot wrap his arms around
the Milky Way and make it his.
Man cannot control the slowing
beat of his heart,
thickening of his blood,
the fading of his thoughts,
the incompetence,
the suffering that comes with age.
Man cannot evade Death.
Man cannot evade Life.
And of all,
Man's deepest flaw,
he cannot evade himself.

I let people down.
I let them down so far that
there is not enough light for
them to see that I didn't mean it,
they cannot see the look in my eyes
that says that I would do anything
to change it,
they cant even find a ladder
to climb their way out of the deep
misery I put them in.
At least, that's what they tell me.
That I descend them so far into
darkness that there is no getting out.
And so, that is what I tell myself.

this could end
me
from the inside out
but it doesn't feel like that

i am oh so powerful
and this hunger is my
sword

i shall climb these mountains
unscathed
and 10 pounds lighter

i will collects the heads
of monsters along the way
with their rearing jaws

they bite into me
they roar
and shriek
for me to eat
but i won't let them win.

not me.

i carry them
like trophies
and at my journeys
end
is my prize

death greets me with open hands
he says
it has taken years,
my friend
yet i was always here
waiting.

and you've finally found me.

the end.

I sit in front of her
and she sits across from me
hand cradling her cheek
as she listens to my words

I say
you don't know
how badly I want to
destroy myself
you don't know how this
pain
Hangs like chains from
my bones
you don't know how
it is to feel like the space
you take up is too much
but at the same time you
are not enough
you don't know

she sits across from me
I sit in front of her
as she says
I don't need to

he tells me
my father
never let any man take
advantage of  you
i tell him
that is not  your place to
even say
my mothers thoughts waft up from
an empty wine bottle
she shouts
all i WANT is an
unbroken child
i shout back
i am
ALIVE
that is all you get!
glass shatters near my head
what must i have done to
be this bad
sobs bubble
from beneath my curled fists
my eyes are red
from all this
darkness
isnt there someone out there to
******* help me?
but i am alone
and there is no one
and
i wouldnt
deserve it
anyway
if i had known
it would be this dark
i never would have opened my
eyes

the door is shut again, locked
the stench of chlorine and blood
my own.
he's hurt me again
there is a fire between my legs
i don't know if he will ever stop

where is my sister?
what if he's hurt her too?



...i hope he kills me.

don't need you to
save me
don't need you to cry
for me
don't need the jack ***
*******
don't need the bruises
scratches cuts and blood
don't need the lies
don't need your arms around me
don't need your hands around my throat
don't need your **** inside me
don't need your tongue on my lips
don't need your ******* games
don't need your kisses or
your punches
don't need the black eyes
or purple cheeks
don't need your *******
apologies

don't need your ******* "love"

once
i was happy
content and peaceful
the only way i know this is
because i believe that
everyone must have been
once
or they wouldve died.
we all need something to be able to remember
to hold onto

to survive

I slide my pant legs down down down
and kick them off my feet
I pull my shirt over my head
now it seems obsolete.
I take the clasps of my blue bra
and toss it on the floor.
last to come off is underwear
won't need these anymore.

now I see what I can touch,
and this is when I cut.

i sit here
beneath my dying tree
the east wind
blows
leaves and flowers
blossom
petals play like
fairies on
east wind's
shoulders.

God help me now
help me see
as I lay dying at your feet
my teeth ache
I have been up
praying all night
oh how badly I wish you could see

what you've put me through.

seven years of anguish
seven years of pain
oh lord, my god
I am wandering now and
wondering
am I so deserving?

of what you've put me through?

I can feel her hands
searching for a meal
to fill her belly full
and my very being
is served like a spit
to this woman, who claims
she is an angel.
I think i might be deserving

of what you've put me through?

all I see, a little girl
who's wondering all the same
her knees are sore from many things
she has kneeled to this woman
and now she is kneeling to you
"Oh Lord, my God, I beg of you
help me now and ill pray to prove
I don't deserve this.
I am her treat, her gift, her love
but I pray to my god above  
to prove I don't deserve this.
oh god my lord I will commence
my prayer and ill leave my pence
to prove I don't deserve this."

and now I sit
across from you
I've died from this abuse
I wonder hard, could I have saved
that little girl
from all of that
misuse?

here i am
again
awake
alive
no.
is it happening all over again?
my muscles ache as if someone has torn
the fibers,  tied nails to them and replaced me
as a mistreated machine.
there is a blaze in my brain
and no amount of water can
quench its flames
I burn until whats left of me
smokes  out of my ears and allows
me no
oxygen and
i am afraid of truth.
i cannot walk
for my legs have been sewn together
like a deformed doll
i am an ugly misshapen
machine
i run on fear and guilt
and i am afraid of truth.
i cannot write
i cannot get it out
i am inhuman
i am a machine
i feel as though
im dying but
im very well alive
and that is what i fear

the aliveness brings us together
or does it bring us lies
does it bring us its very end
right at the beginning?
should we be afraid?
because i am
i am weak in the knees
help me
i cannot get it out
of me
i scrape and scratch
and will it out
but still, it stays
inside

welcome to me
i am a machine
well-oiled no
but running so

i am crazy
i am beaten
i lie
i cheat
i scream and  cry
i cannot seem to
get by in
this life

is it enough
for me?
for you?
for anyone?

her mouth is like a
crimson slit
her face as pale
as death
her arms as thin
as morning sun
her hands dance
on her *******
she carries slow
her dying words
and ****** them at
my feet
before she lays
eternally down
she speaks them on
repeat
i am your mother
i am your wife
the sister you never had
i am your mind
i am your lies
im that which makes you glad
i am the lust that comes from ***
i am your deepest fears
i am your guilt you hold so
deep
i am your biggest tears
and so i set these at your toes
in hopes you run with them
never forget who i am
until your very end.

my mama sets her lips on my cheek
but not long enough for me to feel
loved
quick, she says
we must go
this place isn't right for us.
my mama stares  at me in the
doorway
calm, she says,
that boy wasn't right for you.
my mama drives down 1-95
speeding past and cursing out
quiet, she says
that man wasn't good for us.

today i sit in the sun, letting myself be warmed by its reaching arms.
i imagine they are the arms of a mother, wanting to hold me, love me, watch me cry and wanting me anyway.

but this is not my sun.
this is my mother.

she strikes me, and i feel the most hurt i have ever known. before this, there was no pain. before this, there was no grief. no unimaginable sorrow.

she puts me in a cage,
watching my shoulders shake
my lips move

please love me
please love me
please love me

she shuts the door
and i come to an end
over and over again
dying on repeat
all because i know
in my heart
there is no love
there is tolerance
and lack thereof
which hurts the most.

i reach through the bars
grasping for my sun
as it grows too dark to see
i scream and shout
mother, please love me

stop confronting me with impossible pain.

last night i woke up on the floor. or at least
i think i did, and even that was maybe a year ago because
time isn't real, and anyone who thinks so or lives by the minutes will die before any sane person tells them to ignore the ticks. they don't even realize time doesn't make noise. the slow inevitable marching? that's silence.

i remember when i was about eight or nine, a very young girl in a very blue school, my hands practically glued to the wood in front of my face every day for morning prayer. and hell, i swear, religion is delusion and time isn't real. anyone who prays to anything other than what they can see is only making excuses.

i remember being this young girl and fearing and forgetting and remembering all over the pain i was in. later i learned that this pain was called **** and this **** would be the next seven years of my life before i recognized it in the dictionary.

i did not stray from this pain, i did not stray from the abnormality of Christianity as a way of ****,  i did not stray from the fact that a woman wanted my body as much as i wanted a friend, or a new pair of shoes.
i did not stray from the fact that a woman could ****.

even though i knew Adam and Eve loved each other, i hadn't ever heard of Eve and Eve and Eve and a little girl like me, and so on.
i knew what *** was before this, but of course considered it holy and equally unholy, something my small and shaking hands didn't get to feel.

was i wrong to assume that? maybe.  i think i remember loving it, or maybe only because love goes with *** and *** is beautiful and it happened to make me. was i a victim? of ****? of love? i cannot think much more of this at a time, it makes me feel as though i am crazy.

i have definitely lost control. i have made dents in the walls, smashed and shattered objects around the house, not even my house. i have screamed, yes, and cried till i can't hear myself cry and i have shook and shook until i'm surprised i don't fall apart or bite my tongue off. but how much control did i ever have to lose?

i do not write as much as i used to, perhaps i am too concerned over aesthetic. i am tortured, but what language is that words are words,  however abstract or ugly. i do relish the occasional purgatory.
releasing sin is necessary, even those you never committed.
we all need a little guilt in our lives.

it doesn't matter whether you were just born
drowning in a millennials work
or being fed through a tube.
you're already on your way out,
and there is no denying that.

the death of a tree
is the saddest thing
to find the long light
in the dark of dawn
is hard work for the leaves
they do not know their fate
and continue their rustling temperament
nestled in sore branches

somebody lit my mind on fire
i can smell it through the trees
they have set ablaze
my conscious
reduced my being
to matchsticks.


at least my heart
has yet to touch the flames.

she sits in the flora
large, golden eyes search for suffice,
brown fur bristles in the light
her mind is one in prey and life.

- a deer, in her woods

a small, perfect child
was run through nights
and walked through walls
but the side of his half open
brain was too much
like holding hell in your hands
unable to look away.

beneath the dying flowers
too long a funeral
makes for too long a night
not to make a child in grief.

open eyed mother falls in her ******
a meaningless hill she must climb for
the man,
and all she can think of is
the child.
this is how she made the child.

white bear sneaks beyond the ice
and all the blue
to find his prey in wild wind
beyond the ice, beyond all the blue
all bear, white bear, can do
is seek
but how he is mistaken in
his strength
white bear is only
prey to
wild men